A Dance in Blood Velvet by Freda Warrington

here.”
    “Move away from the Book first. I don’t like it.”
    “It’s just an old book, darling.”
    They hugged; she smelled the papery, leather scent of the shop on his waistcoat. Ordinary books, comforting. How warm and solid he felt.
    Eventually he said, “I’m going to see Lancelyn tomorrow.”
    A twinge of anxiety. “What will you say?”
    “That’s what I’m working on. I’ll give him a chance to clear himself - but I won’t take anything less than the truth.”
    “And will you return the Book?”
    A pause. His lips narrowed. “Not yet,” he said grimly. “I haven’t finished with it.”
    * * *
    Katerina sat wrapped in blankets on a chaise longue, propped up by pillows. Her face, though still ghastly, was filling out into recognisable shapes, her hair acquiring a tawny sheen. Although she hadn’t spoken, her gaze roved the room, taking in everything.
    Charlotte tried to accept her presence with grace.
    Katerina had been Karl’s friend. For his sake, Charlotte should be happy to help, but unease gnawed at her. All she could think was that the sooner Katerina recovered, the sooner she could leave.
    Over the past few days, Ilona had brought several victims to the house for Katerina. Rich drunks she’d picked up at theatres, innocent working men and women whom she had hypnotised or simply kidnapped. She delivered them with a kind of businesslike glee, watched Katerina drink each one dry, then casually helped Karl dispose of the corpses.
    Karl supervised the process sombrely, showing neither regret nor pleasure. He never killed if he could help it; but if it could not be helped, he was capable of frightening ruthlessness. Katerina’s recovery was his single-minded pursuit.
    Charlotte would have assisted the bloody process if they’d asked, but was immensely glad when they did not. Her duties were to bathe Katerina, to wash blood from her lips, to keep her comfortable and sit with her when Karl was absent. She did them all, but with a sense of wrongness that bordered on resentment.
    Hour after hour Karl sat with Katerina, stroking her forehead, holding her hand, talking or reading to her.
    Katerina was a brooding presence in the house. Suddenly all Karl’s attention was focused not on Charlotte but on her. It won’t be forever, Charlotte told herself. She wanted to please Karl by helping him nurse his poor sick friend; she wanted to share his joy at Katerina’s rebirth. But finding no joy in it herself, she felt guilty.
    Often she went onto the balcony to escape the taut atmosphere of the house. She stood at the rail, poised above the dark-green cloak of forest, watching the great trio of mountains sparkling in the distance: the Jungfrau, Eiger and Monch. Once the spring thaw began it came quickly; the white meadows turned green, then to a riot of pink alpen roses, purple violets, blue gentians. Lake Thun and Lake Brienz unfroze and began to dance.
    She thought, Why is it one law for me, and another for Katerina? I am not allowed to take even a mouthful from a willing guest, yet he’s dragging people here for Katerina to kill outright! Of course, I know there’s no choice. She can’t hunt for herself. I’m being unreasonable... but all the same I hate it and I want her gone.
    Why can’t I be gracious about a wretched, sick friend of Karl’s? Wouldn’t I do anything for him? Yes, anything.
    It’s not forever.
    With a soundless compression of the air, Ilona appeared beside her, stepping from the Crystal Ring. A slight, elegant figure with shingled mahogany hair: Karl’s beauty feminised.
    “You look miserable,” Ilona said bluntly. “Have you quarrelled with Karl?”
    “We don’t quarrel,” said Charlotte.
    Ilona gave an acid smile. “That would be too human. But you can’t stand having that sick woman lying about the place, can you?” Ilona was brittle, venomous, unpredictably cruel. Karl had turned his daughter into a vampire because he’d been unable to bear the thought of her