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

by Hilburn, Lynda

  Chapter 12

  We landed, and Michael and I shared a cab to the conference location—Hotel Briarwood, across from Central Park. The weather was cold but precipitation-free. The East Coast had experienced a dry period for the last couple of weeks.

  Hotel Briarwood was a new site for the APA conference and, after seeing photographs of the neo-Gothic building a few months back, I’d done a little online research. The hotel had a traumatic history. Fire partially destroyed it twice, once in 1900 and again in 1942, and it was rebuilt both times to match its original style. Scores of people died in those still-unexplained fires. But the building lived up to its sterling reputation: no expense had been spared to re-create the elegance and beauty of the past. Entering the hotel felt like stepping back in time.

  After checking in we took the elevator, our luggage among the cases piled on carts pulled by hotel staff. The doors had almost closed when a man wedged his hand into the narrow gap between them and thrust them apart. He propelled himself into the little space remaining and swiveled his head to stare at me.

  He was large, like a football player, dressed in a thick black parka with a brown wool cap pulled down over his head to his eyebrows. He was carrying a small gray bag and a computer case. His nervous energy sent my intuition into overdrive—the man definitely gave off some heavy negativity.

  I scooted as far from him as I could and began to wonder what was in his bag. Should I alert hotel security? But what would I say? A weird-looking guy’s walking around the hotel with a bag. Gee, that was unusual. I’d sound like a nutcase.

  The man shifted to one side to let Michael out when we arrived at his floor. We said good-bye and promised to find each other the next day.

  I watched the numbers over the doors rise as we climbed higher, feeling uncomfortable and a little frightened.

  The man kept slanting dark glances in my direction.

  Geez. I was glad the porter was with me. Brown Hat was definitely trouble waiting to happen.

  When we reached my floor, the man backed up against the wall so we could exit, then, to my alarm, he followed us out of the elevator and accompanied us down the hall as we headed toward my door.

  Crap. I didn’t want to show him which room I was in. I’d just opened my mouth to ask the porter to keep walking when he stopped in front of room 936 and ran the keycard through the reader. Brown Hat turned on his heel and strode back toward the elevator.

  Was he just some lunatic following a random single woman, or had he chosen me in particular? Now that he knew my room number, I’d have to move.

  After the porter left, I surveyed the room. It was spacious and luxurious, decorated in shades of blue and green, with two queen-size beds and a sitting area big enough for a couch and two comfortable chairs with footrests. A large television screen was mounted on one wall over an entertainment unit with a fully stocked refrigerator. Lovely reproductions of famous paintings dotted the other walls. A small office desk with commonly used supplies filled one corner, while a small conference table and chairs was centered in the other. Wireless computer access was available throughout the entire hotel.

  The APA always held their gatherings in high-quality digs, and this year was no exception. Too bad Brown Hat had already cast a shadow on my conference experience.

  The light on my telephone was blinking when I sat on the edge of the bed to call the front desk. I retrieved one message.

  “Hey, Kismet. Alan here. I’m all checked in. I figure you won’t get here till late, and you’ll be tired, so I’ll come by in the morning. I look forward to seeing you. I found out a little information about the—person—and the library we discussed. Sleep well.”

  I kicked off my shoes and called the desk. When I asked to switch rooms, they informed me the hotel was completely booked due to our conference and another. I explained that someone had followed me up to my room, and they assured me they would try to arrange for me to change floors. In the meantime, they offered to have their security people pass by my room more often during the night.

  That would have to do.

  Of course, I always had the trusty cross, even if its owner wasn’t sure

  he wanted to have a relationship with me. Dammit. Why did that still bother me?

  Yearning for a shower, I took a few steps toward the bathroom and stopped dead. “Oh!” A woman dressed like Ingrid Bergman in the airport scene from Casablanca came toward me. Upset that I’d unintentionally intruded on someone, I said, “I’m sorry—I didn’t know this room was already occupied. I’ll call—” I’d barely gotten the words out when she walked right through me, sending a shock of icy cold along my body, like breathing in death. I gasped and looked behind me. Nobody was there.

