others. This was real; a distant figure on a painted stage was not.
“Come with me, dearest,” he whispered, “into the Crystal Ring.”
She went with him gladly. Like a doll in a music box, Violette pirouetted in a corner of her mind.
* * *
Deirdre stood at the post-box, the letter in her gloved hand.
How can I send it? she thought. If Ben knows already, he’ll realise I’ve broken a binding oath to write this. But if he doesn’t, it’ll break his heart.
Ben, forgive me for not telling you face to face. I couldn’t find the words. And if you think I’m a coward, don’t judge me until you’re as frightened as I am.
She loosed the letter, heard it fall into the darkness of the box.
A few minutes later, she was on the platform, waiting for the train that would take her to the ferry and safety. The occult had been her whole life, the Neophytes of Meter Theon her family... but all she wanted now was to escape. The wind blew fresh in her face and she tasted freedom. In her mind she saw the deep greens and the lovely, cloud-veiled mountains of Ireland.
Then - she heard the beast coming.
Again it began as a deep, rhythmic snuffling noise. A huge blind pig. She looked along the track in panic and saw the creature nosing towards her. The great eyeless head, the steam pouring from its joints, and the terrible stink of metal and oil...
She was dizzy. The day turned dark and the crowd on the platform vanished. Deirdre was alone in a land of demons.
It’s only my imagination , she told herself. Ben said it’s only in my mind! If I stand and face the beast, it will go away.
Her heart was racing hard as she moved to the platform edge. It was clear she must do this. You don’t exist, she thought, jumping down onto the track. She flung up her hands, chanting a banishing spell, but the demon came on, huge, deafening, wreathed in steam. She yelled aloud, “You don’t -”
Her cry was lost in the scream of brakes. The weight of the beast bore her down, crushed her, and passed blindly on.
CHAPTER THREE
INTO THIS SHADOW
A s the atmosphere enfolded the Earth, so the Crystal Ring surrounded a warped aspect of it that only immortals could enter. Some vampires equated it with hell, others with heaven. Karl and Charlotte had their own theories. Like the universe itself, it could be explained a hundred different ways and no explanation could yet be proved.
Hand in hand, they let the world around them change. Trees became rustling black spires, walls snapped into impossible perspectives. Any witnesses would have seen Karl and Charlotte vanish.
At ground level the Ring was a dark, demonic hall of mirrors, but its sky flowed with fire and liquid light. Karl and Charlotte soared upwards. The air bore their weight like water. Ahead floated a great ridge, a cloud-hill in constant motion like a wave of gold-dappled glass. This realm was like an epic sky painted by a deranged visionary, suffused with the light of heaven and the glow of hell. Far above, canyons soared up towards thunderous mountains, stained blood-red and purple. Like clouds, these features condensed from air then frayed to nothingness in an endless ocean-blue void.
Radiant lines shimmered like an aurora, exerting a weird pull. This was the magnetic field of the Earth, made tangible and visible to immortals; the only constant by which they could navigate.
The structure of this realm, according to Charlotte, was created by mankind’s collective subconscious, by the electrical outflow of minds. And its energy could warp humans into vampires, because vampires represented the most extreme of human emotions; the fear of death and of the dead returning to life; the desire for power and immortality.
There must be even more, Karl thought, but her theory was easier to accept than Kristian’s doctrine: that this was the mind of a God who used vampires as pitiless envoys.
Karl also wondered if the Ring was simply a matter of altered perceptions. Their bodies were
“Come with me, dearest,” he whispered, “into the Crystal Ring.”
She went with him gladly. Like a doll in a music box, Violette pirouetted in a corner of her mind.
* * *
Deirdre stood at the post-box, the letter in her gloved hand.
How can I send it? she thought. If Ben knows already, he’ll realise I’ve broken a binding oath to write this. But if he doesn’t, it’ll break his heart.
Ben, forgive me for not telling you face to face. I couldn’t find the words. And if you think I’m a coward, don’t judge me until you’re as frightened as I am.
She loosed the letter, heard it fall into the darkness of the box.
A few minutes later, she was on the platform, waiting for the train that would take her to the ferry and safety. The occult had been her whole life, the Neophytes of Meter Theon her family... but all she wanted now was to escape. The wind blew fresh in her face and she tasted freedom. In her mind she saw the deep greens and the lovely, cloud-veiled mountains of Ireland.
Then - she heard the beast coming.
Again it began as a deep, rhythmic snuffling noise. A huge blind pig. She looked along the track in panic and saw the creature nosing towards her. The great eyeless head, the steam pouring from its joints, and the terrible stink of metal and oil...
She was dizzy. The day turned dark and the crowd on the platform vanished. Deirdre was alone in a land of demons.
It’s only my imagination , she told herself. Ben said it’s only in my mind! If I stand and face the beast, it will go away.
Her heart was racing hard as she moved to the platform edge. It was clear she must do this. You don’t exist, she thought, jumping down onto the track. She flung up her hands, chanting a banishing spell, but the demon came on, huge, deafening, wreathed in steam. She yelled aloud, “You don’t -”
Her cry was lost in the scream of brakes. The weight of the beast bore her down, crushed her, and passed blindly on.
CHAPTER THREE
INTO THIS SHADOW
A s the atmosphere enfolded the Earth, so the Crystal Ring surrounded a warped aspect of it that only immortals could enter. Some vampires equated it with hell, others with heaven. Karl and Charlotte had their own theories. Like the universe itself, it could be explained a hundred different ways and no explanation could yet be proved.
Hand in hand, they let the world around them change. Trees became rustling black spires, walls snapped into impossible perspectives. Any witnesses would have seen Karl and Charlotte vanish.
At ground level the Ring was a dark, demonic hall of mirrors, but its sky flowed with fire and liquid light. Karl and Charlotte soared upwards. The air bore their weight like water. Ahead floated a great ridge, a cloud-hill in constant motion like a wave of gold-dappled glass. This realm was like an epic sky painted by a deranged visionary, suffused with the light of heaven and the glow of hell. Far above, canyons soared up towards thunderous mountains, stained blood-red and purple. Like clouds, these features condensed from air then frayed to nothingness in an endless ocean-blue void.
Radiant lines shimmered like an aurora, exerting a weird pull. This was the magnetic field of the Earth, made tangible and visible to immortals; the only constant by which they could navigate.
The structure of this realm, according to Charlotte, was created by mankind’s collective subconscious, by the electrical outflow of minds. And its energy could warp humans into vampires, because vampires represented the most extreme of human emotions; the fear of death and of the dead returning to life; the desire for power and immortality.
There must be even more, Karl thought, but her theory was easier to accept than Kristian’s doctrine: that this was the mind of a God who used vampires as pitiless envoys.
Karl also wondered if the Ring was simply a matter of altered perceptions. Their bodies were
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