Blood Therapy (Kismet Knight, Ph.D., Vampire Psychologist)

by Hilburn, Lynda

  “Do you need more napkins, sir?” a young-sounding voice said in the background.

  “No. I’m good, thanks.”

  “Would you like a coffee refill?”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  “Alan?”

  “Yeah, I’m here—looking like I had an embarrassing accident—but I’m here.” His mouth shifted away from the phone. “Thanks, I’ll try to hang onto this one.” He cleared his throat. “So, like I said, I left Sedona. A few days ago I started hearing rumblings about activities in San Francisco that sounded like our repulsive, bald, toothsome friend, so I hit the road. I’m now staring out across the water at the notorious Alcatraz and thinking life doesn’t get much better than this.”

  “San Francisco? I just saw something about serial killers there. Are you involved with that, too?”

  “No. I heard about it, but nobody’s said anything. I’ve got my hands full with Stink Vamp, and the six deaths I’m sure he’s involved with, and as psychologically interesting as it would be to chase a real-life version of Hannibal Lecter, I can handle only one fiend at a time. Of course, none of the locals have put the pieces together about the six drained bodies yet, so I’m the only one who knows there’s a supernatural angle.”

  “Well, as awful as this sounds, if you have to track him somewhere, I can’t imagine a more beautiful city.”

  “Yeah, it’s great. I’ve spent a lot of time here over the years. And let me remind you that you have a standing invitation to come and visit, wherever I am. I’d be glad to show you the town.” He laughed. “And the inside of my comfortable hotel room. We could tour this side of the bed, then that side, then the table in the corner. …”

  Nope. Let’s not go there.

  “Gee, thanks.”

  He didn’t say anything for a few seconds. “Okay. What’s up? You didn’t give me any grief for the hotel room remark. Is something wrong? What was your message about?”

  “I saw Lucifer.”

  “What do you mean?” The easy banter ended, and his voice took on a serious edge. “Where did you see him? My undead intel is pretty solid that he’s primarily killing on the West Coast.”

  I took a sip of my coffee to give myself time to decide what I wanted to say. “I’m sure you’re right. We both know vampires can be on the other side of the world or in another century from one moment to the next. There’s really no way for humans to track them.”

  “So where was he?”

  “In Aspen. I went to a vampire wedding with Devereux last night, and Lucifer showed up in time to ruin the nuptials. It was bad enough that he was even there, but it looked like he focused on me: he stared and pointed at me before Devereux took off after him and both of them disappeared. Of course, he stank—engulfed in his usual horrible rotting-corpse, sewer-from-hell odor. I smelled him a few nanoseconds before I saw him. But just because he was there last night doesn’t tell us anything about where he is now.”

  It felt so good to be able to talk to someone who understood.

  “Yeah, you’re right about that. You said the last time we talked that you’re still getting voice mail messages from the Brother Luther part of the maniac’s personality. Is he still calling?” Another crash. “Balls! What the hell is up with me today? I just dropped my plate. Damn tiny tables. I’m going to gather my stuff and walk back to the hotel room. Don’t hang up. So, about the messages …”

  “Uh-huh. He calls at least once per day. Same tirades as before. I’m going to burn in hell, I’m Satan’s whore, I’ll be punished, washed in the blood—same demented song. Sometimes he just sobs and says help me, help me, over and over. But I guess that’s the child part. I wonder if there are only three personalities, or if we’re in for additional surprises?”

  A door slammed.

  “All right. I’m back in my room. With my luck an earthquake will shove California into the ocean today, and I can’t swim. Hey, do you know what Skype is?”

  “Sure. I use it to meet with clients who can’t come to the office.”

  “Cool. I’m all set up for it, too. Why don’t we connect face-to-face, so to speak? I’ve turned on my computer, and now I’m adding you to my contacts.”

  “Okay.” I put on my headphone microphone and made sure the camera was working. “I’m ready.”

  Alan’s charming face popped onto my computer screen. Behind him was a nondescript tan motel wall with a colorful oil painting of downtown San Francisco. “Hello there, gorgeous.” He waved his fingers.

