Crimson Psyche

by Lynda Hilburn

  “Luna, what—?”

  She vanished.

  I blinked a few times to clear the fog from my vision. What the hell? Why did I feel so strange? Had Luna, the vampire Kali really been here, or had I imagined it? I glanced down at myself to discover I was sitting naked in my oversize chair, my pink robe discarded on the floor. I rubbed my eyes, trying to orient myself. I didn’t remember sitting in the chair. Why would I do that? I had to go upstairs and get dressed for my midnight meeting with Devereux at the Crypt. I slanted my eyes to the clock.

  “Shit — it’s already midnight — what the hell’s wrong with me?” I murmured to myself.

  I stood slowly, making sure my legs were solid enough to navigate the stairs, and shuffled in that direction. I took some deep breaths, and more of my fragmented reality coalesced. It occurred to me that my shaky state might be caused by low blood sugar due to lack of food, so I diverted to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator and grabbed the orange juice container. Rummaging for a glass was too much work, so I just untwisted the cap and drank directly from the carton — something I never did. The natural fructose had an immediate stabilizing effect and I felt better. I retrieved the abandoned bagel, then sat at the table and devoured it with enthusiasm. I suddenly realized that my last meal had been almost twenty-four hours ago, and it had consisted of half a container of left-over Kung Pao Chicken. No wonder I felt so odd. Considering that, nodding off wasn’t such a strange thing.

  As I sat there, something nagged at my brain, distracting me like a little kid tugging at the hem of my mental skirt. What had I been doing before I fell asleep? Wasn’t I going to call someone about something? Yes — Carson’s body — but wait. Why was I going to do that? His body had been taken care of, hadn’t it? I couldn’t recall why I thought I needed to do anything.

  I shook my head and noticed I’d managed to dribble orange juice down the front of my nude body. I laughed, flicking the drops away with my fingers. “You’re losing it, Kismet. Get off your ass and get dressed. The Master has commanded your presence!”

  Thinking about Devereux sobered me, and reminded me that I hadn’t seen him since before the insanity at the funhouse. I needed to tell him about my encounter with Hallow. I hoped he wouldn’t go ballistic and try to lock me away at the Crypt.

  Unfortunately, that was definitely a consideration. Maybe I shouldn’t say anything yet. I’d just stay away from Hallow. I certainly didn’t want to be sucked into his evil universe. He’d publicly killed Carson in a maniacal frenzy and I had no doubt that inflicting torture and pain was one of his favorite recreational activities. If it was true that he drained the life-force from all the women he collected, I wasn’t about to sign up for a demonstration, no matter how amazing a lover he supposedly was.

  Eeww. Why am I even thinking about what kind of lover he is?

  On second thought, it might be better for me to stay home, do some paperwork and then talk to Devereux about moving into his penthouse for a while. Yes, that was the answer: caution. Sensible, mature caution. I would behave responsibly, like a thoughtful professional. I was totally out of my depth with the undead assassin and nothing but misery would come from making myself available to him, even inadvertently.

  No matter how intriguing I found the undead, there was no reason to get more involved in the vampire horror show than I already was. Choosing to be careful had nothing to do with giving up my independence. It was all about securing my survival. I wasn’t too proud to admit I was in over my head. I’d been incredibly naïve to think I could deal with a monster like Hallow. But in my defense, I had actually learned a lot from our brief interaction. The vampire version of psychosis was beyond anything the psychological establishment understood, and I now had a front-row seat for the case study of the century.

  A bloodsucking Charles Manson.

  Thinking about case studies reminded me how frustrating it was to have nobody to discuss my experiences with. My professional self found the behavioral aspects of Hallow’s madness fascinating, but the personal me wanted to hide under the bed. If I ever had a client in the same incredible situation as I found myself, what would I say? That was a no-brainer: I’d tell her to take the first plane out of Denver.

  Despite that good advice, I wouldn’t be heading to the airport. But I could remove myself physically from the freak show.

  With the issue firmly settled in my mind, I brushed the crumbs off my breasts, fetched my robe from the living room floor and slipped it on. I tied the belt, walked to my desk to begin the paperwork and froze. My scalp tingled and my eyes blurred.

