“A novel, actually. A vampire novel. Based on what I’ve seen. Especially the magic parts. I could tell a fictionalized version of the truth using a pen name. I’ve been playing with the idea for a while, and I actually have a few chapters roughed out.”
“Awesome. I think that’s great, Alan. Feels like a natural fit. But I still don’t understand what that has to do with me.”
“Sorry, got a bit sidetracked there. In my research, I discovered references to a group of exceptionally wise vampires—almost an esoteric vampire cult—who were skilled with magic, and they’re said to have written their wisdom down, passed it along.” He ate another cracker. “If that’s true, there must be thousands of handwritten manuscripts in a secret library somewhere. There has to be something in that material that can help you.”
I sat quietly, trying to take in what he’d said.
“Kismet?”
“Yeah.”
“What do you think?”
“I don’t know what to think, Alan. Esoteric vampire cult? Secret library? I appreciate that you’re looking outside the box for answers for me, but how the hell would I find any such material? And if I did find it, what would I do with it?”
“Okay, okay.” He raised both palms. “I know there are some details to work out. You could ask Devereux to help—I wouldn’t be surprised if he was connected to this group—or I could try to get in touch with this character I keep hearing about, Zephyr, who has a rep as a powerful magician. It’s just another line to tug.”
I sighed. “Every time I start thinking about vampires or magic or being stalked by Lucifer, I want to crawl into bed and pull the blankets over my head.”
“I can’t blame you for that. Okay, how about this? What if I make some inquiries, see if I can talk to this Zephyr guy? Can’t hurt, eh?”
“Can’t hurt?” I laughed and put an incredulous look on my face. “When we’re talking about vampires, everything can hurt.”
“Agreed, but you have to do something. You can’t just hide out in your town house until Lucifer shows up.”
“You’re right. And I am going to do something.” I folded my arms. “I’m going to the APA Conference in New York City on Wednesday.”
“What are you talking about?” He brought his face so close to the camera I could pick out the various shades of blue-to-gray in the bags under his eyes. “New York City? No way. You’ll be alone, without any of your vampire bodyguards.”
“I doubt if Devereux will pull his protection detail just because I’m out of town. Really, Alan—I need to get away, clear my head, spend some time in an environment where I know what I’m doing, where I belong. Even if they make fun of me.”
“Why would they make fun of you?” He looked genuinely baffled.
“You’re kidding, right? Didn’t you catch any of the media coverage during the so-called Vampire Murders and their aftermath last October? I was the butt of jokes on every late-night TV show and the focus of insulting, never-ending stories online and in the tabloids. It was awful.”
“Yeah, you’ll get no argument from me there.” He relaxed back in his chair. “We live in a screwed-up world. But I also saw a lot of coverage of Lieutenant Bullock and other police officers stating that even though you’d been threatened by a mad psycho, you came forward as a good citizen to help the police while protecting your clients’ confidentiality. I thought you came out of it smelling like a rose. The article about you in USA Today was especially positive. Do you really think your shrink colleagues will burn you at the stake?” He mimicked lighting a match.
I thought for a few seconds. “No, I guess I don’t. But it doesn’t matter. I’m going to the conference, and they asked me to present on the vampire wannabes, and that’s what I’ll do.”
“Well, damn. I wish I could be there to help you. Mind you, thinking about it now, if Lucifer’s still obsessed with you, I’d probably be better off returning to Denver if I want to find him. But to my knowledge there haven’t been any more drained-body murders in Denver. I’m certain the six deaths here are right up my alley.”
“So you’re the official FBI agent working with the police again?”
“I am indeed.”
“And the FBI sent you to chase a regular serial killer?”
“Yep.”
“Can I ask a question about your job?”
“Sure.” He stretched.
“Do you carry a gun? The only time I’ve seen you use one was when Bryce and Raleigh came to snatch us from my house on Halloween.”
“Yeah. It’s regulation.” He lifted his carry-on bag into camera range and pulled out a gun in a clip-on holster. “Although I rarely have cause to use it. I’m in a special category.”
