the vampire shrink
by
Lynda Hilburn
SMASHWORDS EDITION
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PUBLISHED BY:
Lynda Hilburn on Smashwords
The Vampire Shrink
Copyright © 2010 by Lynda Hilburn
Print versions of The Vampire Shrink and Dark Harvest (books #1 and #2 in the Kismet Knight, Vampire Psychologist series) are available at a bookstore near you. Or through Medallion Press.
All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.
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TABLE OF CONTENTS
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Chapter 1
My involvement with vampires began innocently enough. Long before the blood hit the fan, so to speak.
Like most psychologists, I’d been trained to view the world through a diagnostic lens, hearing my clients’ stories through my metaphorical ears, searching out the deeper meanings. Thankfully, my tendency to reduce each person to a prevailing neurosis was tempered by my irreverent, dark sense of humor, which kept me from taking myself and the world too seriously.
While I never was as bad as some of my colleagues about believing only in what I could prove – if you couldn’t quantify it, it wasn’t there – I had seen enough bizarre situations in my private psychotherapy practice over the years to make me more skeptical than I was comfortable admitting.
My private practice had its share of UFO abductees, demonic possessions, satanic cult survivors, religious cultists, attached entities – all the newest selections on the menu of emotional and mental pain. Plus, all the “regular” therapy issues.
So, when I opened the door separating my reception area from my office that fateful Friday to welcome my new client, I was only momentarily surprised. Waiting for me was a young woman wearing a long, black dress covered by a dark purple velvet cape. Rings adorned all ten fingers, and a long snake bracelet, with sparkling ruby eyes, wound its way up her arm from wrist to elbow. She had waist-length, light brown hair with multi-colored streaks, and she wore white theatrical makeup, dark red lipstick, and remarkably lifelike, high-quality, removable fangs.
My mind began to pick out the various category boxes I could assign her into. Hmmm, Goth? Vampire wannabe? Acting-out teenager?
“Please come in and have a seat.” I gave my warmest therapy smile and waved my hand in the general direction of the couch and chairs in the center of my office. “I’m Dr. Knight. Please call me Kismet.”
That’s quite an outfit. Spectacular, really. This sweet, young thing has a flair for the dramatic. What’s that delicious fragrance? Sandalwood?
She walked in silently, handed me the packet of forms she’d filled out in the waiting room and sat down in the chair farthest from where I was standing. Scanning the information, I noticed she’d listed her name as Midnight.
“Midnight? That’s a lovely name. Is there a last name?”
“No. I have no need of anything from my human past,” she said, with exaggerated seriousness.
Okay. Let’s not assume the obvious. I chose a chair across from her and picked up my note pad and pen. “Tell me how I can help you.”
“I’m only here because my family made me come. They can’t accept my choices and they’re hoping you’ll talk me out of wanting to be a vampire. They want you to fix me.” Her voice separated each angry word like little staccato notes.
She gave me the once-over I’d come to recognize from my younger clients: the smirking scan that evaluated my tailored, light blue suit and sensible black heels and found them hopelessly conventional. Then, inevitably, her eyes moved to my hair, which was very long, curly, and often had a mind of its own. The dissonance between my conservative suit and unintentional rock-star hair disrupted the inner picture she was constructing of me. I always enjoy the flash of confusion that washes over their faces at that point. My inner trickster is never far away.
She hiked her dress up until the hem rested on her knees and crossed her legs dramatically. “You’re not what I expected.”
“What did you expect?”
“Someone old, with her hair in a bun and no makeup. You’re not that much older than me. And you’re pretty. You remind me of that singer my mother listens to all the time. Sarah Brightman. The one with the long, dark hair and blue eyes.”
“Thank you. I enjoy her, too. Are you comfortable with someone who isn’t old and who doesn’t have her hair in a bun?”
She frowned. “I guess so.”
I could see that her need to connect was struggling with her automatic protective defenses, and the jury was out about which one would continue the session.
“Well, tell me about your desire to be a vampire. How long have you wanted to be one?”
She tilted her head, pursed her lips and sat silently for a few seconds. Quick flashes of emotion danced across her face as fear, disappointment, and resentment gave way to hope.
“Ever since I met Devereux – or Dev, as we call him – about a year ago,” she said, dreamily.
Ah, connection won. Maybe she’ll let me in.
“Why would meeting Dev make you want to be a vampire?”
“Well, duh, because he is one.” She rolled her chocolate-brown eyes, and made that “tsk” sound with her tongue against her teeth.
I kept the practiced smile on my face, and ignored the teenage angst. “Can you tell me about Dev?”
She stared down at the floor, using the tip of her tongue to play with the fake fangs. “I don’t think I’m supposed to talk about him. He wouldn’t want me to. He says it’s better if no one believes vampires really exist.”
Oh, I see. Her sharp little fangs fit perfectly over her own canines, with an almost-invisible band holding them – similar to braces. How clever.
“Do you believe that vampires really exist?” I tried not to sound as if there was only one right answer to the question.
“Oh, yes. You wouldn’t believe what I’ve seen. Denver has tons of vampires.”
“Really? Midnight, I want you to know that anything we talk about in here is completely confidential. You can feel free to tell me anything you want, and it will go no further. I’d really like to hear about all these vampires.”
Vampires. Well, that certainly is a change of pace from aliens and demon possessions.
She raised an eyebrow. “How do I know you won’t tell my parents?”
“Unless you’re going to hurt yourself or someone else, I will never tell anyone anything that we discuss,” I explained, giving her my ethically required disclaimer.
