She put my hand back on my lap and patted it maternally. “In short, don’t take any of his shit!” Giving a theatrical witch’s cackle, she stood and waved her arms to indicate her territory. “I’m always here, and my circle’s always open to you.”
“You should’ve been a therapist.” I said, standing. “You’re pretty good at this interpersonal stuff.”
“I am pretty good at it, but therapy has too many rules. It’s too restrictive. I’m the Healer and Seer for my coven, so I get plenty of opportunities to build my skills. It’s more fun to make things up as I go along. I hope this is only the first of many conversations we’ll have. Remember: take no shit!”
“You’re right. Take no shit!” I yelled, thrusting my fist into the air over my head and realizing it felt good to get into the spirit of things. It had been a while since I’d simply had fun. Professional persona be damned!
Victoria’s eyes went wide and she clamped her hand over her mouth. She was staring at the area behind me and I followed her gaze. Hesitating just inside the glass entrance door a number of people were huddled together. They appeared more inclined to bolt out of the building than to make the trek across the lobby.
My first client of the day, her fiancé and both sets of parents were right on time.
Shit.
Chapter 4
The view from the bank of west-facing windows in my office was spectacular. I stood watching as the sun gracefully descended behind the high peaks of the Rockies, making its daily journey into the archetypal underworld: a solar Persephone, honoring its pledge to rendezvous with the darkness. Surreal colors arced across the sky, creating otherworldly designs, like angelic Rorschach blots.
Watching the amazing light show unfolding above the mountains helped me to put life — both mine and my clients’ — into perspective. This enjoyable ritual gave me a few minutes to weave the threads of the day into a larger tapestry, to cling to the illusion of control.
Remembering the expressions on the faces of my client Deborah, her fiancé Scott and their parents I’d so startled in the lobby after my conversation with Victoria made me smile. I could’ve made up some excuse for the behavior they’d witnessed, but I decided to follow the first rule of psychotherapy: when in doubt, say nothing. I’ve developed the “therapist nod,” that gentle up-and-down head motion performed by all counselors, into an art form. It’s like a compassionate invitation to surrender, offering the quintessential soft place to fall. There is something to be said for silent, unconditional, positive regard.
In the midst of my decompression daydream, my inner radar suddenly engaged and I sensed the change in the room’s energy even before I heard the faint pops that indicated the arrival of vampires.
I tensed. My next appointment wasn’t due to arrive for a while, and since that client was always punctual, and came alone, I prepared myself for unexpected company.
“Hey, doll — er, Dr. Knight.”
“Hello, Dr. Knight.”
I spun to face the voices. “Chain? Lucille?” My shoulders relaxed and I released the breath I’d been unconsciously holding. Comparatively speaking, the arrival of two members of the Fear of Fangs group was a lot less terrifying than any of the millions of other possibilities my brain had immediately projected onto my mental movie screen. “What are you doing here? You’re not on my schedule for tonight.”
“There was no time to make an appointment. We need your help bad,” Chain said. As always, his trademark chains were looped through his baggy blue jeans, wrapped around his biker boots and encircled his wrists. The tall vampire’s long, stringy black hair framed a thin, pale, scarred face. Flat grey eyes stared from beneath bushy eyebrows and lashes so light they were almost invisible. He wore his Harley jacket, as always.
“What do you mean? What’s wrong?” I couldn’t remember them sharing any crises at the last group meeting.
“We need to get married, Dr. Knight,” Lucille replied in a quiet voice. She twisted her hands and chewed on her lower lip with her descended fangs. Her vibrant green eyes held a sheen of tears.
“Married?” I knew they had a sexual relationship, but I hadn’t realized they were an actual couple.
Lucille must have been highly stressed because she usually dressed provocatively in short, tight clothing with theatrical-grade makeup and towering hair, but tonight she was acting out one of her schizophrenic religious delusions by wearing an orange Buddhist monk’s robe. Her brown hair was secured in a tight bun at the nape of her neck.
