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

by Hilburn, Lynda

  “Yeah, but you’re not living in the past now. Wait—I forgot who I was talking to. Kismet says you still refuse to join the twenty-first century.” He laughed. “That’s another point in my favor. I know for damn sure she has no interest in the bad old days.”

  “As I mentioned, I am making an effort to be less … mysterious and guarded. There is only one piece of the current situation I have not yet disclosed to Kismet, but I intend to.”

  “What piece is that? Hey, what’s going on?”

  There was a pause, and I nearly fell off the bed trying to listen.

  “I must go—your mother has a lead on Colin’s whereabouts. You should awaken Kismet and bring her with you to your mother’s apartment. She continues to be protected by my security force, but I also ask that you remain with her until Lucifer is captured. She trusts you.”

  Devereux must have vanished, because Alan yelled, “Hey! Wait!”

  I scrambled back into the position I was in before the argument and waited for Alan to come out of the bathroom. The toilet flushed, and water ran in the sink.

  There was no reason to let him know I’d heard the discussion. What hadn’t Devereux told me yet? Did he plan to clue me in before we start our new beginning? Probably not. As he said, he’d been this way for a very long time.

  The door opened, and Alan came and sat on the edge of the bed next to me. “Kismet?” He shook my shoulder gently. “Wake up.”

  I rolled over and blinked my eyes. “What?”

  His cell rang and he answered. “Stevens. Mom?”

  I sat up.

  “Yeah. Okay. We’ll be right there.” He stood, ended the call, and pocketed his phone.

  We’ll be right there?

  “What?” I flipped my legs over the side of the bed.

  “Mom said she got a lead on Colin through the vampire grapevine. Devereux went to check it out. She wants us to come over.” He peeled off his shirt, reached into the carry-on bag he hadn’t unpacked from his flight, and grabbed a fresh white T-shirt. “Do you need to go to your room first?”

  “Yeah.” I rose off the bed and patted my pocket to make sure my new keycard was still there. “Why didn’t your mother just pop in like all the other vampires do? It seems odd that she uses the phone.”

  “She said she isn’t very good at traveling via thought yet. I guess it takes a lot of practice, and she can only bring one person back with her.”

  “Well, that’s okay—she can come and get you. I don’t really need to be there, do I? How can I help?” I knew Devereux had told him to stay with me, but I wanted to hear how he would spin it.

  He paused for a few seconds. I could see the wheels turning in his head as he tried to think of a convincing cover story. “She’s pretty upset, and you’re good with that. She’ll appreciate the support.”

  “Uh-huh.” Not bad. Some general truth with no real explanation. Well, it didn’t matter. I was going, regardless—even if he hadn’t wanted me to. “Okay, let me go and brush my teeth and freshen up. Come to my room when you’re ready.”

  I hurried down the hall, but the sight that greeted me inside my room when I opened the door with my new keycard stopped me dead on the threshold. “Shit!” The child-on-fire had been joined by several other people, all in various stages of incineration. The entire room—or an echo of it—was a roaring blaze. I could even smell the smoke and burning flesh. My eyes watered. I reflexively raised my arms over my face and closed myself into the bathroom, where, for some reason, everything was calm.

  Heart pounding, I leaned against the door, trying to catch my breath. How was I supposed to function if I constantly had to deal with horrors from the past? Zephyr had been right about my abilities increasing, but he’d neglected to say anything about what I could do to control them.

  Since my clothes were in the other room, I eventually had to step out of my refuge. After I did everything I could in the bathroom, I steeled myself to open the door, briefly hoping that my clothing wouldn’t smell like smoke. I shook my head as I remembered the scene was an illusion. On a count of three, I pulled the door open and dashed out. The fiery nightmare was still raging, and one of the older female victims approached me with her hand reaching as I grabbed clean jeans from my suitcase. “Stop!” I yelled, desperately not wanting that hand to touch me.

  The entire scene vanished.

  I was so stunned I dropped the jeans.

  “Yes!” I thrust my fist into the air and danced in a circle. Apparently, I could control it. There was an off switch.

  I had no idea how I’d done it, but I definitely needed to figure it out so I could keep doing it. Was it the word I used, or the emotion behind it? Or simply my intention? Regardless of how it happened, I was relieved and grateful it had. I’d take any boring normalcy I could get!

  Still twitching my hips, I retrieved the jeans, chose a dark-blue sweater, and dressed quickly before anything else could distract me.

  A knock sounded on the door and I opened it, expecting Alan.

  “There you are.” Michael grinned, looking like he’d stepped from the pages of a men’s fashion catalog, not a hair out of place, wearing a gorgeous burgundy sweater and black slacks. “I didn’t know why you’d switched rooms, and nobody would tell me.” He pointed a thumb at Alan. “Luckily I was on my way to Stevens’ room when I ran into him in the hallway.”

  “Yeah. What luck. As I was just explaining to the ass-wipe, we’re on our way out.” Alan gave him a malevolent glare, then looked at me. “So say good-bye to the conniving bastard, grab your coat, and let’s go.” Alan cut in front of Michael, stepped into my room, and tried to close the door.

  Uh-oh. They’re at it again. I backed away.