She paused a moment, studying me. “Well, I guess it’s okay then, since you can’t tell anybody.”
She uncrossed her legs and shifted forward in the chair. “So, what do you want to know?”
“Why don’t you just start at the beginning?”
She nodded. “I met the vampires right after I graduated from high school last year. My friends all went down to that cool club that used to be a huge, old church in the funky section of downtown – it’s called The Crypt. We’ve got the best fake IDs, so we just slide right in. But it’s weird. Even though we’ve got the perfect IDs, and they let us in, they never let us buy alcohol. If we go up to the bar, the bartender just laughs at us. Pisses me off. What’s up with that?”
I scribbled notes on my pad. It was a delicate dance to get the words on paper without letting my clients feel abandoned by my split attention. I always wound up with a cramp in my hand after each session from all the fast writing.
Interesting that the club wouldn’t sell drinks to her. Maybe they’d gotten in trouble for serving minors before?
She worried her bottom lip with the tip of one of her fangs, as if it gave her time to think before speaking again.
“Anyway, there are several levels to the club and one of them, down in the basement – we call it the dungeon – is private. There were curtains over the doorway, but my friend, Emerald and I, we waited ‘til the guy who guarded the door left for a minute, and then we sneaked down and peeked in through the crack and saw all these amazing people,” she reported, an expression of awe on her face from the memory.
“Amazing people?”
“Yeah, two different kinds, really. A whole bunch of kids around my age, maybe a few years older, all dressed up sorta Goth, but not really, wearing white paint on their faces and red on their lips. Then there were the other ones. So beautiful. They wore regular stuff like leather, and didn’t have the white makeup on, but they were totally awesome. They looked a little older, maybe in their 20s or 30s, and they all had gorgeous, long hair . . .”
She stared off for a moment, her mouth hanging loosely open, having gotten lost in the vision.
“So, they were totally awesome?”
She nodded her head slowly. “Totally.”
“And then what happened?”
“We were just standing there, scoping out the room, and a hand came through the curtains, opened them, and the hottest guy I’ve ever seen asked if we wanted to come in. Emerald didn’t want to go – she’s afraid of everything – but I really wanted to check out all those people, so I said yes. The hot guy reached out, took my hand and actually kissed the back of it and said his name was Devereux. I thought I was going to pass out just from looking at him. There was something about his eyes.” She paused and glanced over at me, trying to gauge my reaction before she shared any more details.
I felt the muscles in my neck and back tighten, which happened sometimes when I worked too hard at holding in all the opinions that wanted to tumble out of my mouth. Often, having to remain silent was the hardest part of my job.
She met a strange man in a bar. A man dressed in leather, who invited her into a private room. What’s wrong with this picture?
“And then?”
“Then he sorta led me inside and Emerald followed us. There must have been fifty people in that room, and they were all incredible. Dev walked us over to a table, and he was so polite. He pulled out the chairs for us, like in the old movies, and asked if we wanted anything to drink. We both ordered beers – we had to try – but he brought us Cokes, and we just sat there, staring at him. He wasn’t drinking anything, and I asked why not. He said he’d already had his fill for the night, and he just kept smiling and giving us those psychedelic eyes. I didn’t know what he meant back then, but I do now.”
“What do you mean?”
“Are you sure you won’t tell this to anyone? I don’t want to piss off Dev,” she said, and appeared to read my face for signs of deception.
“I promise,” I assured her.
She nodded. I’d evidently passed the test.
“Well, he drinks blood, ya know? That’s what vampires do. So, when he said he was full, he meant he had already ‘eaten’ for the night,” she explained, her voice light and casual, as if we were talking about the weather.
Yuck. He drinks blood. Can you say mental illness?
“Do you drink blood?”
That, obviously, was a loaded question, because Midnight started scraping her lower lip against her upper teeth. She twisted the edge of her cape in her hands and stared down into her lap.
“Midnight? Are you all right?”
She squirmed in the chair. “Yeah. It just feels creepy to talk about this.”
“Do you mean because of what your family would think?”
She hesitated. “No, because of what Dev would do if he found out.” Her voice softened. “We’re not allowed to drink blood.”
Thank heavens for that.
“We’ll come back to the blood in a minute. What’s your relationship with Dev?” I was becoming more and more suspicious of this seemingly charismatic character.
Catching the drift of my concern, Midnight shook her head. “He’s just a friend. All the girls are after him, but he said we’re too young and that he’s into older women. We all hit on him, but he never goes out with any of us. He’s in charge – the boss, I guess.”
The vampire Bruce Springsteen? “The boss of what?”
“The vampires. And the apprentices.”
“The apprentices?” I had a sudden vision of several vampire wannabes sitting around a conference table in New York with Donald Trump. A vampire Donald Trump. I fought to keep the amusement from creeping onto my face. My sense of humor is such a challenge.
“That’s what we call ourselves.”
“Let’s go back to the drinking blood part. You seemed to have a strong reaction when I asked you about that. Why?”
She lowered her eyes and chewed her bottom lip again. “Dev lets us hang around with him and the other vampires, but he won’t let anyone take blood from us and he won’t let us drink blood, either. He said that only real vampires can use blood the way it was meant to be used. Since we’re officially still human, we could get diseases that vampires can’t get. He has lots of rules about what we can and can’t do if we want to be with them.”
Okay, so maybe the guy isn’t totally whacked if he keeps them from the blood thing.
“So, what is it you don’t want him to know?”
Long pause.
I waited silently and watched waves of conflicting emotions flow across her face as she decided what, if anything, she was going to tell me.