  My heart hammered in my chest. Feeling clammy and nauseous, I sat on the edge of the bed and tried to consciously lower my blood pressure. That was a first. Never before had a ghost made physical contact with me.

  What the hell’s happening? How weird am I going to get?

  “Doctor Knight?”

  “Shit!” I screamed and leaped off the bed, spinning around toward the voice that had come from behind me. I clutched my chest, my heart racing again.

  Standing in front of the desk in the corner was a naked vampire. A sparkling naked vampire. A familiar sparkling naked vampire.

  “Esther?” I breathed deeply and deliberately to calm myself, and took a couple of steps in her direction. “Is that you?” Turned as a thirteen-year-old a hundred years ago, she’d been denied the chance to fully develop, physically or mentally. Her narrow hips and flat chest made her look more like an adolescent male than a female, and her developmental challenges caused her to behave like an even younger child. She definitely had no impulse control.

  “Yes, Doctor Knight.” She gave me wide brown eyes. “I’m so glad I found you. I wanted to show you my sparkle.”

  She was painted all over with glittery white body paint. Her dark-blond hair, which she usually pulled back into a long braid, was smeared with some sort of fruit-scented glitter gel with little hearts in it and plastered flat to her head.

  Back to the sparkle. I thought we’d made progress.

  She danced in a circle. “Isn’t it great? I finally sparkle, just like Edward and Alice Cullen! Now I’m a real vampire!”

  She still thinks the characters in the movie are real.

  “Yes, I see. That’s very creative of you. What made you think of the body paint?”

  “I went to a costume shop to see if they had any new cool vampire gear, and a guy was having himself painted with white glitter paint. He wanted to be Edward for a gig with his band. So after he was finished, I had them paint me, too!”

  “That’s great, Esther. I’m happy if you’re happy. By the way, how did you find me? I told everyone I’d be out of town for a few days.”

  “I hang out with Chain sometimes, and he said you went to the shrink conference in New York City. We looked it up on the Internet and found the hotel. Then I just showed up, waited until nobody was waiting to talk to the desk person, and forced her to look up your room.” She swung her arms over her head, hopping from foot to foot and making hooting noises. “I guess she’d never seen a real sparkling vampire before because she passed out cold! It was so funny!”

  “Esther! You didn’t drink her blood or hurt her, did you? We’ve talked about how dangerous it is for you to drink in public.”

  “Nope, I remembered what you said. After she fell down I popped up here.” She brushed her arm with her fingers, sending some of the glitter fluttering to the floor. “Okay, I’m gonna go now. I just wanted to show you. See you later.”

  She vanished.

  I stood there staring at nothing and shook my head. I’d definitely entered a parallel dimension.

  In spite of dreaming about a fire and screaming people jumping out of skyscraper windows, I woke up relatively relaxed and functional. I ate my room-service breakfast in front of a window overlooking Central Park. It was a glorious sun
ny morning.

  If Brown Hat had planned any harm he’d failed, because I’d passed an unmolested night. I wondered if he was a guest in the hotel or a conference attendee.

  After dressing in a pink silk blouse, new dark-blue slacks, and a matching blazer, I went down to the conference registration desk to pick up my materials and say hello to Dr. Teller, the chairperson. While I was there, I checked out the information table, scanning the new therapy-based products that assorted salespeople would be pitching during the event, then returned to my room. I spent a few minutes reading through my presentation pages again, adding a few new thoughts and noting some new research I wanted to explore before giving the lecture.

  Assuming the hotel would be able to switch my room, I hadn’t unpacked my bags. I’d just tucked the few things I’d removed back into the suitcase and poured a half-cup of coffee when a knock sounded at the door.

  Even though I was expecting Alan, the strange experience with Brown Hat had me on edge.

