‘Better leave out the peppers today, Juan. I’ve had a rough morning.’
He gave me a big, friendly smile, displaying perfect white enamel. ‘Let me give you a couple of jalapeños on the side. I get the feeling that your day’s about to change. Juan knows these things.’
I smiled back at him and paid for the food. ‘See you later.’ As I left, I noticed that Juan’s usual fan club – a crowd of giggling teenage girls – had swooped in on him the moment I walked away. After my bizarre morning, watching them flirt felt good. At least some part of the world was still normal.
Food in hand, I sauntered down the mall and found a seat on a small wall enclosing an unwieldy sculpture of a cowboy-hat-clad man atop a bucking bronco. Another sports symbol, no doubt. Denver idolised its football team. Maybe I should write a book about the psychology of spectator sports addiction. Or maybe not. I already seemed to have enough enemies without stirring up the local Neanderthals.
I sat there, thoroughly enjoying the melt-in-the-mouth taste of Maria’s masterpiece, and began to catch snatches of conversation coming from two women sitting at a folding table a few feet away from me. A little sign next to the table proclaimed ‘Psychic Tarot Readings’.
‘No, that’s not going to happen. He’s not for you. Let go of him,’ said the woman facing me. She was spreading out tarot cards on a colourful tablecloth decorated with astrological symbols. Rings adorned her fingers, her long fingernails were painted sparkling silver and an intricate tattoo decorated the back of her right hand. She wore a bright-red dress with a shiny black vest and her long grey hair flowed down into a pile in her lap.
The woman sitting with her was less than happy with her reading, because she sprang up, almost knocking over her chair, and yelled, ‘That’s bullshit. You don’t know what you’re talking about. He’s my soulmate and you’re wrong.’ She stomped off, muttering to herself about quacks and phoneys.
I didn’t want to embarrass the tarot reader by letting her know I’d overheard the exchange, so I focused on my burrito, finishing up the last few tasty bites. The sound of laughter caught my attention and I raised my head to find the woman staring at me, making hand motions, inviting me to come to her table.
‘If you’ve finished your breakfast come on over. I’ve been waiting for you.’
I scanned the area to see who she was talking to and when I couldn’t find anyone else in the vicinity, I pointed to myself. ‘Me? No thank you. I don’t believe in fortune-telling.’
She kept smiling at me and I had to admit I was impressed by her sales technique. Let people think that you had information just for them and they’d probably sit down and hand over some greenbacks. It was basic psychology.
‘No charge. Just come and listen for a few minutes. If what I have to say doesn’t resonate, you can call me names and walk away.’
Hmmm. This approach must work or else she wouldn’t keep using it, but I couldn’t see how she’d make a living by giving people the option of not paying. She had me, though. My curiosity was piqued. I wiped my hands on a napkin, folded up the paper that’d held the burrito, and carried it over to the trash can.
The tarot-reader was still staring at me, shuffling her cards, waiting.
Curious, I walked over to her table. ‘Why would you want to read my cards for free? That can’t be a very good way to make money.’
‘It’s not my job to worry about where the money comes from. I just follow my intuition and everything seems to work out perfectly. Come on, sit down. I’m Cerridwyn.’
Well, why not? My life had been so weird for the last week that this just fitted right in. Why not let a tarot-reader in the mall tell me that I’d win the lottery, or that I was Cleopatra in a past life? How much more bizarre could it be than my morning so far?
She stopped shuffling the cards and handed them to me. ‘Just move the cards around, any way you wish. Put your essence into them.’
I shuffled, her amused but intense gaze never leaving me. Her eyes were a deep, dark purple – living amethyst – and they were surrounded by a network of fine lines that were exaggerated when she smiled. Clearly she smiled often. At first I’d assumed she was old because of her grey hair, but sitting close to her, I could see she was much younger, maybe not even forty.