“There’s this one guy, Eric, who wants to be a vampire real bad. Dev told him that he wasn’t ready, that he needed to go out and learn about life before becoming the undead, but Eric doesn’t listen. He set up all these rituals at his apartment, where the apprentices drink each other’s blood. He gave us all these neat little necklaces with tiny knives on them, so we can make little cuts in each other’s necks and drink,” she said, her voice breathy. “It would be really bad if Dev found out because he’d be totally angry, and I don’t want to do anything to make Dev mad at me.”
My eyebrows crawled up toward my hairline.
The apprentices drink each other’s blood?
Holy shit.
I hoped she was simply acting out and all this blood stuff was imaginary. I needed to find a non-threatening way to convince her the entire vampire idea was a fantasy.
“Are you afraid of Dev?”
“No. Not the way you mean.”
“But, despite Dev’s disapproval, you go to the rituals at Eric’s apartment?”
She scooted forward excitedly in her chair. “Well, yeah. It’s so much fun. I never would have thought that drinking blood could be so sexual – so romantic,” she gushed.
I tried very hard to keep the neutral expression on my face.
“Sexual? Romantic? What happens at these rituals?”
AIDS! Not to mention viruses, bacteria, and horrors I can’t even comprehend. What about infections from the cuts? Red alert, Kismet.
“Well, first we order a pizza or something and drink some wine, maybe get high, just the same as any other night. Then we pick a partner, and after we take turns drinking a little blood – not much, just a couple of teaspoons – we have sex. It’s the most amazing feeling. I let Eric cut my boob last week and suck on it. It was so hot.”
Is this what she thinks intimacy is? Where did these ideas come from?
“Are you having safe sex?”
She nodded vigorously. “Don’t worry about that. I’ve got a purse full of rubbers!”
I tried to visualize a rubber big enough to fit over Eric’s entire body. I didn’t want to come off as sermonizing or lecturing because she wouldn’t come back, but I had to find a way to communicate to her how dangerous this choice was.
“Midnight, what about diseases you can get through blood transmission? What about AIDS? Drinking blood is very dangerous.”
“Vampires can’t get diseases.”
“Eric and the other apprentices are just regular guys, aren’t they? Human?”
She stared into her lap, silent.
“Will you consider holding off on any more cutting and drinking blood activities until we explore the consequences more thoroughly?”
She stayed silent for so long that I feared she might leap up and flee the office, but she finally gave a loud sigh. “I guess.”
I let out the breath I’d been unconsciously holding. Whew. Talk about a pregnant pause. Even if she’s just humoring me, it’s a start.
“Thank you, Midnight. I appreciate your open mind and your willingness to trust in our work together.
“So, outside of the rituals at Eric’s apartment, the apprentices mostly just dress up and hang around with Dev and his vampire friends at the club downtown?”
She nodded.
“Tell me more about Dev.”
She got that faraway look in her eyes again and lifted out of the subdued mood she’d retreated into.
“He really rocks. So hot. He’s over six feet tall. I am so into tall guys. Gorgeous, long blond hair, aqua – not blue, not green, but aqua – eyes, and a killer bod. He’s always wearing some kind of tight, dark leather.” She sighed and drifted off again for a moment.
Hmmm. That does sound interesting.
Chuckling, I said, “I get the picture. But what’s his story? Why is he hanging out at a bar in downtown Denver? What does he do? Who is he?”
“He doesn’t talk much about that. He told me once that he’s been a vampire for eight hundred years and that he really loves Colorado because the mountains remind him of some place in Europe he lived before he died. But he seems to have a ton of money. He has this amazing loft down the street from the bar, which, by the way, he owns, and the loft is so cool. Sometimes he lets us come over and blast some tunes, and he always keeps lots of food around, even though he doesn’t eat any of it.”
Why does this supposedly gorgeous, wealthy man hang around with teenagers? He has lots of rules for them. Does he see himself as a father figure? Or is he a clever predator?
I glanced over at the clock. “Well, Midnight. Our time is up for today. I’d like to meet with you a couple of times a week for a while so I can get a good sense of how I can help you. Would you be willing to do that?”
“I guess so. You seem cool, and it’s a relief to finally be able to talk to somebody about it. Usually I have to be careful what I tell anyone, even Emerald.”
We scheduled our next appointment and I walked her out into the waiting area, wondering how she’d look without all the makeup. I shook my head and thought about what a miracle it was that any of us survived our teenage years.
Since Midnight was my last client of the day, I sat at my desk, kicked off my shoes, and created a case file for her. I hadn’t been able to decide on a specific diagnosis yet, but I selected some possible options and then added a sheet of informal notes to her case file:
Female, nineteen years old. Referred by family. After some half-hearted resistance, she readily shared her experiences. In fact, she seemed overly eager to unburden herself. Almost too willing to share all the outrageous details. I need to explore how seriously she takes this fantasy world she’s created. She’s articulate and intelligent, but naive. She has an outgoing personality and a trusting nature that is both sweet and problematic. Is this a bid for attention or a cry for help? She is participating in some very dangerous activities and is reluctant to acknowledge what she’s doing because this peer group is probably her main support. Explore disconnection from family. Set boundaries and create a contract for healthier behavior.
Geez. Life isn’t weird enough. We need to go out and drink blood. Why didn’t I think of that?
