The Dark Arts of Blood by Freda Warrington Read Free Book Online Page B

with her hands around her knees, staring at the pine-panelled wall opposite. She wasn’t sure what she was doing there… writing, that was it. Filling pages with all that she’d seen.
    Karl was back at last.
    She looked hard to make sure it was really him. The blanket Stefan had left over her was on the floor. She seemed to have thrown off her clothes and replaced them with a silky robe that hurt viciously everywhere it touched her skin. Her dress was on the floor, covered in blood spots.
    Karl rushed to her, sat on the bed beside her and took her hands.
    “Dear God,” he said, “Charlotte, beloved, what happened?”
    “Nothing,” she said calmly. Stefan appeared in the doorway, followed by Niklas: another reflection.
    Seeing her, Stefan’s mouth opened in shock. “Charlotte, gods, what have you done? I knew I shouldn’t have left you alone!”
    “Don’t be ridiculous,” she said, not comprehending why they were upset. “I’m perfectly well, just… sore. I don’t know why. It’s nothing.”
    Karl turned his head and snapped, “Stefan, a moment, please.”
    Charlotte realised he was dismissing his friend because she was partly undressed. She’d pushed the robe off her shoulders because it hurt so much. Despite everything, Karl’s puritan streak made her smile.
    “What?” Stefan said, grinning back at her. “It’s nothing I haven’t seen before. Oh, don’t glare at me like that, Karl. I meant half-clothed women in general, not Charlotte in particular.”
    “Let them stay,” she said, adjusting the fabric to cover herself. “Stefan and Niklas are more like… well, sisters to me than anything.”
    “
Sisters?
” Stefan retorted.
    “I meant it as a compliment.”
    “I know,” he said with a wink.
    He sat on a low couch at the end of the bed, facing away from her, with Niklas beside him. He put an affectionate arm around his brother’s shoulders, whispering into his ear. He hadn’t left Niklas behind to watch over Charlotte while he sought Karl, for the simple reason that Niklas was of no more use than a doll. Without Stefan’s care, he was as vulnerable as a human child.
    Karl looked as serious as she’d ever seen him. She hastened to reassure him.
    “Nothing happened,” she repeated. “Karl, I’m sure Stefan told you that a drunk accosted me in the street with a knife. Then I had some awful hallucinations. That’s all. I’m well again now.”
    “Hallucinations?” He drew her robe off her shoulder and began to pluck at her skin, his fingernails as delicate as tweezers. She became aware that he was taking splinters of glass out of her flesh. Strange.
    She looked down, turning her head to see mirror shards piercing the skin of her shoulder-blades, the backs of her arms and thighs: dozens of tiny crimson cuts leaking blood. No wonder the robe hurt so much. Wherever it touched, it was pushing the glass deeper into her flesh.
    “Yes, from the dagger,” she said. “Wait, was the dagger real? It’s a blur. I can’t remember where reality stopped and the illusions started. I decided to write everything down, in case we found a clue…”
    She looked down at the notepad lying beside her.
    Blank.
    Stefan said, “Ah, Charlotte…” and then nothing for half an hour as Karl took every sliver of glass out of her skin. At last it was done, and she was able to sit up and tie her robe properly. She shook her hair free, saw tiny spots of blood leaking through the ivory silk.
    “Well, this is ruined,” she said softly. “And so is that dress. How did I get all this glass in me?”
    “We hoped you would tell us,” Karl said gravely.
    Charlotte went still. A cool draft blew on to her. While she contemplated how to describe her hallucinations – the lamia in the rippling veil, and the supposed policeman finding her – she sensed another presence in the house: the unmistakable warmth of a mortal. “Oh, no. You brought prey here for me? There’s no need…”
    “It’s all right,” Karl