She reached out for the cards and I stopped shuffling and gave them to her. She inhaled a deep breath, closed her eyes for a few seconds, reopened them, and began laying out the cards in a specific pattern. She gazed into my eyes. ‘You have been chosen. From this time forwards nothing will ever be the same for you.’
Well, that was nice and vague. It was right up there with ‘You’ll meet a tall, dark stranger’.
She chuckled. ‘How did one so young become so sceptical?’
Oh, goodie. Another mind reader.
She studied the cards and declared, ‘I see you surrounded by men. Two of them will offer you love, one brings danger. But he is only a messenger of the larger darkness. Your refusal to see the situation as it really is will put you and those you care about at risk.’
What?
She was quiet for a few seconds, unfocused eyes staring off into the distance, then she smiled knowingly. ‘Ah, you are playing with the vampires.’
I must have let my mouth fall open, because she started laughing. ‘You’re surprised that I know?’
‘Yes. I do work with people who believe they’re vampires. You’re very good.’
‘But you don’t believe?’
‘No, of course not.’
She seemed to think that was very funny, because she put one hand on her chest and laughed for a few seconds. ‘I envy you your journey. If you’re brave, your life will become extraordinary. Even as stubborn as you are.’
I let the stubborn comment pass. ‘What do you know about the vampires?’
‘I’m very psychic. I’ve always been aware of nonhumans – not only vampires – and of a growing darkness that’s pure evil. There are a few places in the world where this evil is manifesting. Denver is such a place. You’re to play a key role. Even more important, you’re to learn to love and be loved. You’ll find the courage to open your heart.’
Cerridwyn certainly had a flair for the dramatic. Pure evil in Denver? Nonhumans?
‘Well, I have to say that I was expecting a canned prediction and you’ve been very creative. I want to pay you for your time.’
She reached across the table and grabbed my hand, her expression suddenly serious. ‘There is danger tonight. It’s too late for the young woman you seek. Don’t be afraid of your own abilities – they will save you.’
The burrito churned in my stomach. I was afraid to ask what she meant by the comment about the young woman, so I just sat there staring at her.
‘I hope this reading was helpful to you. Come and see me again when you’re ready to ask the right questions and to hear the answers.’ She reached into a pocket in her shirt. ‘Here’s my card. Call me when you find that courage. Remember that nothing comes to you without your invitation, even if you don’t realise you’re sending it.’
What invitation? What the hell is she talking about?
She handed me her business card, gathered her tarot deck back into a pile and wrapped it in a red silk scarf.
I fished in my pocket for some money, pulled out a $10 bill, set it on the table as I stood and said, ‘You’ve frightened me.’ I was surprised to hear those words come out of my mouth because it wasn’t like me to share my feelings with strangers – or with anyone, for that matter.
‘Good. Being frightened will help you pay attention.’
She palmed the money, tucked it into her pocket and closed her eyes.
I took that as a dismissal and walked back to my office, replaying her words in my mind. The logical part of me tried to take charge, reminding me that there was no solid research to back up the validity of most psychic readings. The majority of so-called readers were frauds. I had to admit that Cerridwyn sounded authentic, but most of her feedba
ck had really only been cosmo-babble, and the strange feeling in my midsection was simple indigestion.
But the instinctual part of me ignored all that and reminded me of the story of ‘The Three Little Pigs’, and the one little pig who built his house with bricks. What was my unconscious trying to tell me? Was there really a big, bad wolf out there who could blow the house down?
CHAPTER 9
The rest of the day was pleasantly routine. I had several clients scheduled, and the task of concentrating on their concerns kept my mind off the ghoulish madness and bizarre chaos that had penetrated the edges of my life. The key to successful denial is to keep busy.
Overall it turned out to be quite a satisfying afternoon.
Spock had a moment of illumination in the midst of waxing euphoric about the latest Star Trek convention he’d attended. It seemed he’d had a close encounter with a protester – I couldn’t imagine what anyone would protest about at a Star Trek convention – out in front of the building, and it had upset him. The woman was handing out flyers and bumped into Spock, accusing him of being a ‘loser with no life’.