“Yeah,” Chain replied with a deep sigh, frowning. “We gotta.” He threw one arm across Lucille’s shoulders and pulled her against him.
What? No way! That usually means a pregnancy, but these are vampires. Could it be possible?
Lucille burst into tears. She covered her face with her hands and started sobbing loudly.
Have we slipped into an episode of a 1950s sitcom?
“Both of you, come over here and sit down.” I pointed at the couch. They sat and I took the chair opposite them. “What do you mean, you gotta get married?” Wondering if I was about to hear something that would completely rewrite my knowledge of vampire physiology, I sat tensely on the edge of my seat.
But wait. If vampire pregnancy is possible, what does that mean for me and Devereux?
“It’s really a downer, Dr. Knight,” Chain whined. “Both alternatives really stink.”
Tell me, already!
“Concentrate, Chain. Why do you have to get married?”
“It’s a sin, Doctor!” Lucille wailed.
“No it isn’t, Lucille. You’re really fulla shit.” Chain jumped up and started pacing.
Oh. My. God! What the hell is it?
“Sit down, Chain. Just tell me the problem.”
He begrudgingly took his place on the couch again. “She won’t put out, Dr. Knight. She’s derailed the nooky train. It’s awful.”
“What?” I didn’t know whether to laugh or scream.
“Every time she gets freaked out about something and goes all schizo, she puts on one of her religious costumes. One night she’s Mother Theresa, then the next night the Pope, or Joan of Arc, then Moses — and when she’s dressed like that, she says screwing is a sin. So half the time I’ve got blue balls. Now she says she won’t come across at all unless we get married. You gotta talk her out of it because I’m too young to be tied down forever.”
Speechless, I just started at them, outrageously relieved that my small understanding of vampire reproduction — that they only made more of themselves by biting — remained intact. And that there would be nothing additional to worry about in my relationship with Devereux. I took a breath and cleared my throat, fighting against laughing out loud. “It sounds like the idea of marriage is upsetting for you, Chain. We definitely need to talk more about that. Lucille,” I shifted my gaze to her. “I hope you’ll share your feelings about this situation. Did something happen to frighten you?”
Lucille sniffled, reached for a tissue, then blew her nose. “I started having more visions, Doctor. I keep seeing myself burning in Hell. They started right after Chain caught me having sex with one of my human donors, when he pulled the guy off me, drained him and called me a whore.”
Hold on — he drained him?
“Chain! You killed a human?” I couldn’t keep the shock off my face or out of my voice. “You know Devereux’s policy about feeding on humans. You can’t kill them—”
“No! Keep your panties on. I didn’t drain him. She’s lying, as usual. But I admit I sucked his ass almost dry. He was alive when I threw him out the door and I saw him a few days later at the Crypt, so I know he’s okay.”
Shit. These vampires are going to give me a heart attack.
“But you called her a whore? That’s pretty harsh. I know that neither of you are sexually exclusive. Why would you say such a terrible thing to her? No wonder she had a psychotic episode. We’ve talked about this in group. You know better.” And why does that word only app
ly to women?
Chain sank down into the cushions and pulled his jacket over his head, covering his face.
“Lucille, why do you think you need to marry Chain? Do you love him?”
She rubbed her puffy, red eyes. “I have to marry anyone I have sex with, whether I love him or not.”
Great. Guilt and shame for eternity.
“Anyone? Will you marry them one at a time or all at once?” I couldn’t believe the ridiculousness of that question, but I wanted to shake her out of her anxiety trance.
She paused, tilted her head and stared. “I never thought of that. Since I have sex with lots of people, I guess marrying all of them would be pretty messy.” Her expression went dead. “I remember being called a whore when I was a mortal. It wasn’t even true then, but I was punished. The word scares me.”
Chain pushed the coat off his face. “Well, shit, Lucille. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I only got mad because I wanted to have sex with you right then and you were already busy. It pissed me off.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek.
