The younger man he’d been talking to was regarding her intently. As her glance fell on him, he began to quickly pack up some papers.
“This is Asp, a senior pupil here at the university.”
She nodded politely. The room was astounding, like nothing she had ever seen. Full-length gold brocade curtains hung in luxurious folds, two deep leather sofas were positioned either side of a crackling fire, and atop an ornate wooden sideboard, two cut-glass tumblers had been set out beside a full decanter. A mahogany coffee table between the sofas was strewn with leather-bound books, and a stag’s head watched over the scene from above the mantelpiece. Lenka slipped off her satchel. This was not a schoolroom.
Herr Blum observed her, still wearing that curious air of amusement.
A curt nod of dismissal passed from him to the other man.
“This is like a gentleman’s club, ja?” said the one called Asp. He knocked back the remainder of his drink, turned back to face Herr Blum and bowed, placing his right hand onto his chest with the two middle fingers tucked in and the thumb underneath. “I bid you goodnight, Heinrich.”
Then, with a mocking bow in her direction, he smiled. “Fräulein Heller!”
After the younger man departed and the main door had clicked shut behind him, the thought occurred to her that they were completely alone in the building, yet she felt no alarm at the impropriety, only intense curiosity.
“Please, take a seat.”
She perched on the edge of one of the leather sofas.
“Drink?”
“No, thank you. Are there no other pupils?”
“No.”
“I have one-to-one tuition with you? For English and French?”
He laughed, sinking comfortably onto the opposite sofa, his eyes never leaving hers for a second.
The moment was profound. Flames swirled around the dimly lit walls, and the aroma of whisky and tobacco laced the air, along with something else… musk… herbs…
He crossed a long leg over one knee. “You will need some English and French, of course. Do you have any languages other than German? Czechoslovakian?”
“Yes, both.”
He acknowledged this with a small incline of his head, a smile hovering at the edge of his lips. “Serbian? Hungarian?”
“No.”
“Latin?”
“A little.”
“May I call you Lenka?”
Startled, still uncomfortably hot in the face, she nodded.
“Lenka, you cannot be surprised if I tell you that you are here for a reason and it is not particularly to learn English and French. You are a peasant girl, a farmer’s daughter, are you not, and only just turned sixteen? Yet here you are, unchaperoned, with a private university tutor in Ingolstadt.” He waved a well-manicured hand at the opulence of the room. “A university renowned for its excellence and, um… filthy rich splendour. So, tell me why you think you are here?”
I am part of you… I can take away all your grief, loneliness and pain…
“I think I might take that drink after all, Herr Blum.”
When he stood, the movement was as gracefully fluid as that of a dancer. And when a moment later he leaned over her shoulder to place a glass of burgundy wine in her hand, the musky smell of him – of sandalwood, cedar and spice – lingered. It was all over him, all over his skin…
Her hand shook a little as she took the proffered glass. Why the hell did she have to be dressed in a schoolgirl pinafore and stout shoes? Indeed, she did look like a peasant from Bohemia, a child peasant with silly coiled braids. She stared at his shoes, at the soft, polished black leather.
“Drink,” he said. “It will relax you.”
She took a long gulp and then another, the desire to take down her hair and rip off the starched pinafore quite overpowering. She struggled with her sense of self. Until recently in life, she’d always enjoyed the upper hand. “All right, I think I am here because…”
Never speak of who you are or what you know!
“It’s all right, you can trust me. Your mother told you there would be someone here who would take you to the next level, yes?”
Her eyes grew wide. She took another deep drink, hoping her hands weren’t visibly trembling. “And this is you?”
“It is.”
“And you want me to say what I am and what I can do? Yet people like me, with my abilities, have been imprisoned and put to death – it is more than my life is worth. This could be a trick—”
“Trust me. It is the reason you are here.”
“I don’t understand. At a university? Who are you?”
He shook his head. “Tell me, have you have had the gift of second sight all your life?”
“Yes.”
“Go on, I would like to hear more.”
“I… um…” She swirled the plum-coloured liquid around and around, uncomfortably aware of the crackle and rush of the fire, of the heat in her veins, of his intense scrutiny. What was she to do?
She took another gulp, after which the answer came out in a rush, “Well, yes, I’ve always had it. It could be fun, you know, guessing what was going to happen to people? I knew what they were thinking and how they were feeling. Sometimes I did mischievous things like putting thoughts into their heads or sending them a bad dream. It’s hard to explain if you don’t—”
He yawned. “Common tricks. Many a gypsy fortune-teller will tell you quite accurately what is on your mind. What I would like to know is what happened when you turned sixteen, after your grandmother passed?”
She downed the rest of the liquor. Her cheeks blazed. “What do you mean? What do you know about that?”
“More than you can imagine. Now tell me what happened at the, um… funeral?”
“It sounds as though you know already, Herr Blum?”
“Do not play games with me, Lenka.”
The alteration in tone caught her unaware, and she turned her face away to stare into the fire. “Well, it was not so long ago; it’s still very fresh in my mind.”
“I am sure it must have been very upsetting.” He leaned over and topped up her glass. “Drink, drink… Take your time, but it is very important you tell me exactly what happened. You see, I really do want to know.”
The axis of the room shifted, and her words sounded syrupy and slurred to her own ears. “Baba Olga was dying, so my mother and I travelled to Mooswald where she and the family had camped. When we arrived, it was almost too late.”
“But she did speak to you?”
“Oh yes. I was told she had a powerful gift of sorcery and that it must be passed on to me. My grandmother had been destroyed by the force of the energy, by the dark spirits attached to her, and died a terrible death. Well, the thing is, Baba Olga thought I was my mother. My mother had pushed me forwards instead of herself – she tricked me, Herr Blum. And so, Baba Olga gave the poppet and the legacy to me.”
“You must have been mad as all hell.”
“Yes, oh yes, I was.”
“Were you initiated that evening?” The manner in which he asked the question was nonchalant, but his eyes burned into hers.
“Yes, but they drugged me, so I don’t remember it very well.” The terrible night surged into her head as if a door had opened wide and pulled her through it.
“And what was the nature of the ceremony?”
She stared into her empty glass, flinching at the barrage of images. Did he have to ask this? How necessary was it?
“Demonic?”
“Yes.”
“The transfer of power was definitely made to you?”
The memory of raw heart being crammed into her mouth, of claw hands holding her down while the horned man raped her triggered an eruption of panic. She nodded, gripping the glass, trying not to cry.