But I had to admit, the topic had already captured my interest. I was, after all, subject to the same rules as any other psychologist: publish or perish. I was due to write another book, and the pressure was on. And, if truth be told, my life had become boring. I had accomplished all the goals I’d set for myself and settled into a listless rhythm. After the excitement of always graduating earlier than expected from every academic program I’d ever attended, adapting to the monotony of private practice was less than thrilling. It would be good to have a challenge after my spectacular failures in the realm of relationships..
I turned on my office computer and searched for everything I could think of about the subject: vampires, vampirism, blood, blood drinking, cults, mind control, immortal beings, etc. I was inundated with fiction stories about vampires, historical research on blood-drinkers, case studies involving the self-proclaimed undead, and websites for wannabes. Talk about an education.
I printed out examples of the most informative sources and spent a good three hours at my desk, reading through psychological reference books, seeking a trail of crumbs. By the time I came up for air and checked the clock, it had become full dark. I usually tried to avoid walking out of my office by myself at night. Too many lost souls wandering the streets.
“Shit, shit, shit,” I said aloud as I gathered the papers and tucked them into my briefcase. I put my shoes back on, found my purse and my car keys, locked up my office and headed out to the elevator.
At that time of night, the building was deserted and the elevator came right away. I rode down, holding my keys with the car alarm clicker in my hand, and strode out the front door of my six-story office building. Luckily, I had parked conspicuously beneath one of the street lights in the parking lot across the street. My champagne-colored BMW was the only car left, so I figured I would be safe.
Just as I walked out of the building, I caught a blurred movement out of the corner of my eye, felt the hairs on my arms raise and noticed a shadow to my right. A male figure stepped away from where he’d been leaning against the wall. He stood there, gazing at me, smiling. Almost close enough for me to touch. We locked eyes for a long moment. The light shining out of the front of my building was bright enough for me to notice that he was gorgeous. Long, blond hair, dazzling eyes, and tight leather pants.
Hey, wait a minute. Stop ogling the good looks of the guy who’s about to jump on you and run!
And I did.
For someone who sat on her butt all day talking to people, I could still move pretty fast when I wanted to. I was blessed with one of those long, lean, runner’s bodies, an inheritance from my father’s side of the family, and my body fat percentage was on the low end. But due to my mother’s genetic contribution, I was too well endowed to actually enjoy running on a regular basis.
The fight-or-flight instinct is an awesome thing.
I sprinted over to my car, clicked the lock, yanked the door open, jumped in, and secured the door. My heart was pounding out a heavy metal drum solo in my chest as I turned the key in the ignition.
Once I was safely barricaded, and the reasoning portion of my brain sauntered back to the party, it occurred to me that I hadn’t heard any footsteps following me as I ran. I scanned the area in all directions, and could find no threat of any kind. The handsome mugger or rapist had vanished. Or maybe it had been some regular guy, enthralled by my grace and beauty, and I’d scared him off when I’d bolted. Yeah, right, Kismet.
My heartbeat began to slow down to some semblance of normal. I’d have to say that was the most exciting thing that’d happened in weeks, which said a lot about the pathetic state of my social life.
I sat there until the adrenaline rush subsided and then shifted into drive. I need a new office. I drove out of the parking lot and steered the car along one of the many one-way streets that confound the traffic in downtown Denver.
I caught a red light a few streets over, which gave me a moment to check out the nightlife in this popular part of town. The club Midnight told me about – the old church that had supposedly been converted into a play temple for the Children of Darkness – took up an entire city block. It really was a beautiful building. All that incredible stained glass. Funny that I’d never noticed it before. Just as the light turned green and I put my foot on the gas, I saw a tall man with long, blond hair standing on the entrance steps. He nodded and waved at me when I passed.
#
I drove home to my new townhouse, punched in my security code and locked myself into my own, personal sanctuary.
I lit an aromatherapy candle, poured myself a glass of white wine, sat down in my favorite chair, one of those puffy, huge chairs with an equally large ottoman, and stretched out, letting my thoughts wander back to the blond man.
That was just too weird. My mind must be playing tricks on me. It couldn’t possibly have been the same guy, could it? Well, wait a minute. That club was only a couple of blocks from my office, and if he had been the one who saw me run to my car, then it made sense that he could have recognized the car again when I passed him. It was merely a coincidence he was at that particular club, which I only noticed because I’d heard about it today.
Just a coincidence.
But, then again. The guy in front of my office building resembled the blond, gorgeous, blood-drinking – maybe mentally ill – guy Midnight had talked about. Could I be so desperate for male company that I conjured up the image from her words? I have an active imagination, but this was ridiculous.
I carried my glass of wine over to my desk, opened my briefcase and spilled out all the vampire material I’d printed. Then I turned on my computer, clicked on the TV and prepared to spend the next couple of hours researching possible topics for a new book.
“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Count Dracula,” blared from the speakers.
Startled, I looked up at the TV then laughed. There he was, the sexiest vampire ever. Frank Langella as Dracula, circa early 1980s. He had the best lips – pouty, full and definitely come-hither, and eyes that wouldn’t be denied. One of my college roommates had been a real vampire fan, and she had an extensive collection of bloodsucker movies.
I sat back and enjoyed watching Frank’s lips for a while, finishing my glass of wine. As the end of the movie approached, I clicked off the TV, because I didn’t want to watch those sweet lips get fried by the sun in the film’s finale.
I had a sudden memory of the last time I’d watched this movie in college, sitting with my roommates and listening to them scream at the end, rooting for the vampire to break free and fly away. Afterward they all talked about what fun it would be to invite some dark, window-tapping stranger into their beds.