  “Hi, Alan. Nice to see you.” And it was. His eyes, always some variation of bluish-purple or purple-blue, really stood out today against his faded tan, messy brown hair, and five o’clock shadow. “You look a little tired.”

  “It’s been a rough few days. You, on the other hand, look great. So, picking up where we left off”—he frowned—“is this the first time you’ve seen Lucifer since Halloween? You haven’t mentioned him showing up before.”

  “Uh-huh.” I sipped from my coffee cup. “This was the first time. I hadn’t become complacent about him—I know he can materialize anytime he wants to. I’ve also thought I smelled him a couple of times. But I can’t stay in a constant state of terror. My heart can’t take it. I’ll stroke out or something.” I adjusted my microphone. “It’s not like I have anywhere to run to. I’ve been wearing the protective necklace Devereux gave me, and I know he has some of his vampires watching me. Maybe even some humans during the day. Normally that would annoy me, but anything that keeps the boogieman away is all right with me. Not being able to find Lucifer has really pissed off Devereux.”

  “What do you mean, he can’t find him?” He glanced down at the coffee stain on his white T-shirt. “Isn’t that impossible? From what I hear, Devereux’s like the vampire Pope—infallible.”

  “Apparently not. He hasn’t talked to me about it, but one of his vampire friends said the entire community has been shocked that Lucifer bested him at the Vampires’ Ball on Halloween. I don’t think anything has ever rocked Devereux’s confidence like this. He’s been very moody. Angry. Gone a lot. Searching for Lucifer without any success.”

  “Really?” He moved closer to the camera. “That’s too bizarre. According to the vampire grapevine, Devereux’s the biggest badass around.”

  “Well, judging by what I’ve been hearing, there’s definitely a dent in his badass reputation. Vampires are saying awful things about him. I actually heard one guy at the party call Devereux a sissy. Which, now that I think about it, is a pretty sissy word for a vampire to use. And I’ll bet Devereux is trying to keep a stiff upper lip through this whole thing. No wonder he’s acting strangely.”

  “Wow. That doesn’t bode well for the vampire community, since Devereux keeps them in check.” He paused. “Something else is going on here. You sound weird today. You’re not yourself, either. What’s up? Are you two still an item?”

  I unconsciously lowered my gaze for a few seconds and tried to dislodge a nut fragment caught in my teeth with my tongue. Any other time I would have found some way to change the topic or distract him from talking about Devereux, but I needed his help so I decided to suck it up and be honest. I brought my eyes back to meet his. “I don’t know what we are. I haven’t told you much about the reality of being with Devereux.” I fell silent again for a few seconds and picked through the muffin remains on the plate.

  “Kismet?” He leaned close. “What the hell? I’m starting to get a bad feeling about this. Come on, spill. Has something happened to you?”

  “Do you remember telling me when we met that you’d like to have Devereux take over your mind, just to see what it would be like? You said you’d like to experience being under a powerful vampire’s control. I wasn’t sure if you were kidding or not.”

  “I don’t remember saying that specifically”—he shook his head—“but it sounds like me. I probably wasn’t kidding. What’s that got to do with anything?”

  “Well, I know exactly what it’s like.”

 
We stared at each other for a few seconds.

  “Are you talking about him being domineering and controlling, which I think is no secret to anyone, or something else?” he asked.

  “All of the above. Ever since I met him, whenever he came near me I turned into a hormone-driven zombie. I simply lost control of myself. Lost myself. He said it was only a matter of time until I got used to his vampire intensity and that I’d acclimate. Looking back, I always thought my outrageous attraction to him was legitimate—that he just rang my chimes. I thought it was exciting to be so over-the-moon about someone. But after what I found out last night, I don’t know anymore.”

  “What happened last night?” he said sharply.

  “Anne Boleyn, who’s an old friend of Devereux’s, apparently, told me she clearly senses that my brain has been altered. Compromised. I’ve been having bad headaches. She explained there’s nothing to be done about it—powerful vampires simply affect and overwhelm humans that way, and I’m guessing the effect is cumulative.”

