Embrace Ch. 01

Greta believes that Heather has been sent away in disgrace. Amelia dreams vividly that Franz strangled the old woman. Is that madness? It's enough to stop her even considering asking Greta to take a message for her.

She doesn't dare open the curtains, but each morning she dares to peek around them and whisper a little prayer with parched lips. Perhaps Franz will come to reason at last. Perhaps he will understand that she did it for love. The truth is, if the lord does not soften his heart, Amelia might never leave this room alive.

There's the little music box and the maiden twirls about, stiff on her wooden feet, shut away when the music stops in an airless, lightless place where time stands still. Amelia writes. Amelia reads the same three books over and over. Inevitably in her boredom and loneliness her hands wonder to her heated sex and worry the folds of it.

The picture on the wall draws her eye. She imagines her sister, big with child, she imagines her sister's tall strong husband riding out to share the news that his son is born.

One evening she's looking at the tapestry when she finds herself inside it. She can see silk blades of grass in absolute stillness, silk sheep in absolute tranquility. Her own silk hand outstretched. Terror descends as she sees the room beyond, a horror of dizzying and distorted shadows. She has no name for the feeling that awakens within her. Her stitches pull tight as she tests her limits. Her voice is muffled when she shouts, as though her face were buried in a pillow, but if someone heard her they would wonder at the true sentiment behind her wailing. There is something hot behind the fear. Something sweet.

There is an old man standing just out of sight.

"Help me!" Amelia cries. It's like shouting underwater.

"Who are you talking to?"

"Anyone!"

"How do you like that? Want to stay a while?"

"Oh! Oh please, I'm so afraid! Is this a dream? Oh, wake up!"

His hand rests on her shoulder. She feels his stitches interlock with hers and though the strangeness of it jars, she doesn't want him to let go.

"Please help me! Please?"

His muffled words are difficult to make out for certain. "You're a sweet little thing. Oh yes, she's bound to snap you up."

Amelia feels herself thrown bodily out of the picture and onto her bedroom floor.

The voice comes from inside her, from behind her eyes. "Do as he says. He's sly, he's powerful, he's your best chance. Be quick about it now, get dressed, he's at the door."

For the first time in weeks Amelia ventures out of her bedroom. Disoriented, clinging to the banister with both hands she makes her way downstairs. A duke she has never met before is waiting in the parlor. Not a man, not at all, on some level she knows it. Even as her eye is drawn to the narrow scheming face of Wolf-Dietrich von Habsburg, even as she must answer his questions, she knows. He's not much different from the handsome hungarian. He sees through her thick makeup. He sees the worry and the bruises and draws out her tale of woe. He says he has always counted her husband Franz as a friend. He makes a promise to protect him. But he will call on her in the near future for some assistance, and expect to find her eager to return the favour.

Immediately, Franz softens. He allows her to come down for meals, write to her friends and receive one or two visitors. Then little by little, some semblance of normalcy returns, but they do not speak of what happened. No-one dares to mention Heather's name. When Franz leaves the house in the middle of the night, eyes glazed over with concentration, Amelia could weep.

She soon learns from bitter experience that there's no point resisting the summons. She doesn't move from her bed until the last possible moment. That's how she finds herself alone with the duke in the grounds of Schönborn palace wearing her nightshirt, her mantle, and riding boots without stockings.

She accepts a black card from him with the address printed in silver. It looks like an invitation. There's no name on it, just a word she doesn't understand. "Ingenio."

"If you succeed in this endeavour, I assure you I will protect your husband. You're to attend this exclusive gathering and win. It is a simple contest of sorts. A test of artistic expression. You play well, do you not?"

"And after this..." her voice carries the uncomfortable tremolo of fear. "After this you'll let me go?"

The duke turns his back and walks away.

*

This is like no salon Amelia has experienced. There are no introductions, no formalities. Men and women of all ages, all walks of life, gather in the sumptuous ballroom, unsure of how to act. Some have brought instruments, some stand nervously beside veiled pictures, waiting. Amelia hovers uncertainly by the harpsichord. She takes every glass she is offered and drains it for courage. Then, at the stroke of midnight, the footmen open the doors, and the hostess makes her entrance.