Lucille squealed with delight, stood and wiggled out of the orange robe then, naked, jumped, onto Chain. “I guess we don’t have to get married if you won’t call me that name any more.”
He licked one of her nipples and smiled. “Okay. Let’s go screw. Bye, Dr. Knight! See you at group!”
“Yeah, bye!” Lucille said.
They vanished.
“Yeah. Glad I could help.” I said to the empty couch. “Drop in any time,”
I rose and walked to the window, shaking my head. Had that bloodsucking mini-session been any more clinically alarming than many of my human appointments? Truthfully, no. I could count on the fact that all my clients, dead or undead, would come up with one preposterous thing after another. But at least the humans couldn’t physically pop into my office. I made a mental note to remind myself to strengthen my boundaries with my nocturnal clients.
But all that aside, I had to admit, on a theoretical level, that contemplating the possibility of a vampire pregnancy had been exciting: the scientific discovery of the century. If I could ever tell anyone, of course.
There was another pop and a rich voice spoke. “Good evening, Dr. Knight.”
My hand extended, I moved toward the elegantly dressed man who’d appeared in the center of my office. He clasped my hand in his. “Hello, Mr. Roth. It’s good to see you. Perfectly punctual, as always. Please, be seated.”
He gave a brief nod before settling himself in the middle of the nearest couch and arranging his ever-present briefcase next to his feet on the carpet. Then, as was his habit, he closed his eyes in meditation for a couple of minutes before speaking.
I used the time to shift from dealing with the chaos of Chain and Lucille to Mr. Roth’s sedate dignity.
A successful Denver attorney, he wore a handsome grey, Italian-designed business suit, a crisp white shirt and a red tie. His short black hair was slicked back from his wide forehead, Bela-Lugosi-style, and his dark brown eyes shone with intelligence underneath thick, arched brows. His nose was slightly too small for his slender face, and his chin a bit too large, almost as if he’d been taken apart and put back together using the wrong parts.
Although he gave the impression of being serious and businesslike, I’d discovered his sense of humor during our first session, when I’d asked about his decision to practice law after decades of being a vampire. He’d said it was natural for a bloodsucker to be an attorney. In fact, he’d said, the words were synonymous.
Since vampires had no need of lawyers, he represented the worst kind of human perpetrators — murderers, rapists, child molesters, mortal monsters of all varieties. When I asked why he represented the dregs of humanity, he told me he enjoyed the game, and corrected me when I wrongly assumed he meant the legal game. For him, it was all about winning the case, and seeing the person set free, before taking matters into his own fangs and draining him dry.
Justice, vampire-style.
Let’s hear it for instant karma.
He’d come to therapy after resisting the urge to drain one of his fouler clients. He was afraid that had set an unhealthy precedent. We’re currently exploring the issue.
I’d wondered how he managed his profession in the day-based legal world, but he told me he had a human colleague. His inability to function during normal business hours was inconvenient, but it wasn’t an insurmountable problem. Apparently, Denver has a busy night court system.
I gathered my writing pad and pen before sitting in my usual chair.
He opened his eyes and lifted his index finger. “Before we begin tonight, Doctor, I must apologize.” He paused dramatically. The combination of his entrancing vampire voice and the skills he’d perfected while orating before human juries when he was still mortal was impressive. It took all the grounding techniques I knew to remain unaffected. I didn’t think anyone could resist his arguments. He had one of the most persuasive voices I’d ever heard, and tonight it was especially hypnotic.
I got the chills. Whoa. Is he apologizing for something he did, or something he’s going to do? Sometimes I wish religious symbols really did affect vampires. It sure would be convenient to hide behind a cross or a Buddha statue once in a while.
“Apologize, Mr. Roth?” I smiled to mask my reaction to the sudden tingling in my solar plexus. He’d never done anything out of order, but he was a vampire and I’d be a fool to forget that, even with my enhanced protections. After all, nothing could mute the normal biological reactions triggered by being in the vicinity of a predator.