  Silence.

  “Alan?”

  He held up a hand. “Hold on. You said Anne Boleyn? The Anne Boleyn? She’s a vampire?”

  “Yeah, and remind me later to tell you who else I met. You won’t believe it.” He was quiet again for a few seconds, just staring. “Alan?”

  “Yeah.” He slapped his palm against his forehead. “I just can’t get past the Anne Boleyn part. If I hadn’t seen all the outrageous bull in the vampire world that I’ve seen, I’d think you were lying or jerking me around. But I believe you. Damn. That’s something. Anne Boleyn. So, she said your brain has been altered. That can’t be good. Is that why you’re so upset?”

  “Well, yeah!” I sat back in my chair. “Wouldn’t you be upset if you discovered that the choices you’ve made weren’t really your own, but rather a product of mind control? Even if the mind control wasn’t intentional?”

  “How do you know it wasn’t intentional? Are you that sure of Devereux?”

  “No!” I shook my head. “I’m not sure of anything anymore. Anne said Devereux has no idea how manipulated I am by his vampiric voodoo. He thinks he’s in total control of himself. She said he’s in denial. So not only am I in constant fear of Lucifer coming to snatch me away, now the head-honcho vampire I thought could protect me can’t, apparently. Maybe. And even if Devereux could fight off Lucifer, being around him wigs my brain. This is a lose-lose proposition.”

  “Wait a minute.” He gave me his all-knowing FBI agent look. “Even though you’re upset, you don’t sound like somebody whose brain cells have been scrambled. Are you only a space-case around vampires?”

  “Mostly around Devereux and other strong vampires, but Anne did something last night to clear away all the vampire influence. I’d say I feel like myself, but that’s not true. I feel like a stronger version of myself today, as if all those crazy experiences strengthened me somehow. She said she’s given me a few days to figure out if I want to continue in the world of the undead. But her clearing did nothing to ward off Lucifer. My choices still suck.” I braced my chin on my hand and frowned.

  “Why would she want to help you? Maybe she just wants to get you away from Devereux.” He picked up a small package of crackers with an airline logo on the wrapper, no doubt acquired during his last flight, and held it up to the camera before ripping open the paper. He bit into an orange-colored treat and crunched loudly.

  I smiled at him before answering. “She said she just likes to rock the boat. But it’s equally possible she wants me to go away—she said she and Devereux spent some time together centuries ago. Maybe she isn’t over him. Whatever. Regardless, my brain is my own for a little while. I don’t know what I’ll do when her hocus-pocus wears off.”

  “Well, damn.” He licked crumbs off his fingers. “There’s got to be another answer. Maybe there’s some way you can learn to protect yourself. I have to believe that each species evolves the characteristics and traits necessary to survive predators in its environment. What about that psychic you met, the one you said was talented? You told me she knows about the vampires. Maybe she’s heard of something that might help you.”

  “Cerridwyn? Hmm. Yeah. I guess it wouldn’t hurt for me to talk to her again. I actually had a brief telephone appointment with her in early November. I asked about her knowledge of vampires. She said she has lots of vampire clients and learns through them. I was surprised by that and she asked why, what would be the difference between a vampire coming to a psychologist and coming to a psychic? She was right. She pretty much verified everything you and I talked about. Good thinking, Agent Stevens. I’ll do anything at this point.”

  “Huh. You’ll do anything?” He waggled his eyebrows.

  “Wait: let me qualify that. I’ll do almost anything, and for the life of me I can’t see how getting horizontal with you would help my current situation.”

  He laughed. “As unusual as this is for me to admit, I wasn’t actually thinking about sex. Of course, we can always discuss that. But I just remembered something. Let me get in touch with someone, and I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere.”

  “Okay,” I said without enthusiasm.

  He took off his headpiece and moved out of camera range. I lifted my coffee cup and drank, discovering it had gone cold. I pushed it aside, along with the remains of my crumbled muffin. What a perfect metaphor for

  my life.