  “Fuck that! I’m going to the Crypt to have some fun.” Fuck that? What?

  I knew the words had come out of my mouth, but I hadn’t intended to say them. I hadn’t even been aware of the potential thought lurking in my mind. But now, suddenly, it was clear — of course, why the hell should I stay home? I didn’t need to think about any vampire’s opinions or actions. I was an adult, professional woman who could make her own decisions.

  Grinning, I peeled off the robe and strode up the stairs.

  ***

  The Crypt was a gothic wonderland. Devereux had transformed an old multi-level church into a playground for the children of darkness. The huge building was magnificent, with its ornate towers, spires and archways. Grotesque gargoyles leered down from corners, loomed over doorways and peeked out from hidden architectural surprises. The extensive stained glass alone was worth the visit. The original religious-themed panels had been replaced by paranormal and supernatural renderings. Eerie, gravestone-laden cemeteries were a pervasive theme, as well as rivers of blood.

  The club was open every day from dusk to dawn and it was always busy, but the Saturday night crowds gave new meaning to the word packed. I’d left my car down the block in the underground parking my office shared and jogged toward the building, eager to join the festivities. As I approached the entrance, the usual smell of marijuana and other recreational substances wafted into my nose and the intense, pulsating rhythm from the heavy-metal band performing inside vibrated the bottoms of my feet.

  A cloud of pot-smoke enticed my nostrils and I smiled as I inhaled and angled over to the group toking away under a streetlight on the sidewalk. It had been a long time since I’d gotten high, and right now I couldn’t think of a better way to start the night.

  I tapped a seriously stoned, skinny, long-haired twenty-something guy on the shoulder. He swiveled his head toward me, his eyelids at half-mast, and blinked a few times in an obvious attempt to focus his eyes. Then he licked his lips, and slurred, “Uh, what?”

  Giving him my brightest smile, I pointed at the joint. “Could I have a taste of that?”

  He stared at my face, the joint poised partway between us. “Wow. Cool makeup. You look like a movie star.” I didn’t know about the movie star resemblance, but I had been a bit more heavy-handed than usual. So sue me. I had the urge to be dramatic. What the hell? If you hung around with vampires, it was acceptable to let one’s Inner Drama Queen out once in a while.

  A young shaved-headed fellow wobbling next to him jerked his body in my direction when he heard his friend’s words and shuffled over to see for himself.

  I reached out and lifted the joint from the skinny guy’s fingers, fitted it between my lips without giving one thought to hygiene issues and took a toke. I inhaled the warm smoke into my throat and lungs and held it for exactly two seconds before the acrid substance burst out of my body in a series of hacking, gagging, fifty-year-smoker-type coughs.

  My two companions leaned backward, as if my coughing had created a strong enough wind to bend the top portions of their bodies, and said simultaneously, “Whoa, dude.”

  Tiny embers from the end of the joint fluttered down onto the front of my red sparkly shirt, and Shaved-Head Guy gallantly attempted to brush them away.

  Probably fearing I’d lose what was left of the joint in my full-body spasm, Skinny Guy reclaimed the pot and pitched in his other hand to help his f
riend extinguish my chest.

  They both froze, mid-brush, leaned in and stared at my breasts.

  Another duet: “Oh wow, man.”

  Skinny Guy said, “Awesome. Great tits.”

  I peeled off the hands that were hermetically sealed to my mammary glands, brushed away anything else that didn’t belong on my shirt, and smiled. “Yeah, isn’t the blouse gorgeous? There’s a matching bra that goes with it, but I just didn’t want to be constrained tonight. Besides, in the dim light you have to look twice to notice the shirt is transparent. But thanks so much for the hit, and for keeping me from setting myself on fire. I’m going inside now. It was nice meeting you.” I moved toward the club entrance.

  “Wait! Maybe we could hook up for a while? Drink some wine? Fuck? You know?”

  I cocked my head, fluttered my cosmetically elongated eyelashes and smiled. “What a lovely offer, gentlemen. Unfortunately, I already have plans, but I do appreciate the thought.”