The woman is a vision. Her robe is sheer enough to pass through a finger ring. It swings against her, caressing her perfect curves with each graceful step. Her beautiful face is sublime in its perfection.

Amelia had planned to play a sonata of her own design, but faced with this divine muse all that is forgotten. Instead, she crafts a tribute in verse. Golden words flow like fingers sliding over skin. Arabella Montessi, angel in an earthly body, is snared by the heart. She hears Amelia's words and just stops, mid step. There is real anger from other guests as the hostess clears the room without apology. Very soon the two are alone together.

The angel's voice speaks Amelia's name, and begs her to say the verse again. Amelia makes love with those words as she has never done before and offers them with a passion beyond reason. As Arabella draws her in, the hardness of the woman, the coldness of her, stir fear in Amelia's heart. There is no end to this madness.

"Please don't." Amelia begs. "I mustn't."

"Don't be afraid." All thoughts of Franz are crushed to dust as the beauty presses her mouth to Amelia's. It's been so long since anyone held Amelia and kissed her so tenderly. She has never deserved it less. Her heart sinks. How can she do this enchanting creature harm? She cannot bear to keep her word to the duke.

"Lady Arabella, please let me go. Can't you see how wrong this is?"

A spark of anger darkens the lady's eyes. Arabella sneers. "Only words then? Nothing more?" Her embrace tightens ominously.

Amelia quakes in fear. "He'll kill me for telling you this." She lifts a trembling hand to touch the glassy skin of Arabella's cheek. "You have enemies that would hurt you, but I won't let them use me to do it."

The lady laughs. Even this, even her scorn is beautiful. What possible harm could a little person like Amelia do? The years are written on this angel's face, and the hubris of the powerful.

"But it's true!" Amelia begs, "I swear! Please listen. I can't bear this."

Arabella leads her firmly to the chaise and they sit together, hand in hand.

"I promise that you cannot harm me. Sweet girl. Who has put you in such a fearful state?"

"You'll understand. At least, I pray you will." The turmoil in her heart makes a fool of her. It's difficult to know where to begin. "My husband is involved with some dreadful people, I wouldn't be surprised if they're not people at all."

The lady's smile becomes fixed. She cannot hide the note of panic in her reply. "Now love. Let's just take one thing at a time. Who are these people that frighten you so?"

"God this is humiliating." Amelia rubs a tear from her eye.

"Don't be ashamed of your beautiful tears, child." Arabella hands her a soft handkerchief. "I have to know."

"It's been going on since before we were married, I tried for over a year to get to the bottom of it and then the answer just landed in my lap and I still can't believe it."

Amelia sniffs away her tears. It was like a bolt of lightning to her heart the night she realised how hopeless things were with Franz. It still leaves her numb thinking about it. How can any honest woman compete with sorcery? Even after all this he will never be hers.

"I was at a recital with some friends. We all made the most of the entertainment except my husband, Franz. My husband was exhausted as always, and he had no interest in hearing Herr Mozart play. He left me alone for a short while but in truth, there has always been such a distance between us, loneliness got the better of me I suppose. There was a man I had never seen before but he caught my eye and my friend couldn't keep her eyes off him either. She said he was some Hungarian count that I'd never heard of. I'd had a drink or two which made me bold so I went to speak with him."

The smile is gone. Lady Arabella tightens her hold on Amelia's hand. "His name?"

"Arpad. I think? That's what my friends told me afterwards." Her throat feels dry. "Please don't be angry with me. I haven't... I didn't do anything wrong, I never..."

"I am not angry with you dear." The lady's expression softens, but her hand still clasps Amelia's a little too tight. "Go on."

"Well, I introduced myself to him. He was the most beautiful man but his eyes were cruel. He thanked me for all the sacrifices I have made. For being such an understanding woman. It seemed like such a presumptuous thing to say since we had not met before."

Amelia closes her eyes and recalls the look on her husband's face when he returned and found them talking. The look her husband gave the creature Arpad, and the hot ball of jealous anger that had settled in her throat that instant.

"My husband is in love with that man. He goes out almost every night and now I know, it must be to see... but it's sickening him. He cannot find time for his work or his household. Papers from the courthouse pile on his desk and he cannot bring himself to care for that duty, let alone for me."