He paused in the middle of his passionate diatribe about the injustice of her accusations and said, a horrified expression on his face, ‘Is that true? Am I a loser with no life?’
I asked him what he thought, and we had our first authentic, meaningful dialogue about his role-playing.
All in all, a significant session.
Then Wendy, a member of my Fear of Commitment group, came for her first individual appointment to tell me that she’d read a book I’d suggested and had courageously allowed herself to go on a fourth date with a particularly intriguing man she’d been seeing. Since she usually ended every relationship after the third date – thanks to the number of times her father visited her as a child after abandoning the family – this was indeed exciting news.
Witnessing client breakthroughs reminded me why I chose this work to begin with.
Feeling good, I finished up with my last client, went home, poured a glass of wine and crawled into an aromatic hot bubble bath.
I sat in the tub, enjoyed the blissful sensations, played with the bubbles and recalled my talk with Cerridwyn on the mall. How silly of me to take the tarot-reader seriously. It was totally rational that the strange events of the morning had caused me to be anxious. It really wasn’t so unusual that she’d picked up my fears about Emerald because I knew my own intuitive abilities often opened me to information from others, whether I wanted it or not.
To my mind, psychic awareness fell solidly into the category of ‘normal brain activities’, so I wasn’t in the least surprised by the wide range of abilities out there. Reading energy was a common human occurrence. Of course, I had to admit that encountering two such talented individuals – first Devereux, then Cerridwyn – in such a short time span was unusual. But Devereux’s gifts might be the upside of his mental illness, and while I didn’t doubt that Cerridwyn had skills, she was only a mirror – impressive, but not supernatural.
I was just thinking about how great it would be to take a nap when I heard a voice downstairs in my living room.
‘Kismet? It’s me, Tom. Your door was unlocked. I knocked but nobody answered.’
My heart tripped against my ribs.
My door’s unlocked? What’s the matter with me? Damn. I forgot to call Tom and cancel. Then the little psychologist in my head suggested, Maybe you didn’t want to cancel.
‘I’ll be down in a minute,’ I yelled.
I heard footsteps tramping up the stairs and then Tom poked his head into the bathroom, beaming a toothpaste-commercial smile.
Same old obnoxious Tom.
Surprised and highly annoyed, I sat up in the water, pulled a couple of big clumps of bubbles towards me and raised my knees up to my chest. ‘Hey! I’m taking a bath here. I wasn’t expecting you so early. Why don’t you wait for me downstairs?’
Why am I being polite to this jerk?
He ambled over, lowered the toilet lid, sat down and made himself comfortable. ‘No. I enjoy having you as a captive audience. Besides, I’ve seen you naked hundreds of times.’
He was right about that. From the first moment I laid eyes on him during our internship at the psychiatric hospital I was putty in his hands. All he had to do was give me one of those dazzling smiles or glance at me with his bedroom eyes and I’d follow him anywhere. Thanks to my parents, I couldn’t tell healthy attention from the opposite.
Okay, so I’d led a sheltered life. I was primed for the picking.
Tom had been the first man I’d had an actual relationship with. Oh sure, I’d fumbled around in the backseats of cars with various high-school and college dates, and I even managed to find a willing participant to relieve me of my virginity when I determined the time was right. But until Tom, I’d been an emotional virgin.
He was eight years older than I and he taught me things about the sexual arts I never knew existed. We spent four years together and amassed quite a collection of sexual aids, books, toys and videos. Unfortunately, while it was all about pleasure and orgasms for Tom, it was all about love for me. He’d been so disappointed that I’d muddied the waters. I didn’t have the wisdom then to realise how emotionally unavailable he was.
I gathered more bubbles around me. ‘That’s ancient history.’ I gave a limp version of a sneer. Unfortunately, I realised too late that it’s almost impossible to pull off an effective sneer while sitting naked in a foamy tub.