  Continuing in the direction of the huge wooden double doors, I shifted my eyes down to my shirt, glad it wasn’t any worse for the pot embers experience. And it was really cool: all fresh-blood-colored and glittery. It worked great with my short leather skirt and favorite stiletto-heeled black boots. Tonight I’d be Psychologist Ho.

  I reached for the door handle and paused, my head spinning for a moment, and studied my chest again. Psychologist Ho? Why would I think such a stupid thing? More importantly, why was I even dressed like this, and when did I decide to go out instead of doing paperwork? My stomach tightened with fear. Had my brain skipped a page? A chapter? I knew what a blackout was, and there were several mental and physical illnesses that could account for one. Shit. Maybe I had a brain tumor. There could be something seriously wrong with me. What if I hadn’t merely nodded off in the living room earlier after all? What if it was something much more dire?

  “Where am I?” I recognized my location — I’d visited the Crypt many times before — but I had no recollection of driving myself there, and I certainly couldn’t recall dressing myself like a hooker. Well, maybe a call girl, since I had bought the clothes and I knew they were expensive. I’d intended to model them for Devereux when we were alone, rather than for hundreds of strangers at his club.

  I’d just pivoted to head down the stairs, back to my car when an inner switch flipped from on to off. The muscles in my limbs seized and I stood like a statue, not even sure I was breathing. Terrified, I heard a familiar, low voice in my mind. “It’s time for some fun, sweet Kismet. Go into the club and explore your wild nature. Leave your inhibitions behind. Entertain me. Make me proud. Give Devereux my best. We will meet again soon.”

  A mild electric current coursed through my body and my limbs regained function. A fuzzy, almost intoxicated feeling settled over my brain and I couldn’t stop smiling.

  “Go into the club and have some fun!” I shouted, just as Victoria, Devereux’s witchy office manager, stepped up next to me.

  “Kismet?” She gave me an eyeball-scan, brows raised, and her gaze locked on my chest. She frowned. “Does Devereux know you’re here? Are you aware that you’re wearing a see-through blouse with nothing on underneath?” She stepped back. “And an extremely short skirt? That’s not your usual fashion style.”

  “Victoria! How wonderful to see you. Did you come to have a little fun, too?”

  She leaned in and sniffed. “Have you been drinking?”

  I hugged her, then shook my head. “Not yet.”

  Her nose wrinkled and she sniffed again. “Pot?”

  “I’ll never tell.”

  She grabbed my arm as I headed toward the entrance. “Kismet, wait — something’s wrong. You feel different to me. You’re not yourself. Your aura is strange, with odd, murky colors, almost like there’s something extra there. Something dark.”

  “Don’t be silly, my friend.” I patted her hand. “I’m the same ordinary Kismet I’ve always been — or at least as ordinary as somebody whose parents named her after an old Broadway musical can be. Come on. Let’s go and stir up some trouble.”

  I tugged on the handle and opened the door to a wall of sound. The whine of a high-pitched lead guitar screamed over the throbbing rhythm section as the players cavorted frantically on a stage at the far end of the room. The jarring aural explosion assaulted my ears and took my breath away.

  The club was decorated like a Goth’s wet dream. It had everything a wannabe vamp could desire: scenes from Dracula’s castle, bodies rising from haunted graveyards, and enough black to make Ozzy Osbourne want to bite the head off something. The ever-present fog machine pumped out a slithering layer of white smoke, adding an eerie ambiance to the shadowy interior, which was lit by modern versions of ancient torches.

  The huge main room was filled with bodies — some alive, some otherwise — all dancing to the thunderous beat of the musicians. One of the many great things about the Crypt was all the cozy little nooks and crannies scattered along the walls, not to mention the ornate balconies of various sizes, some small enough to fit only one table. There were lots of places for romantic rendezvous, sexual assignations and under-the-table drug deals. In fact, it was easy to find a private space for pretty much anything you wanted.