At last lady Arabella releases her hand and draws her into a gentle embrace. Amelia finds her tears cannot be denied, and that comfort which comes from being heard and cherished is the only cure for them. She sobs on the lady's shoulder until her emotions subside.

"So you think It's dark magic?" Arabella presses.

Amelia nods. "There were times at night that he was walking through the house in a trance, no one could bring him to his senses. I could see the sorcerer had my husband for a slave. I had to find something, anything, to protect him." She gathers her thoughts and steels herself. "So I drugged him. It was only at night so he couldn't be summoned from his bed. It worked for a time."

Lady Arabella seems bemused. "Good grief girl. But why didn't you tell someone? Had he no family, no friends that..? Couldn't you have taken a trip away..?"

"He wouldn't listen to me. And how could I tell my friends? Just who on earth would believe me? They'd say it was only a love affair. I would live with the shame if I thought telling them would make a blind bit of difference, but what could they do for him? No one could stop him leaving his bed in the dead of night could they?" Amelia shakes her head sadly. "Anyway, that's half the story. He found out what I'd done and it made him fearfully angry."

He came at her with fire in his eyes. He knocked her teeth out and threw her down the stairs. Did he strangle Heather? Amelia cannot say. Shut away until she was half mad, she doesn't trust her memory. Her dreams made her scream waking up alone, trying to make out the dying woman's last words, always the same, always just out of reach. She's too ashamed to say those things to this beautiful creature. She doesn't want to be that victim. What can she say?

Amelia ignores the sharp pain in her eye at every mention of the duke, and she cannot recall his name for a moment.

"When the duke came to call, he convinced me he could help us. He understood about the sorcerer. He was a friend to my husband. He convinced Franz that I was sorry and that made things easier for a time. But then I couldn't stop myself from leaving our house in the dead of night. If I tried with all my might, I could delay the inevitable for a few hours and then I'd run as though my life depended on it, barefoot in the snow..." In the dead of night in the palace gardens the Duke no longer seemed so friendly. He didn't like to be kept waiting. He made her kneel and kiss his ring. He made her drink something, and now it makes her head ring with searing lightning just to dwell on it, certainly she cannot speak of it. As she swoons in her seat Arabella catches her. The fear is real now. The duke will not take this betrayal lightly.

"You are bound to Wolf-Dietrich von Habsburg." Such pain in Arabella's eyes. Such anger. Such betrayal. "Get. Out."

*

"Oh, it has such an innocent little face for a whore," the old man taunts.

"Please stop." Amelia pulls the pillow over her head.

"You want her."

"It's not fair. I don't want her, you fiend. I want my husband. I want to see him look at me the way he looks at that creature Arpad. I don't want anything to do with their feuds and curses. Don't be so cruel."

"A child. A baby to hold. That's what you want, isn't it?"

She sniffs and nods her head.

"How much blood is that worth?"

"Stop. I'm not going to hurt anyone else. This is madness."

The old man laughs, "What of all the players? The singers? The poets? The painters?"

"Do you enjoy this?"

"Where did they go? They never went home."

*

It takes a week or two of digging for information. Amelia fires off a few letters and asks a few discrete questions. Of the twenty guests that entered Arabella Montessi's salon that night, only Amelia seems to remain in Vienna to tell the tale. It's impossible to trace all the others from fleeting snatches of names and conversations, but for those few she can place the tales are all the same. He left to stay with relatives in Prussia. She has taken off to find her fortune in the far east. He is always disappearing. She has died of a broken heart. Each confirmed missing person adds to Amelia's despair.

"Alright old man. No more riddles. What is going on?"

"It's Felix to you. Now that I recall."

"Please, dear Felix. I don't mean to be improper. Any night the duke could drag me from my bed and I have no idea what I will say to him. Has she really done something terrible to all those people?"

"Every ten years since she came here she does the same thing. She's looking for her next childe. Those who disappoint are never seen again."

"I don't understand." Amelia frowns. "This is unreal." Every ten years. Arabella's eyes, her unnatural strength and pallor, her breathing, sparse and forced. "Is she... is she a devil?" Amelia presses her eyes shut tight and whispers, "Are you?"