  “Who is it?”

  “Your friendly FBI agent.”

  Recognizing Alan’s voice, I opened the door. He usually favored worn jeans and white T-shirts, but today he was wearing tailored dark-gray dress pants with a rich purple shirt that made the blue-purple of his eyes pop. His brown hair had been recently trimmed and styled, and for once he’d avoided using his fingers as a comb. Agent Stevens was a very good-looking man.

  He stepped in, wrapped me in a tight hug, then planted his lips on mine.

  As the only human male who knew as much—if not more—about the vampire world as I did, Alan always inspired a safe, normal feeling in me. I responded to his kiss and felt him slide his hand down to cup my ass.

  “Wow,” I said when I had flicked his hand away and we moved apart, “you’re frisky first thing in the morning.” I straightened my blazer.

  “You have no idea.” He grinned. “Maybe we could stay here for a little while, and I’ll show you.” He brushed my lips with his.

  Touching him caused inner turmoil, as always.

  I knew this would happen. My body says yes, but my brain says, “What about Devereux?” But that isn’t a consideration any more, is it? We broke up.

  I pressed a palm against his chest and gave a gentle shove. “Not now. I’m here to attend the conference and figure things out.”

  “Not now?” He stroked his hands up my arms. “I’ll take that to mean there will be a later.” He pretend-punched my arm and stepped away. “Okay. I need more caffeine anyway.” He picked up the pot, filled the rest of my cup, and took a sip.

  “Did the San Francisco police report the therapist connection to the media yet?” I asked.

  “No. They’re still holding that bit of info back, along with the fact that there are nine bodies all together. They won’t be able to contain the flood much longer.”

  “I’m still wondering whether we should warn everyone here that there’s a mad shrink-killer on the loose—do we have a duty to report?”

  “No—we should wait until the cops release the information. Come on.” He looked at the bed. “Let’s sit down, and I’ll tell you what I found out about Zephyr.”

  Since room service had only provided one cup with the large pot, I looked through the cabinets and drawers to see if there was a make-it-yourself coffee setup with cups. There was. I grabbed one, poured more coffee for myself, and stared at the couch in the sitting area before perching on the opposite bed from Alan. “So is there such a thing as a vampire cult’s secret library? Does Zephyr exist?”

  Alan set his coffee on the nightstand between the beds and shifted himself up to prop his back against the headboard. He crossed his legs at the ankles and lifted his cup again. “According to my research, it’s all true, and it’s even weirder than I thought. Are you sure you’re ready for this?” He returned the cup to the nightstand. Cocking a brow, he looked at me expectantly.

  “Judging by your body language and your question, whatever you have to say is a big deal.” I took a deep breath. “Let me have it.”

  He waggled his brows and smiled. “Later.”

  I leaned over and smacked his foot. “I mean the information, funny guy.”

  He smirked, relaxed his arms, and jerked his feet out of my reach. “Okay, so I heard there’s a fortress built into the mountains somewhere in the Andes that’s the real home—unlike the castle a certain government advertises to collect tourist dollars—of the most famous blood-drinking monster ever.”

  “What? Are you talking about—?”

  “Yep,” he interrupted. “Dracula, who prefers to be called Dracul and who actually exists. Turns out he had, and still has, a unique relationship with his biographer, Bram Stoker. Dracul does occasionally frequent that popular Carpathian castle, just to keep a fang in, and also enjoys spending time in England when he’s able. The Carfax Abbey vacation immortalized in the movies about him holds a warm spot, so to speak, in his heart.”

  “You’re making that up, trying to be funny,” I said, frowning. I stood, preparing to grab my briefcase and head downstairs. “I thought you were going to help me.”

  “Wait! I am helping you,” he said, sitting up straight. “I’m serious—this really is what I heard and from more than one source.”

  I sat and studied his expression, looking for signs that he was messing with me. “All right, I’ll play along. So Dracula exists and lives in the Andes. What else?”