He perched there watching me, making no effort to hide the fact that his eyes were lingering on certain parts of my anatomy and he was enjoying the view. I remembered that wicked expression on his face and I felt a tightening between my legs – as if my libido had sent out an invitation that went into the mail before my brain could retrieve it.
‘Is the water getting cold?’ He leered at my breasts and smirked.
I followed his gaze down and noticed my nipples were large and hard.
Shit. Apparently my body didn’t get the memo about this not-lusting-after-Tom thing. Old patterns . . .
‘I always appreciated how quickly your body got aroused,’ he said. ‘It turned me on to watch you respond to me in such an obvious way.’
He stood, moved a step closer to the bathtub and laid his hand on his zipper. ‘Look,’ he said, rubbing his hand up and down the front of his trousers, showing me his erection. ‘See what you do to me?’
Geez. It had been two years since I’d had sex and my body was screaming Yes! Despite his heartless rejection and empty promises, I still wanted him. Even though he was the poster boy for superficiality, I still lusted after him. I was torn between being disgusted with myself and being overwhelmingly aroused. I started to suggest that we move into my bedroom when he uttered the immortal words, ‘Tell me how bad you want it.’
Yuck.
I’d been expecting a sensual seduction scene and instead he gave me a worn-out line from one of the porn movies he collected. His words hit me like a cold shower, dousing the flames of my romantic fantasy. All my desire for him immediately evaporated in the crystal-clear realisation that he’d never been who I’d imagined him to be and I’d been fooling myself all those years. Fooling myself? Let’s call a spade a spade: I’d been an idiot.
I raised my voice and gave it a cutting edge.
‘Very tacky, Dr Radcliffe. Tell me – does that approach usually work for you these days? Are more women responding to “Mr Macho” than responded to “Mr Sensitivity”? Hand me a towel and get out.’
With a shocked expression on his face, he reached over, picked up a towel and handed it to me.
I stood and slowly wrapped the towel around myself, noticing he was still enjoying the show. ‘There’s some wine downstairs. Go and help yourself. Leave. Now.’
He opened and closed his mouth a couple of times but no words emerged. The colour drained from his face and his expression veered back and forth between confusion and disbelief. He finally turned and silently retreated.<
br />
After he left, I stepped out of the tub and stood in front of the mirror. My cheeks were flushed and my eyes shone. At least it was good to have more evidence that my body was still capable of sexual arousal. Over the last couple of years, I’d started to wonder. But it was clear that anything personal between the two of us was finished. I was actually glad Tom had shown up because who knew how long I might have carried the torch if he hadn’t reminded me of who he really was?
Love truly was blind.
‘If I promise to go back to being Mr Sensitivity, can I come up and talk to you while you put your makeup on?’ Tom crooned from the foot of the stairs. ‘I’m getting lonesome down here.’
I rolled my eyes. He was trying to con me again, but it wasn’t going to work. I had come to my senses. ‘Sure. You can come up, but I’m almost done. Bring the wine bottle with you.’
I might need a weapon.
He came upstairs and leaned against the door to the bathroom, lowered the bottle onto the counter by the sink and stood there quietly, sipping his wine.
‘I feel as if I should apologise, but you can’t really blame a guy for trying.’ He shrugged. ‘We’ve got such a long history together. You’ve become even prettier since we split up.’
‘I can blame a guy for trying, so feel free to come up with one of your brilliant, meaningless apologies. I’m all ears.’
I’d pulled my hair up into one of those large hair clips so it wouldn’t get wet in the bath and now I released it, letting the curls cascade down my back.
He reached out and picked up one of the wavy clumps. ‘Was your hair always this long? It’s very sexy.’
‘Yes,’ I said, frowning. I edged away. All his idiotic behaviours were coming back to me. Now that I wasn’t at the mercy of my hormones, he was simply an annoyance – not even worth getting worked up about. ‘It was always this long. In fact, you insisted I never cut it. Sounds like you’re having some memory problems. I’d watch the recreational drug use, if I were you.’
The Vampire Shrink kk-1 Page 13