“I was just wondering. Another thing—when you’re working with the police, do you think of yourself more as a federal cop or a psychologist? Seems like those would be radically different philosophies.”
He leaned in close again and gave his usual excellent eye contact. “It’s interesting that you ask that question because it’s been on my mind a lot lately. I’ve realized I don’t think of myself as a cop or a shrink. I’m not interested in helping someone explore his inner child, and I don’t like the rigid rules and regulations inherent in law enforcement. I mostly identify as a profiler, which comes in handy for what I consider my real job.”
“And what would that be?”
“Monster hunter.”
“Monster hunter?” I laughed, then stopped because he wasn’t laughing. In fact he looked very serious. “Monsters? Really? Are you talking about vampires specifically, or are you aware of other supernatural nightmares you haven’t told me about yet?”
“I’m fascinated by monsters of all varieties, including human ones, and I’m starting to suspect that bloodsuckers aren’t the only shadow residents sharing the world with humans. I think I’ve got my work cut out for me.”
“Well, Professor Van Helsing, I hope you’re wrong. I’m not up for any more unpleasant surprises. Do you have proof?”
“Ever the scientist.” His lips spread in a friendly smile, showing his perfect dentistry. “Not yet. But that’s one reason I like working with the FBI—we get dibs on the creepiest unexplained cases first. With my quirky reputation, I usually get pulled into whatever the normal Feebs can’t solve, and I have access to the Bureau’s state-of-the-art resources. The trade-off works for the time being.”
“So you’re glad to be part of the San Francisco police operation?”
“Definitely. In fact”—and he gave a quick laugh and brow waggle—“the cop in charge, Detective Andrews, is one gorgeous ass-kicking upholder of justice. She hasn’t warmed up to me yet, but I’m working on her.”
“I’m sure you’ll win her over.” And why does that make me sad? “You’re not easy to resist.”
“You think? You’ve resisted me well enough.”
“Are you sure? Hey, listen—I need to get off the computer. Lots to do to prepare for the conference.”
“Wait!” He angled one of his eyes right up to the camera lens. “You can’t just say something like that, then leave.”
I laughed. “Yes, I can.”
“Okay.” He pulled away, grinning. “I’ll let you wiggle out this time, but I’m going to do that research and see what I can find out about this secret magical knowledge for you. I’ll be in touch. Watch your back, Doc.”
“I will. You, too. And thanks, Alan. Really.”
We both clicked off, and I slumped back in my chair, staring at the clock.
Night falls early in January.
Chapter 6
As the sun dropped behind the mountains, my anxiety grew. Throughout the evening, I kept feeling the tingling in my midsection that alerted me to the presence of vampires. Devereux’s contingent of bodyguards had likely arrived and stationed themselves around the perimeter of my house. I peeked out through the window blinds every so often but didn’t see anyone. But then again, I wouldn’t.
With each
sound my stomach clenched. I kept waiting for Devereux to pop in, or worse, Lucifer. I stroked a finger along the cross and pentagram, feeling half-foolish for counting on symbols to make me feel safe, yet still taking some comfort from the action. The cross’s warmth was back. Did that mean Devereux was okay? Or just that he was awake?
I really didn’t know what to think about Devereux. I was torn between wanting his protection and being afraid of it. I had a hard time believing that nothing between us had been authentic—that my attraction to him hadn’t been real in any way. How could that be? What about all the feelings I’d experienced?
Having completed a rough draft of my conference presentation, I yawned, saved my work, then turned off the computer.
I’d just poured a glass of white wine and plopped down on the couch when I heard the telltale pop sound, and Luna, Devereux’s demon-in-training, materialized in the middle of my living room. “Hey!” I started, and spilled some of the chardonnay as I set it on the coffee table. “I thought Devereux told you not to drop in unannounced anymore.” My stomach lurched, and a waterfall of dread cascaded down my body.
“Shut up.” She pointed her index finger at me, then sat on the other end of the couch.
