Free A Dance in Blood Velvet by Freda Warrington

didn’t want to harm them. But for Katerina’s sake...
    They went down through the twilight, unobserved. At the house wall, Ilona vanished; moments later, a door of cracked wood swung open, and Karl took Katerina inside. He felt sickly cold, almost too weak to think. He scented blood in the gloom, deep under the stench of animals, of sour milk and cheese, washing, woodsmoke, human illness.
    There was no one healthy in this house. The fit members of the family must be out in the meadows, for only two hot, quick-breathing entities pulled at him. Thirst ravaged him.
    “Here,” Ilona whispered, pushing open a door.
    There were two beds in the little room. In one lay a thin boy, his breathing laboured in his sleep. On the other sat a grossly fat wreck of a man, with an adult’s face and the eyes of a child. He watched the sick boy as if he’d sat there all night.
    Seeing the vampires, the big man leapt up and screamed. Ilona sprang forward, felled him with a jab of her fingers. She tore into his throat, then recoiled and sat him upright, offering him to Karl.
    “God!” she said disgustedly. “I don’t think he’s washed in his life! Let her take him, quickly.”
    Karl had only to help Katerina a little. Smelling the blood, she writhed like a baby seeking its mother’s breast. She fell onto the child-man, began to lap from the wound Ilona had made as if demented. She absorbed his blood, his life-aura, everything.
    The boy woke and sat up, staring with huge, feverish eyes at the apparitions in his room. His breathing was noisy, threaded with whimpers of fear.
    Katerina will need him too, Karl thought. God knows how much blood it will take... but he, too, was starving.
    He moved to the boy and sat down on his bed. The child stared at Karl in dumb terror. He was dying; tuberculosis, polio, some awful affliction. Karl pitied him; but sparing him was impossible. He could only clasp the narrow shoulders and look into his eyes.
    Karl held back until the boy’s expression changed from fear to tranquillity... even love. And then, sealing the deception, he bent and bit into the clammy throat.
    He was famished and the blood was more delicious for being hot with fever. No human disease could affect him. His own unnatural body would destroy any trace, leaving only the rich crimson essence he needed. When the craving was strong enough to override conscience and compassion, he let it; accepting his nature without pride, without shame.
    His thirst partly slaked, Karl forced himself to stop and leave the rest for Katerina - although, God knew, the child had little enough to give.
    Two pitiful corpses, they left. Shells. Karl seemed to be looking at them from a great distance, unmoved. The river of life had caught them, carried them for a while, then washed them up like drowned dogs on the bank. So it did to everyone. But the gorgeous, glittering, crimson river flowed on forever.
    * * *
    Policemen came and asked questions.
    Yes, said Benedict, Deirdre was grief-stricken over James’s death. No, we’ve no idea why he killed himself. We didn’t know him well. A suicide pact? I don’t think so. She was on her way back to Ireland. Yes, they attended meetings of my brother’s literary group, but this occult stuff has been greatly exaggerated. What we do wouldn’t shock your maiden aunt. Come along sometime.
    Holly sat listening to this, weeping.
    She’d known about Deirdre’s death long before the police called. One of her psychic flashes, like a punch to the stomach. That must have been the moment Deirdre went under the train.
    Deirdre had been waiting to change trains at Leicester, the policeman told them, standing quietly on the platform with no sign of agitation. When the train came she jumped in front without warning. Witnesses said she held up her arms as if to stop it, but the driver couldn’t brake in time...
    She must have jumped on impulse, said Ben.
    Eventually the police went away, satisfied there were no suspicious