Hmmm. Vampires as erotic fantasy material. Listening to my roommates that long-ago night, the budding psychologist in me had been intrigued, but I considered vampires to be horror movie and comic book fare. I was not the kind of person who believed in the supernatural or the mystical. I’d found that most things turned out to have rather predictable explanations.
Of course, since then I’d taken the required class in Jungian Psychology in graduate school and I knew all about his theory of synchronicities – the interconnection between inner and outer realities based on the idea of a collective unconscious. Jung said that there are no coincidences and the universe functions through an unknowable intelligence. I could even agree with that on an abstract level. Yes, it did seem odd I was experiencing things that appeared to be related on the surface. But, contemplating the cosmic possibilities of metaphysics was a helluva lot different from believing in vampires.
But, still. This had been one strange day.
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Chapter 2
I spent most of the weekend immersed in my vampire research. It turns out that thousands of vampire pretenders exist in the world. Reading through some of the web sites gave me a better understanding of the scope of the illusion. Most of the wannabes were very sad – young people searching for meaning, connection, and love in a world where they hadn’t found any. Some were simply drawn to the excitement, danger, and forbidden fruit. Then there were others – the wounded souls who had crossed the line between acting out and psychosis.
By Sunday afternoon, I had formulated a plan of action, and I was excited. It had been a long time since I’d felt passionate about my work. I was going to become the Vampire Psychologist. Well, Vampire-Wannabe Psychologist, anyway. I would run ads in all the local newspapers, offering both individual and group psychotherapy for vampires.
Yes, I thought, mentally rubbing my hands together, this had bestseller written all over it.
I had found a brand new dysfunction-of-the-week, which mixed in just enough mental illness with some scary occult sensationalism to be a bona fide hit. Maybe I’d even get to go on Oprah!
While I daydreamed about my impending stardom, my stomach growled in angry protest. When was the last time I’d eaten? I tended to forget mundane details such as food and, as a consequence, strolled into the kitchen foraging for something edible. As usual, the refrigerator was cluttered with old take-out boxes, the contents of which were no longer recognizable, along with bottled water and a substance that was probably cheese. My kitchen was a potent reminder that I was exceptionally organized and efficient in my professional life but completely oblivious to the other aspects.
Shopping fell into the category of torture for me. Not only did I have the impatience of my “Type A” personality to deal with, but being around all those people – their energy I guess, for lack of a better word – seemed to wipe me out. According to my parents, I’d always been “too sensitive” and receptive to the moods of the people around me. Well, I guess that’s why I became a psychologist, but my sensitivity certainly complicated the rest of my life.
Another stomach growl prompted me to call out for Chinese, so I picked up the phone and heard the beeping sound that told me I had messages. The phone hadn’t rung, had it? I checked the ringer volume and remembered that I’d turned the phone off. Damn. How many days ago? Since all my client calls went to my business number, I sometimes forgot all about my home phone. Luckily, my answering service had my cell number in case they needed to reach me for a client emergency.
I poured myself a cup of coffee then punched in the retrieval number to access my calls.
The first message made me grin. It was from Vaughan, the very cute chiropractor I’d met when we’d both volunteered to answer phones at the local PBS fundraiser a couple of months ago. I think he’d called me once before, but I couldn’t remember if I’d returned the call or simply thought about returning it. He really was adorable with his light green eyes, curly chestnut hair, and that delicious dimple. It probably wouldn’t hurt to call him back. After my spectacular failures with men, I’d become such a coward about dating.
Hearing the next voice made me catch my breath. Dr. Thomas Radcliffe. The man I’d been willing to change my life for. The man I thought was the answer to my prayers. The man who told me I didn’t excite him and who dumped me for an airy-fairy astrologer who wore crystals and smelled of patchouli oil. After all this time, thinking about him still made me want to cry. It had been two painful years, and I had only recently started to feel good again. Two long years of going over everything I’d said or done, trying to understand what it was about me that hadn’t been quite good enough. Shades of my lonely childhood.
He said he’d be in Denver for training and he wanted to get together for lunch, to “catch up and touch base.” He always talked that way. I wondered if his vocabulary had expanded to include all the astrological information he surely must be privy to. No matter. I had no intention of meeting him for lunch or anything else. The welcome mat had definitely been pulled out from under Tom Radcliffe. He might still have the keys to my libido, but the rest of me wouldn’t go along for the ride anymore. I erased his message and called the Chinese restaurant.
#
Midnight came in for her second appointment the following Monday.
She still wore the white makeup and the fake fangs, but instead of being shrouded in a long cape, she was dressed like that campy TV vamp, Elvira, Mistress of the Dark, in a very low-cut, cleavage enhancing, tight, black dress. She glided into the room and bonelessly melted into the chair. She seemed to be in an upbeat mood.
I picked up my pad and pen and sat down. “It’s nice to see you again, Midnight. I can’t help but notice that you’re smiling a lot today. What’s got you in such fine spirits?”
“I met someone.” Her grin spread wider.
Now we’re talking. I settled back in my chair. Maybe a nice college guy or Peace Corp volunteer?
“Well, he must really be something to light you up this way. Tell me about him.”
She selected a lock of her long hair and began twirling it around her finger. “He’s one of the new vampires who started coming to the club. His name is Bryce, and he is so hot. I’d seen him around for a couple of weeks, but it wasn’t until this past weekend that he came over and talked to me. We spent the whole night together, and it was like a dream. The first time I’d ever had sex with a real vampire.”
Vampires, again! I struggled to keep the dismay from my face. To give myself a moment to regroup, I jotted down a couple of notes on the pad. Well. I gave a mental sigh. I guess it was too much to hope that the fantasy would start to fade already. I wonder if they’d take away my license if I locked her in a closet until she passed through this phase?