  Frankly, upon second thought, that wasn’t any more ludicrous than anything else I’d learned about vampires.

  “Apparently he’s seriously considering an offer to become involved—as a silent partner, of course—in the creation of a ‘Dracula Land’ amusement park in London.”

  “Uh-huh.” I gave him a bland look. Right. A fictional vampire who allegedly lives in South America bankrolling a theme park in the UK. “So what does this have to do with a library? Are you saying Zephyr is another name the mythical Dracula uses?” Suddenly an idea occurred to me, and I slapped my hand on my thigh. “Of course! This is from your book, right? A plot idea. Very creative.”

  I should have known better than to talk about anything serious with Alan.

  He swung his legs over the side of the bed and took a sip from his cup. “That would be a cool subplot for my book, but I didn’t make it up. It’s common knowledge among the older vampires. And no—Zephyr isn’t one of Dracula’s names.” He tapped his index finger against his chin. “But now that you mention it, maybe I could borrow the idea for my book.”

  “It’s not likely vampires will sue you for lifting their story, I guess.”

  “Oh, I don’t know.” He grinned. “What if lots of vampires are attorneys?”

  “You’re right. People always talk about lawyers being bloodsuckers. I hadn’t thought of that.” If Devereux and his corporate colleagues could run multinational companies, anything was possible. “But what does Dracula have to do with the secret library?”

  “It’s housed at the fortress, deep inside the mountain, in a steel-

  reinforced waterproof chamber. There are supposedly thousands of volumes, each one a handwritten account of members’ magical experiments and discoveries, spanning millennia. Zephyr is the current keeper of the wisdom—the head librarian, as it were. Has been for longer than anyone can remember.”

  “So he lives in the Andes? That puts an end to the idea of me getting in touch with him.”

  “Not necessarily. He works there, but the location of his lair is unknown. I guess several vampires, including all the master vampires like Devereux, know how to contact him. But I already put the word out across the vampire grapevine that you’d like to speak with Zephyr. My source says you’re well known enough that the librarian will follow through, so you can expect a visit.”

  “Shit! You mean he’s just going to pop in whenever he feels like it? We can’t make an appointment?” I’d be a nervous wreck, waiting for a Gandalf clone to appear in my bedroom as I slept.

  “Yeah. I guess he wil
l just pop in. Even though you’re associated with Devereux, I don’t think vampires give much weight to human wants and desires. I’m sure he’ll show up when it’s convenient for him.”

  Someone knocked on the door. I visibly startled, and Alan noticed. “Geez, Kismet—it’s only the door. More high-strung than usual today, aren’t you?”

  “Some guy followed me and the porter up to my room last night. I keep expecting him to show up.”

  He immediately shifted into high alert, relaxed body posture totally gone. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? I could have had a chat with hotel security.”

  I rose and walked to the door. “Who is it?”

  “Hotel Guest Services. You asked to switch rooms?”

  I cracked the door to find a tall red-haired woman and a short Asian man in hotel uniforms. No linebacker in sight.

  Alan sidled over to see for himself.

  “Yes. Thank you. Come in.”

  The man rolled the luggage cart into the room and lifted my bags onto it. After I gave the area a last eyeball scan to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything, the four of us exited into the hallway.

  As we stood in front of the elevator, Alan flashed his FBI credentials at the pair, then said to the woman, “Which room are you moving her to?”

  “1029,” she replied.

  “Great. Give me thirty seconds’ head start before you get in the elevator.” He pointed down the hall. “I’m going to check the stairwell and keep watch as you enter the new room.”

  He trotted off, and the three of us made polite conversation about the weather for the requested time. The two employees kept their faces blank and didn’t express any opinions about the clandestine operation.

  The only difference between the new and old rooms was the color theme. This one was gold and burgundy. I still had a view of Central Park.

  My belongings relocated, I waited at the doorway for Alan to return, which he did a couple of minutes later.