"Come on kid." the old man laughs, "I'm not that important. We're blood drinkers. Immortal undead. She ate them. Simple as that."

The walls feel like they're closing in on her.

"Why?"

The empty room is silent.

"What do you want with Franz, what is it you want from me?"

The old man has said all he will for now. She casts her mind back and she already has those answers. Franz is the justice. Day to day he must influence who will be investigated, who will be prosecuted by the crown. He is just a tool to these creatures, rivals to one another. At some point each monster began to use him, unaware that he was already being used, which is how he came to be exhausted all the while. The marriage has been a farce. The duke threatens even that, all for the sake of seducing Lady Montessi into breaking some secret cardinal law. They must both be unaware of the old man's influence. Amelia is being used just like Franz, pulled in different directions with no hope of understanding why.

"Felix." she sighs softly. "I don't know what to do anymore. Are you there?"

The silent shadows of the dark bedroom seem to mock her, and all the naive hope she brought to this house a year ago.

*

Franz has become skittish around her. He won't hear a word she has to say. He cuts her off and leaves the room if she tries to bring up Count Arpad, or Duke Von Habsburg and she is afraid to pursue it. The all night excursions have stopped, but he sleeps even less than before. The servants tell that he weeps in his chambers.

"I feel safe when you're here you know?" she whispers to the dark. "It's mad, I know it's mad, but I just feel like you're on my side. Is it mad?"

"How can I be on anyone's side?" the old man sniggers. "I'm not even here."

"It's alright." she yawns. "I won't be here long either. At least you told me the truth in the end. Better than either of them."

She snuggles under the blanket. It won't be long until the Duke finds out she's double crossed him. She contemplates taking the sleeping draught the doctor left for her. All of it. A few bitter drops of opium and then no more fear, no more worry.

"I thought it was me, you know? I thought there was something wrong with me, and..."

"You're giving up." He sounds angry.

"I don't feel like I have many choices. Please don't be angry with me. It's not fair." She covers her face with her hands.

"If you give up, if you die, she'll just do it again."

His presence settles around her like a blanket, she feels his anger melt away, but determination replaces it.

"Why can't the Duke stop her without me?"

She despairs at his silence.

"I'm nothing."

"No. I'm nothing. You are hope."

*

Felix knows that the vampire rests in the crypt beneath St. Stephens church. Felix will protect her. He can pull the vampire into the cameo picture as long as no-one else is watching, just like he pulled Amelia into the tapestry. Amelia carries the cameo tight in her fist and tries not to think too hard about the madness of it all. Doing nothing is not an option if she wants to live, and she does want to live with all her heart, but it's not that. She can't close her eyes without remembering flashes of Arabella's innocent victims, or poor Heather's purple face. They never had a chance. It's her duty to end this.

She kneels at the altar screen clutching the little picture and prays. Let Franz see the light. Let him find the strength to hear the truth. Maybe together they can persuade the duke to leave them be, pay him off somehow, and never speak of him again. Maybe there's a place in the world far from these monsters. But first, somehow, she must keep her word, for she knows now she will never survive the duke's displeasure.

As she murmurs her prayers to herself, eyes on the image of God, she hears a sharp intake of breath echo from the shadows.

Arabella is still a vision of loveliness, though her eyes are rimmed in bloody tears. Her clothes in disarray, her hair uncombed, she is the picture of madness. Fear steals Amelia's breath.

"Are you real?" Arabella's beautiful voice is cracked with sorrow. The vampire moves closer, a hand outstretched.

Amelia baulks in terror.

"God help me, will you kill me too? How could you?" Amelia sobs. She feels the comforting presence of Felix and stops short of taking flight, though she backs away from the creature to keep her distance. "All those poor people! To think I trusted you."

"Please don't. You have no right." The vampire stops advancing and lowers her hand. "You don't know how long I've waited for you. You have no idea how hard it's been." She clutches at her crumpled dress, and her knuckles whiten as she tears at it. "I won't go on like this, I can't. We'll go away together. I can keep you safe from them. We could go to St. Petersburg, we could go to Rome, just say the word, it's freedom dearest child, I can give you the world, just..." the sorrow in her eyes, the desolation, "... Just don't look at me like that! They had to go, don't you see? They weren't like you. They weren't perfect."