He shook his head, folding his hands in his lap. “Ah, now I must apologize twice. First for needing to cut our session short this evening due to a rash of unexplained deaths, and second for allowing my distress over those deaths to cause my energy to become so intense that I made you uncomfortable. Please forgive me.”
My deodorant just said “fuck it.”
I wouldn’t even bother to claim I hadn’t been afraid. He’d obviously sensed — or maybe scented — my fear, and I’m sure my heart was pounding loud enough for him to dance to.
“Devereux told the members of his coven your mind can no longer be read. He said it is to protect your brain because the elders hold you in high regard, and they intervened on your behalf. He asked us to do nothing to cause your emotions to spike, which might render the extra protections useless. So for the third time, I do most sincerely beg your pardon. I would not want to do anything to harm you. I rather enjoy our sessions. You’ve been exceptionally helpful.”
Holy shit! Devereux told his coven — some of whom are my clients — my personal business? What’s wrong with him? Oh, wait, remember who I’m talking about. He simply does whatever he wishes.
“There’s nothing to forgive.” I shook off the annoyance Mr. Roth’s revelation had triggered and willed the corners of my mouth to rise. “I’m happy the sessions are beneficial to you.” Whatever I’d felt from him earlier had dissipated and my radar quieted. “Tell me about these deaths.”
He gave a brief nod of acknowledgment and crossed his legs. His brow furrowed. “It’s all very strange. Most vampires, especially young, weak ones, have little control over their appetites and impulses. Their world is violent, harsh, and dark. It isn’t until we survive beyond the first few years that our true personalities emerge once again, and we start to have choices. Most of us can’t even regulate our heart rate, breathing or body temperature for centuries.”
“Centuries? I hadn’t realized the extent of the limitations.” At least somebody is forthcoming with undead details.
“Indeed. Newborns are relatively fragile. So, given that environment, new bloodsuckers occasionally turn up truly dead for one reason or another, although it’s usually only a few per week, at most.” He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. “Over the last month, though, there have been scores, all over the city, dying like flies — vampires, and some humans, too.”
Uh-oh. Déjà vu.
“How ar
e they dying?” My stomach muscles contracted. What a coincidence that a certain vampire hunter had recently arrived in town.
“That’s the odd part: there’s no cause of death. None of the victims were drained of blood, and they had no apparent wounds. They simply ceased existing.”
My notepad fell onto the floor. “But how is that possible?”
“That’s the question, and I don’t have an answer. In the meantime, I now have the uncomfortable task of defending clients who are actually innocent, who simply managed to stumble across a dead body in the wrong place at the wrong time.” He checked his watch and stood. “But as I said, I must end our session early this evening. So much carnage, so little moonlight. Oh, but before I forget,” he opened his briefcase, removed a thick book and handed it to me, “here’s the reference material I said I’d bring tonight. I’m sure you’ll find it enlightening.” He bobbed his head in a brief, formal nod. “I will see you at our regular time next week. Hopefully, I will have good news. Until then.”
He vanished.
Even after months of watching vampires move via thought, it was still an exciting — and discombobulating — occurrence. I didn’t expect to ever fully acclimate to it.
I examined the weighty textbook he’d given me, Sociopathic Lawyers: Monsters in Plain Sight, and said aloud, “Yikes. Definitely grist for the therapeutic mill.”
Deciding I’d deal with Mr. Roth’s love-hate relationship with his legal persona at our next session, I set the book on a table, retrieved my notepad from the floor, rose and walked over to the window, contemplating the disturbing information he’d shared. Was Hallow powerful enough to kill vampires and humans without leaving a trace? Devereux probably knew, but he was unavailable, so I couldn’t tell him about the new bloodsucker in town. Yet.
The unexpected change in schedule left me feeling disconnected. I hated to admit it, but I’d come to rely on Devereux’s companionship, and when he was off being Master of the Vampires or International Mega-corporate Genius, I missed him.
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