The Dark Arts of Blood by Freda Warrington Page A

But they were both vampires: he’d brought her into this, and had no moral high ground from which to judge her.
    “All because of this mysterious knife? Can I see it?” Karl asked.
    “I hid it in the kitchen,” said Stefan. “Wait there.”
    Stefan came back with the weapon resting across his palms on a folded towel.
    “Don’t touch it,” he said. “Damned thing has a life of its own. I believe it’s only dangerous if the blade pierces the skin.”
    “I’d rather not have been the test subject,” said Charlotte. “I went completely mad for an hour or two.”
    Stefan smiled. “Happens to the best of us. Come on, Charlotte, let Leni help you.”
    She shook her head vehemently. “No. Take her away. I tried to feed on that stupid brute who was here! The evidence is upstairs, a broken door and a ruined carpet. This is a nightmare. No sooner have I accepted what I am, this happens! There’s always something we didn’t expect.”
    “Yes,” Karl said gently into her hair. “Always something else.”
    “Is this how Violette felt, when she thought Lilith possessed her?”
    “I don’t know. Perhaps.”
    “It’s horrible, being out of control.”
    “I see that, beloved. But still, let the girl help you.”
    “It’s all right, sweet friend,” Stefan added, touching her shoulder. “Leni’s blood is very soothing.”
    Charlotte gave in and let the young woman come to her.
    The affection with which Leni knelt at her feet and offered up her wrist made Charlotte want to weep. She bit as gently as she could, and stroked the girl’s hair as she fed. And Stefan was right. The rich luscious blood, freely offered, brought her back to her true self for the first time since the ice blade had pierced her.
    * * *
    Later, she and Karl stood on the lower balcony that led from the parlour, looking out at the peaks of the Eiger, the Jungfrau and the Munch floating against the pre-dawn sky. Snow vapour streamed down the slopes and she heard glaciers melting, flood water gushing into clear creeks as spring took hold. She breathed the chilly air, the fragrance of pine resin and meltwater.
    Soon the cattle would be driven up to the high pastures to graze, the musical rhythm of cowbells calling in summer. Every change of season was marked by a festival of some kind and she liked that. Rural traditions were as reassuring as sunrise, even though she and Karl were forever outside the human world. Often it was pleasant standing apart, watching mortal activities with the detached interest of a god. At other times, she wanted to plunge among them, lose herself in the whirl of their heat and energy.
    Inside, Stefan was playing jazz music on their gramophone and dancing with Leni, showing Niklas the steps then passing her to his mute brother for another dance. Leni seemed to be having the time of her life. She couldn’t hear the music, but Charlotte realised she must feel the vibration.
    “Dear heart, I’m so sorry,” said Karl.
    She put her other arm around his waist, closed her eyes in pleasure as his lips touched her forehead. “What for? It wasn’t your fault some drunken idiot stabbed me. I’m better now.”
    “I should have been there to stop him.”
    “You couldn’t have known. But… I’ve killed before, Karl, but I hate it. After tonight, I never want to do so again. Never.”
    “I know.” He kissed her again, conveying that he understood all too well. How many similar horrors had he faced in the past, she wondered, and how many could any vampire endure?
    “All the same, I know I probably will,” she murmured. “So I’d better have a
damned
good reason.”
    “No better reason than defending yourself,” said Karl.
    “We must find out about the blade before someone else is hurt in the same way. Or worse.”
    “Stefan will help us. He always does.”
    “Bless him. Although it feels strange to bless someone for seducing victims with so much enthusiasm.”
    Karl laughed. “But they love him and Niklas, so they