I met her eyes. “You had sex with a stranger?”
Her body language altered ever so slightly, just enough for me to notice that my question had pushed a button.
“That makes it sound bad or dirty. It wasn’t dirty. It was beautiful. We just got swept away.” She almost sang the last two words. Still smiling, she carefully smoothed out the wrinkles on her dress and flipped one side of her hair back away from her face, avoiding eye contact.
I wish someone would throw away the book that we women keep handing down to each other. The one with all the ridiculous reasons why we lose our minds in the presence of some man.
“How old is Bryce?” I asked.
She examined the blood-colored fingernails on her right hand. “I’m not sure. I don’t think he’s as old as Devereux – around 200, maybe – but he looks about 30.”
He’s 200 years old? Well, I did ask.
“Don’t you think he might be a bit too old for you? What are you hoping will happen between the two of you?”
“I think he’s the one I’ve been waiting for.”
Waiting for? You’re only 19. I need some magic words, here.
I started to respond, but just then she turned her head and stared out the window, deep in thought. I waited, and after a while she brought her gaze back to me, all the joy wiped from her face. “Bryce says he’ll bring me over if I want.”
“Bring you over?”
“Make me a vampire.”
Okay. She said she wants to be a vampire, and this guy is offering to help her out, but it doesn’t appear that she thinks it’s a good thing. She’s definitely sending out mixed signals. What’s really going on here?
I noted she’d raised her chin at the end of her last statement, exposing the attitude of defiance that had also crept into her voice, so I decided to push the envelope a bit.
“I thought Dev wouldn’t let you do that. Have you talked to him about your new guy?”
Come on, Dev. Be a father figure instead of a predator. It sounds like Bryce wants that job.
“No.” Her fists tightened in her lap. “He hates Bryce. He already asked me to stay away from him, but why should I? Why shouldn’t I have a relationship with Bryce? Who is Dev to make those decisions for me? He isn’t my father.”
Ah. Bingo.
“Did he tell you why he wanted you to stay away from Bryce?”
The anger that had started out as a slow leak now flooded the room.
“He said Bryce was one of the bad guys, that he used people and he didn’t care about anyone but himself. Then I had to sit there while he went on and on about how vampires are no different from humans – there are good ones and bad ones – and how I’m not ‘mature’ enough to know the difference. Who does he think he is? He doesn’t care that I finally found someone who wants me.”
She burst into tears.
And the wall comes tumbling down . . .
I moved the tissue box closer to her and said softly, “It sounds like Dev hurt your feelings . . . “
She blew her nose, and nodded.
“Why is Dev so important to you?”
“He’s the first person who ever paid any attention to me,” she sobbed. “I hoped he’d change his mind about me being too young for him. I really love him, and he treats me like a kid.”
“That must be very frustrating.”
“Yeah,” she sighed. “But I know he cares about me. Just not the way I want him to.”
“Is it possible that having a big-brother type of love might be special in its own way? After all, having someone who watches out for you is worth a lot.”
“I never thought of it that way.” She frowned and paused to think about it. “Maybe I should talk to him?”
I nodded and relaxed my tight shoulders. “I think that would be an excellent idea.”
Maybe this Dev guy isn’t so tweaked, after all.
We sat quietly for a couple of minutes.
“Midnight, are you seriously considering becoming a vampire?”
Becoming a vampire had started to sound like a euphemism to me, and I was sensing the same vibe I got when a client hinted about suicide, without actually saying the words.
“I don’t know. Last night Bryce and I took a little blood from each other. It was the first time that a real vampire had bitten me. He did it while we were having sex, which felt great, but I think I must have passed out for a while because I couldn’t remember what happened after that. He told me he had chosen me because I was ready. I don’t want to let him down.”
Let him down?
Bryce was setting off all my inner alarms. I wished I could see the skin hidden by all that hair so I could tell if she had any cuts or bite marks.
Did he drug her? He’s obviously playing into the vampire fantasy. Is he a manipulative slimeball or something even worse?
“I thought we made an agreement that you’d hold off on any blood drinking activities until we talked about it? What if Bryce has some kind of illness? Is he worth dying for?”
She scowled. “I think you’re making it a bigger deal than it is. I know I told you I’d wait, but we got so caught up in the moment. Bryce said that if I really loved him, I’d want to share everything with him. I know how that sounds, but at the time it made perfect sense. He just looked at me and I knew it was the right thing to do. Besides, Bryce said if I do decide to become a vampire, any disease that I might have would go away.”
Shit. We’ve crossed the line now. I’m legally required to report harm to self or other and, even though Midnight isn’t a minor, she’s at risk. If I get the authorities involved in this, Midnight will never trust me again. But if I don’t . . .
I leaned forward in my chair, and locked eyes with her. “Would you be willing to give this some time? Will you promise me – I mean really promise me – that you won’t make any decisions about becoming a vampire or drinking blood without talking to me first? It’s a very big deal.”
I let the honest concern I felt show in my face, and I watched the suspicion in her eyes soften into possibility as she sensed my sincerity. I really didn’t want to bring in the police unless I absolutely had to, and I needed time to deepen our connection.
She heaved an exaggerated sigh. “Well, I guess I could do that.”
I persuaded her to put off the decision for a couple of weeks and we spent the rest of the session exploring some of her background. “Tell me about your father,” and she did. The hour flew by.
As she stood to leave she said, “I told some of the other kids about you and a few of them might want to come and talk. Would that be okay?”