  Standing at his post just inside the entrance was Devereux’s doorman — er, doorvamp. The first time I saw Ankh, his ghoulish, creepy appearance made my skin crawl. He was very tall, cadaverously bluish-white, with badly discolored teeth and fangs. His obsidian eyes were oddly sunken into his face and underscored with large, dark circles, making it appear as if he wore a perpetual Halloween mask. His head was mostly bald, except for a thick, dark braid that burst forth from the top of his skull, reminiscent of the style Egyptian pharaohs often wore in movies. A long, black robe shrouded his lanky frame. When I’d asked Devereux why he would station such a distasteful-looking specimen at the entrance to his business, he’d said Ankh had the gentlest, most loving temperament of any vampire he’d ever met. And the large fellow provided excellent customer service. That’s what I got for judging a vamp by his cover.

  Ankh bowed from the waist. “Good evening, Doctor. The Master said you were expected.” I nodded. He gave Victoria the same bow. “And Victoria, a pleasure as always.”

  “Hello, Ankh.” Victoria smiled. “It’s lovely to see you. You’ve got quite a crowd here tonight. Do you think we’ll have any luck finding a place to sit?”

  He nodded. “The Master reserved a table for Dr. Knight. I’ll just call someone to escort you.” He raised an arm into the air, signaling an invisible helper.

  “That’s okay, Ankh.” I grasped Victoria’s hand and pulled her behind me as I headed for the throng. “We’ll just dive in and take our chances. Thanks.”

  Victoria gasped and tried to free her hand from my grip, but she couldn’t and I enjoyed the powerful sensation of towing her through the crowd. My ever-increasing new physical strength was exciting.

  I navigated us to the long, sarcophagus-shaped bar ensconced along one wall of the spacious room. All the stools were occupied. I’d just started thinking about the most fun way to clear off a couple when a woman with neon-orange hair smiled in my direction, exposing tiny fangs. She slid off her stool, pulled her raven-haired companion from her perch and pointed at the empty seats. She shouted over the music, “Please. Take our chairs. Tell the Master we were happy to help you out. My name is Dark Widow and this is Rain. Tell him we’re at his service.” They giggled and darted off into the crowd.

  Devereux always managed to surround himself with female devotees who were willing to do just about anything to be in his vicinity. I guess I couldn’t blame him for taking what was offered. No doubt he wanted me to become his groupie, too. Well, the Master was in for a big disappointment. But if his handmaidens wanted to kiss some Master ass by sucking up to his significant other, that was fine with me.

  Victoria had been silent during our trip through the club. She’d even stopped resisting and trying to break free. Now she watche
d the stool swap, her lips pursed. I climbed up onto my seat, not bothering to tug the short skirt down, and patted her chair. Victoria situated herself, a very serious expression on her face, and leaned in, speaking directly into my ear because of the noise. “Kismet, has anything unusual happened? Have you had contact with anyone... dangerous?”

  I didn’t want to spend any more time talking about such a boring subject so I chose to ignore her questions. Instead, I pinched the fabric of her shimmering black and gold goddess gown between my finger and thumb. “Sweet. I didn’t notice before. That’s an incredible dress you’re wearing. Are you meeting some mysterious stranger here at the club tonight?”

  She frowned, no doubt understanding my distracting maneuver. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I am meeting someone, but now I think I ought to stay with you. Something’s not right.”

  “No way, my witchy friend. I’m not letting you play mother hen with me when you could be kicking up your heels with Mr. Right. Or Mr. Right Now.” I laughed, and signaled the bartender. “I want to hear all the details tomorrow.”

  “Really, Kismet,” Victoria sighed, meeting my gaze, “I don’t want to be a wet blanket, but you’re not yourself. I mean, literally — your aura is completely different, as if you’re actually someone else. Have you been in touch with Hallow? Has he done something to you?”

  I shook my head and grinned. “Not that I know of, but anything can happen.”

  “What can I get for you?

  I revolved toward the smooth voice and smiled. My evening had just gotten a lot more interesting. “Wow. You look just like—”

  “Yeah,” he said, “I know: Johnny Depp. But trust me, I’m much older.” He smiled, the tips of fangs glistening in the overhead light.

  I leaned forward, bringing my knees up onto the stool so I could get a better view. “Hmm. What can you get for me? Let me think.” I slid my hand on top of his and tapped my fingernail on his cool skin. “When’s your next break?”