  I minimized the Skype screen and pulled up my e-mail account, noticing several messages from the American Psychological Association Conference address. I’d been giving presentations annually for the last few years and had a standing slot in the program.

  I clicked open the most recent e-mail.

  Dear Dr. Knight:

  Since we hadn’t heard back from you about your topic for this year’s presentation and the deadline for taking the brochure to the printer was fast approaching, the conference committee decided to create a tentative lecture subject for you. We are aware that you’ve been busy with the unfortunate situation in Denver that involved some of your clients, so we naturally assumed the missing paperwork was an oversight. Since you are still working with the clients you call “vampire wannabes” and planning to publish in that general category, we hoped it would be acceptable to assign you to speak on an aspect of that area. Please see the attached brochure for the day and time of your lecture. Don’t hesitate to contact me with questions. We look forward to seeing you.

  Best, Marian Teller, Ph.D., Conference Chair

  Crap! I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten to send in my topic for my yearly APA lecture. As if I needed more proof that my brain had slipped a groove.

  I clicked open the conference brochure and scanned it, looking for my lecture information. There it was: Lost Children of the Night, Dr. Kismet Knight, Friday, 4 p.m.

  Lost Children of the Night? Who’d come up with that one? My stomach tightened as I imagined the committee having a good laugh over my area of discussion. Maybe I could call and give them an alternate topic. Ask them to let me present on narcissism or borderline personality disorder. Something normal.

  But then I thought, why should I? I’d gone through all the madness with the vampires in order to gain knowledge, or as Captain Picard said, “To boldly go where no one has gone before.” Why should I give in to pressure—real or imaginary—now? I made it through the insanity at Halloween and the fallout afterward. I’d come too far to allow myself to be professionally—or personally—coerced.

  I was going to the damn conference. Not only to stand my professional ground, but because getting out of town sounded like an excellent idea. No vampires.

  As I read through the rest of the brochure, I was reminded it started this Wednesday. Three days away.

  Given how distracted I’d been for the last three months, I opened my appointment book to confirm I’d taken myself off the schedule for the days of the conference. I verified having booked my flight and hotel room months earlier and was relieved I hadn’t forgotten any
thing else of importance. The conference was one of the highlights of my year, and I’d have been sad to miss it.

  I’d just sent a confirmation reply to Dr. Teller when Alan returned.

  “Hello? Are you there?”

  I clicked back into the Skype screen. “I’m here.”

  “So this is going to sound pretty out-there, but hang in with me.”

  “I’d say out-there is par for the course for you, Mulder. Let’s hear it.”

  “After that bizarre ritual Bryce did to capture Devereux, with all the incantations, spells, bells, and whistles, I started asking around about magic. It was a rush for me to think about that kind of power being available.”

  I gave a thumbs-up gesture. “If you liked that ritual, after things calm down I’ll tell you about another one I attended with Devereux. Strange and impressive.” The memory of him dancing on a cloud, his platinum hair fanning out around him, during the protection ritual last October still gave me chills. Was there ever anything real between us? Was it all a synaptic delusion?

  “I’ll hold you to that. So, you probably know that most vampires have no connection to magic. It’s only the bloodsuckers who were involved in the esoteric arts before they turned—or who were brought over by a magician—who appear to have any kind of magical abilities. If I hadn’t encountered Devereux, I might never have known magic was real. Your basic vampire wakes up with the standard package: some telepathy, vampire hypnosis, enhanced strength and speed, taste for blood, et cetera.” He tapped a pen on the table in front of him. “For some reason, vampiric powers seem to enhance magic for those who have the gift.”

  “Huh. I’ve never really thought about it, but that makes sense. Where are you going with this?”

  “I’ve been doing a lot of research.” He leaned in. “Don’t laugh.”

  “Why would I laugh?”

  “I’m just preparing you for what I’m about to say, which is something you’ll probably find amusing. I’ve been thinking of writing a book.”

  “A book? What kind of book?”