Devereux’s hostile assistant wasn’t dressed like her usual self, which mostly consisted of the dominatrix-from-hell look, heavy on the skin-tight black leather. Tonight she was wearing a dress-for-success business suit in blood-red with a short skirt, a sheer low-cut silver top that matched her eyes, and black stilettos. Her very long dark hair was piled up on top of her head, and held in place by chopsticks. Ruby and diamond earrings swung from her earlobes. This was the first time I’d seen her without her leathers, and that was almost more startling than her showing up in general.
I’d never felt so much fear in her presence before. Well, except for the time she was overcome by bloodlust and almost fed on me, but thankfully she’d managed to control herself. Since she hadn’t done anything in particular to warrant my fear tonight, obviously the filter was still down.
“Devereux is too busy chasing Lucifer to care about how I deliver his message,” she said, “and I don’t have time to waste answering human questions. Devereux said to tell you he’s determined to find the maniac and that he’ll be unavailable all night. He doesn’t know when he’ll see you. He said he would join you in your dreams if he can, but finding Lucifer is his priority.”
“Okay. I guess he didn’t catch Lucifer last night, then?” I breathed to calm myself. At least nothing terrible had happened to Devereux. Yet. Truthfully, I was relieved he wasn’t planning to visit. I wasn’t ready to talk to him.
“Obviously not,” she snarled, “ergo the message.”
Luna and I had reached a pseudo-truce while Devereux was recovering from Bryce’s ritual, and I thought she’d begun to tolerate me, or at least stop actively threatening me on a nightly basis. But now it appeared we were back to square one, with her hating everything about me. Hearing that Devereux hadn’t captured Lucifer made my stomach clench.
“Why is Lucifer so hard to catch? Even for Devereux?”
She snorted and flicked her fingers dismissively, looking like she wasn’t going to tell me, but then she did. “There’s something very strange about that demented bloodsucker. He has no signal.”
“No signal?” I’d never heard that term before, but then almost everything about the vampire world fell into that category.
“Pay attention, stupid mortal. Don’t you even know that vampires have a specific brain frequency? Well, I guess if you want to be picky, humans do, too, but yours resonates at a much slower rate than vampire minds. Devereux says Lucifer gives off nothing, as if there’s a void where his consciousness should be. That’s why Devereux can’t lock onto him and kill his ass.”
“A void?” I licked my dry lips. “Maybe that’s what happened when his psyche split into the different personalities—there isn’t one dominant mind anymore.”
She rolled her eyes. “Leave it to you to discuss meaningless psychobabble even when your miserable life is at stake. Until Devereux figures out a way to trap the bastard, you’re at his mercy. Even with all the vampires surrounding your house and the spell Devereux cast around you, this Lucifer asshole is still an unknown quantity.” She polished her crimson nails on her skirt. “You might want to sleep with that sword you used to behead Bryce.” She studied her sharp fingernails. “You never know when unexpected company will drop in.”
“Thanks for telling me,” I replied tartly. “I appreciate your concern.” As if.
“Concern? Puh-lease. I’m still waiting for Devereux to get bored with you. I told you we have a date when that happens. Your human mind can’t possibly imagine what I have planned for the two of us.” She gave an evil grin, stood, and said sweetly, “Sleep well.”
She vanished.
I retrieved my wine, sank back into the cushions, and stretched my feet out on the table. The Luna-inspired fear rush was diminishing, but I could still feel the residue like a hand clutching my heart.
So that was why Devereux was so … off. Lucifer’s mental illness kept him from being able to control the situation. No brain frequency? I wondered if the same applied to humans with Dissociative Identity Disorder. Maybe there was a test that could verify the diagnosis for this very rare illness? I was sorry Devereux hadn’t talked to me about Lucifer. Since the brain was my area of expertise, perhaps I could have helped him.
I sat on the couch, aimlessly clicking through the TV channels and waiting for the next horrible thing to happen. Alan’s suggestion that I talk to Cerridwyn kept replaying in my mind so I jumped up to look for the business card she’d given me to make an appointment. I eventually found it in my briefcase. I checked the clock to see if it was too late to call. Since it was after midnight, I’d have to wait until morning.