“Sure. That would be great.” I gathered some business cards from my desk and handed them to her. “Just ask them to call to schedule an appointment.”
I walked her into the reception area and she stopped with her hand on the doorknob and turned toward me again. “Oh, yeah. I forgot to tell you. I told Dev I was coming to see you that first time – that my parents were making me see a shrink – and he was very interested in that. Well, anyway, he was waiting for me after our appointment, and he asked me lots of questions about you and what we talked about. He asked me how you look. I told him everything. He said he might drop in to meet you sometime, and that I should tell you.”
“If he’d care to make an appointment, I’d be happy to see him.”
“It would have to be at night.” She gave a mischievous grin.
I nodded. “That’s perfectly fine. I often see clients in the evenings.” I didn’t add that it was one of my least favorite things to do. But if I was going to specialize in vampire wannabes, I’d have to get used to the nocturnal schedule.
She left and I went back into my office.
#
I met with a few more clients that afternoon and early evening and had just kicked off my shoes when I heard the door to the reception area open. I quickly scanned my appointment book to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anyone. Finding I hadn’t, I put my shoes back on, and opened my office door.
Sitting in one of the chairs in the waiting room was the very same gorgeous, blond-haired, leather-clad man I’d seen outside my building.
My stomach lurched and I think I made a gasping sound.
He stood when I opened the door and it was fluid motion, as if he had simply willed himself vertical. His body was all lean muscle radiating some kind of primal power. He moved elegantly over to me, gave a slight bow of his head, and offered a glorious smile.
Dressed all in black, his snug leather pants, form-fitting silk T-shirt and long leather duster gave the impression of high fashion rather than Harley Davidsons.
I froze in the doorway with my mouth hanging open, speechless, staring into the most amazing pair of turquoise eyes I’d ever seen.
He picked up my hand gently and kissed the back, his lips soft and silky. “I am Devereux. Is this a good time for an appointment?”
* * * * *
CHAPTER 3
So many emotions slammed against each other inside me that I didn’t know which one to act on first.
Fear decided to step to the front of the line, and my mind began to weigh options in case the man physically attacked me. He didn’t seem menacing at the moment, but he was much bigger than me – much stronger – and I hadn’t spent as much time in the gym as I probably should have. Hell, I hadn’t spent any. Obviously, he had.
My heart raced and I still hadn’t formed a coherent sentence or done anything beyond stare at him like a deer in his headlights.
What was happening to me? My eyelids felt as though they were wearing cement overshoes, my jaw sagged open, the air suddenly became thick, and a sumo wrestler pounded on my chest. The normal background white noise acquired a sharp edge and turned into a persistent buzz, vibrating in my ears. I felt as if I was in some kind of trance.
He took a step back from me and released my hand. “I am very sorry. I have frightened you. That was never my intention. Sometimes I forget how intense we can be. You must be a keenly sensitive individual. I will endeavor to control myself. Please accept my sincere apologies.”
You will endeavor to control yourself? I’m the one having the meltdown.
He lowered his gaze for a moment, and when he met my eyes again, the tension drained from my muscles, and I could breathe. It felt as though a switch had been thrown, and I was once again in charge of my body functions. I could still hear the hum in my ears, but it had diminished in volume. I ran my tongue over my very-dry lips.
“You did startle me. I wasn’t expecting anyone this evening.”
Both times I’d seen this man, he’d caused my anxiety levels to blast through the roof. I wanted to scream at him that it was absolutely not acceptable he’d come unannounced to my office, and that his habit of lurking around me was going to earn him a trip to the police station. He seemed altogether too sure of himself. I wanted him to know he couldn’t just stroll in and expect me to drop everything and attend to him. No matter how gorgeous he was.
Instead, I swallowed the irritation, opted for whatever remnants of professional demeanor I could summon, and said, “Well, Mr. Devereux, why are you here?”
He cocked his head and flashed that god-like smile again. “Just Devereux. As I mentioned a moment ago, I had hoped this would be a good time for our appointment. I trust Midnight told you I wished to meet with you?”
His voice was unusually pleasant. The timbre of it flowed through me like a favorite song, as if I were listening to him with my entire body. He had a lilting European accent, almost old-fashioned sounding, like he’d stepped out of another century. Strange, how a voice could be so enticing.
I closed my eyes and sniffed the air. What was that wonderful aroma? It seemed to hover around him like an olfactory aura. Maybe he used a special kind of soap or shampoo. Something spicy and masculine and unusual.
He brushed a finger lightly along my arm. “Dr. Knight?”
My eyes flew open and I realized I’d been standing there, blatantly reveling in his scent, making sniffing noises. How embarrassing. What the hell is wrong with me?
Come on, Kismet. Talking has always been your strong suit. Just one word at a time. Concentrate.
I cleared my throat. “Yes, she did mention that you might call to set up an appointment. Would you care to schedule a time for later this week?” I inhaled a deep breath and tried to remain professional.
I was so nervous my stomach contracted, my hands were sweating and my knee twitched. I’d always had a fear of small spaces, and something about this situation gave me that same, closed-in, panic feeling. He had done nothing obvious to make me afraid, but my entire body felt as if it was waiting for some other shoe to drop. Something about him radiated danger. Almost primal.
“Would it be terribly inconvenient for us to meet now, since I am here?”
That voice. Maybe he was a hypnotist and he knew how to use it to put people under. So soothing. I could stand here and listen to it all night.
I felt myself sliding down that slippery slope again and rallied. I needed to get this guy out of my office before I made a complete fool of myself.