Too antsy and afraid to go to bed, I turned my laptop back on and began searching for a credible professional hypnotherapist. Working with someone who could help me reinforce my boundaries as well as expand any psychic abilities I might not be fully utilizing could prove beneficial. I printed out the contact information for several Ph.D.-level clinicians and left the pile of papers next to Cerridwyn’s business card.
I’d just started up the stairs to go to bed when the doorbell rang.
Terror stole my breath. I froze.
What the hell now? Would a bad vampire ring the doorbell?
I inched over to the door and turned on all the lights I’d just switched off. My vampire radar gave its familiar stomach-flutter, and fear ran a fingertip down my spine. I flipped on the porch light and looked through the peephole. “Who is it?”
“Doctor Knight? It’s McKay—one of the Master’s vampires guarding your home.”
I eyed the peephole again and recognized the Mohawk haircut on the quirky vampire I’d seen a few times before. He was half-Mohawk and half-Scottish. “War paint” decorated his chest and face, and a vibrant green plaid kilt swathed his lower half. “What do you want, Mr. McKay?” I really wasn’t in the mood to be polite or friendly.
“A couple of your clients have shown up out here, wanting to talk to you. I didn’t think you’d like it if I just refused to let them see you. Maybe you’d already arranged to meet and nobody told us. So, do you want to see them?”
Clients? I mentally sorted through my caseload, trying to figure out who might show up at my home. Since my address was protected, how could anyone know where I lived? But then the obvious thumped me on the head. It had to be vampires. No human would approach my home surrounded as it was by a herd of undead. The fear vibration—which I’d recently experienced firsthand—would make that impossible. Besides, most of my mortal clients followed the spoken and unspoken therapy rules. They’d never breach protocol by stepping out of their prescribed roles to intrude on my personal time. But vampires were a different breed in more ways than one. As far as they were concerned, rules simply didn’t apply to them.
“Doctor Knight?
It’s me, Marvin,” a different voice said through the closed door. “Eleanor is trying to take my stuff again. I’m having panic attacks. Please. Can you help us?”
“Please, Doctor,” a woman’s voice said. “I’m at my wit’s end.”
Uh-oh. I knew a meltdown was coming, but so soon?
Marvin was a hoarder. He and Eleanor had been seeing me weekly for the last month, and as with all hoarders, progress and trust-building came slowly. They hadn’t even felt safe enough yet to disclose the sorts of things Marvin collected. Something big must have happened for them to take the scary step of reaching out.
I unlocked and opened the door, bracing myself for a barrage of fear.
“Hello, Marvin, Eleanor.” I breathed to calm my fluttering heart and stroked the diamond cross with a finger. “I’m sorry you’re having a difficult time. Yes, we can talk for a little while.” As if I could force them to leave if they didn’t want to. Another negative in the working-with-vampires column. But what the hell? Meeting with clients always takes my mind off my own drama. I turned to McKay. “Thank you for checking with me and for protecting my home. I appreciate you all.”
He clicked his heels together and saluted. “We’re happy to serve the Master, Doctor Knight. We’ll make sure you’re safe and sound.” He looked at my clients. “Just give a holler if you need us.”
“I will,” I said to McKay, then turned to Marvin and Eleanor. “Come on in.” I stepped aside and opened the door all the way so they could enter, then closed and relocked it. “Please.” I pointed to the living room. “Take a seat and be comfortable.”
Marvin hurried to the couch, and Eleanor chose a chair.
Barefoot and dressed in his usual jeans, T-shirt, and headband, Marvin was the quintessential long-haired hippie musician. He’d become a vampire in the early 1970s, and he lived in a perpetual Woodstock movie, even going so far as to smoke pot, though it had no effect on him. I was sure the drug had created a lot of his paranoia when he was human, which led to his need to soothe his anxiety by hoarding. He continuously scanned the room, darting glances over his shoulder to make sure nothing surprised him, and pulled a couple of throw pillows against himself for security. He was always nervous during our appointments, but he looked especially jittery tonight.
Blood Therapy (Kismet Knight, Ph.D., Vampire Psychologist) Page 9