If I’d known I was going to have a mental breakdown today, I’d have penciled it into my book.
“Well, I was just leaving. It would be much better if we could schedule another time . . .”
He reclaimed the step he’d given up, and stated, as if the outcome was already a foregone conclusion, “I would appreciate very much the opportunity to speak with you about Midnight. I am concerned about her.”
Through the cotton candy that had taken up residence in my brain, the voice in my head screamed NO! but my mouth said, “I guess I could give you a few minutes. Please come inside.”
Please come inside? Hey, wait a minute. That isn’t what I meant to say. Where’d that come from?
I backed away from the door, drawing it open so he could enter, leaving it ajar so he wouldn’t be encouraged to make himself too comfortable.
I was about to invite him to sit down when I noticed he’d already seated himself in the chair I usually sat in. I realized he had no way of knowing that was “my” chair, but it still annoyed me.
“Would you mind filling out a little paperwork for me?” Out of habit, I handed him a packet of papers on a clipboard.
He took it. “My pleasure.”
I sat across from him and studied him while he wrote. His hands were artistic-looking, with recently manicured nails, trimmed close. He had very pale skin, with a lovely, translucent sheen to it, which gave him an ageless quality. It wasn’t often that I encountered someone with skin lighter than mine.
His eyes were extraordinary. Midnight was right. They were aqua and beautifully shaped with long, dark eyelashes. I was surprised that his eyebrows and eyelashes were dark because his hair was so light, but the combination was very appealing.
His thick, lovely hair flowed down over his shoulders to mid-chest. It appeared soft and silky and very touchable. And his mouth. Studying his soft, full, generous lips caused a visceral reaction in me. I could imagine the feel of them against mine.
Okay. Take a breath, Kismet. You’re in your office. This is a professional situation. Stop thinking about what you want to do to those lips and pay attention.
As I raised my gaze up from his mouth to his eyes, I found him watching me with an amused expression, apparently finished with the paperwork. Embarrassment warmed my face as I reached out to take the clipboard from him. For some reason, I couldn’t take my eyes off him long enough to even glance at the forms he’d filled out.
I struggled to regain control of myself. “What is it that concerns you about Midnight?”
“Before we speak of that, would you mind if I ask you a question?”
“Well, you can ask. I can’t promise I’ll answer.”
“Do you believe in vampires?”
“What?” Surprise radiated up my spine, and I stiffened in my chair. The buzzing in my ears got louder and I was suddenly very thirsty.
He toyed with a beautiful antique medallion on a chain around his neck. “Do you believe what Midnight has been telling you?”
Okay. Maybe he has a suggestion about how to help Midnight move beyond her vampire fantasy.
To steady myself, I walked over to the small refrigerator in the corner of the room and selected two bottles of water. I set one of them down in front of Devereux, opened the other for myself, took my seat and drank deeply.
Breathe. Just breathe. This can’t be hot flashes. I’m too young.
“I can’t discuss anything that Midnight may or may not have talked to me about. It’s all confidential. But in general, I can tell you that I’ve never seen any evidence to support the existence of vampires or any other supernatural beings.”
The corners of his lips quirked up. “Ah, you are a scientist. Do you wish to see evidence?”
I was getting that claustrophobic feeling again. Maybe this handsome man really was a nut case and I’d allowed myself to be distracted by his obvious assets instead of following my professional instincts. I switched into the noticeably calm voice I use to soothe disturbed clients. “Is it important to you that I believe in vampires?”
He threw back his head and laughed with pure delight. “I have never been called insane in such a lovely way ever before. I can assure you that it is of no importance whatsoever if you believe in vampires or not, but I think the information could prove useful to you. What if I told you that everything Midnight has shared with you is absolutely true?”
Oh, geez.
“Since we can’t talk about anything Midnight might have said, I can only suggest that you tell me directly what you want me to know.”
“I am a vampire.”
Of course you are. “Tell me about being a vampire.”
He laughed again. “As you wish. Until I can convince you of the truth of my words, I will be the good therapy client and follow the rules.”
He seemed to find me very amusing. Hmmm. Inappropriate humor. That’s a symptom in several diagnoses.
I wonder what he’s basing his role on. I’ve never seen a movie vampire who went around telling people he was a vampire. Wasn’t that the point? To avoid the stake in the heart thing? Maybe I could just rattle his delusion a little bit.
“Why do you want me to know you’re a vampire? Isn’t that supposed to be a secret?”
“I want you to know about me because I have a feeling about you. I believe you have a crucial role to play in my life.”
A crucial role in his life?
This was definitely getting out of hand. Maybe I should rework my idea about counseling vampire wannabes. These folks were much more delusional than I thought, and it wasn’t going to be as simple as I first imagined. I’d assumed all my pretend vampires would be similar to my alien abductees: creative, needy, acting out and harmless. I hadn’t considered the possibility that this sub-culture would be populated by psychotics. That would require a totally different treatment plan.
No problem. This is good. I need to know what I’m dealing with.
I glanced over at the clock, thinking of ways I could gracefully end the session.
“Shall I show you one of my vampire abilities?” he asked, his voice deep.
My solar plexus tightened. “I don’t know. What kind of ability is it?” I half expected him to tug a long scarf out of his fist or spread a deck of cards on the table.
“Simple telepathy. Allow me to tell you what you have been thinking.”
He repeated back all my thoughts about things getting out of hand, reconsidering how I’d work with vampire wannabes, that he was being delusional and my wanting to end the session. Word for word.