  “No fucking way!” Michael shoved his body against the door so hard it almost toppled Alan. Face flushed, he pushed his way inside. “You’re not getting rid of me. I know you’re doing something involving vampires, and I’m serious—if you don’t let me in on it, I’ll go to the media.”

  “Is that so?” Alan’s calm tone was contradicted by the bulging vein on his forehead, eyebrows contracted so tightly they almost met in the middle, and the most evil smile I’d ever seen him display. “Come on in here and tell me about it.” He pushed imaginary sleeves up his arms.

  Testosterone madness. Again.

  I wedged myself between them and pushed their bodies apart.

  They both looked at me in surprise and took a step back.

  Wow. Enhanced strength, too. How cool is that?

  “Stop!” Well, hell, it worked for the ghosts. Maybe it would work for the Y-chromosomes. “Michael, the police have been looking for you—apparently you aren’t registered at the hotel. You want to tell us what’s going on?”

  “Why are the police looking for me?”

  “I had to account for my whereabouts last evening, and you’re part of my alibi. Nobody could find you.”

  “Your alibi? What the hell went on last night?”

  “Don’t change the subject. Why aren’t you registered at the conference hotel?”

  He shrugged. “I am, but since the business I told you about with the client who stalked me, I never use my real name if I don’t have to. I have a whole other set of IDs to keep me off the radar. I’m registered under another name.”

  “So you’re an even bigger liar than we thought?” Alan said. “What’s this mysterious name? Wait—is it Ass-Wipe? Dumb Fuck? Shit-Head?” Alan grinned maniacally and crossed his arms. “What a waste of space you are.”

  “I’m not telling you my other name, dick-breath.”

  Alan burst out laughing. “Wow, wishful thinking or what? Don’t be casting me in any of your X-rated fantasies, butt-face.”

  “In your dreams, you homophobic fuck.”

  Alan shook his head. “Nope, not a homophobe. I’m an asshole-phobe.”

  Ack! Maybe I can just jump in a cab and head to the airport.

  When in doubt, repeat what worked. “Stop!”

  They
looked at me, but still held their adversarial poses.

  “Alan, aren’t we supposed to be somewhere?”

  He attempted to smooth his wild hair. “Yeah. Let’s go.” He turned to Michael. “You’re not coming. This is personal business. Nothing to do with you.” He opened the door and sailed a hand toward the hallway. “After you, Doctor Parker.”

  Michael walked into the hall, suspiciously calm.

  I lifted my coat off the chair and slid into it.

  Alan and I hurried to the elevator. I turned to see if Michael was following us, but he just stood there, a thin smile on his face.

  Miraculously, there were no ghosts—fornicating or otherwise—in the elevator, and we rode down uneventfully, both of us lost in our own thoughts.

  “I’ll find a cab.” Alan left me at the entrance to the lobby and hustled out into the clear, frigid night to hail a ride. Just watching the doorman’s breath steam out as he spoke to departing guests made me shiver. I was glad we’d both worn heavy coats.

  When the next available taxi pulled to the curb, Alan flagged me over. I dashed into the back seat; he joined me and gave the driver the address of his mother’s building. I pulled the neck of my sweater over my nose. The cab smelled like feet.

  The ride was mercifully short, and soon we pulled up in front of an incredible Gothic building.

  “Wow.” I climbed out of the cab, took a breath of fresh air, and stared up the length of the building, which reminded me of Devereux’s club, the Crypt. Same basic architecture and building materials with lots of gargoyles and demon carvings. “Is this the Rosemary’s Baby apartment building?” It didn’t look exactly like the structure they’d used in the film, but close enough. Something about the vibe was similar. That movie had scared me so badly when I watched it on late-night TV about a year ago that I couldn’t sleep for a couple of nights.

  Alan took my arm and guided me to the entrance. “No—you’re thinking of the Dakota over on West Seventy-Second Street, the place where John Lennon was murdered. That alone marks it as a horror site for me. It was built in the late eighteen hundreds. This building is a little older and a lot bigger.”

  A middle-age doorman dressed in a black military-type uniform with gold buttons, tassels, and trim, plus a jaunty matching hat, opened the door for us and saluted. “May I help you?”

  We stepped inside. “Hello, Wesley.”

  “I’m sorry—I didn’t recognize you, sir. Your mother is expecting you and your guest.”

  He escorted us across the spacious marble lobby past a bank of elevators, but instead of stopping there as I expected, we kept moving toward what appeared to be the double-door entrance to a room. Wesley inserted a key and unlocked the door, revealing a private elevator.

  Alan responded to my unasked question. “This is a special elevator for the penthouse residents.”

  “Have a good evening, sir, ma’am.” Wesley tipped his hat and waited for us to enter the elevator.

  We stepped inside, and Alan punched the only button available. The door shut. We rode up to the top floor uneventfully in the wood-paneled box, and I released the breath I’d been holding. I guess I’d expected to see some kind of apparition in a building this old, and I wondered if I hadn’t seen anything because there wasn’t anything to see, or if my cutting off the action back in the hotel wasn’t associated with any specific place. Maybe I’d ended all the ghost-viewing. At least for today. I could only hope.

  Olivia was waiting for us when the door opened on the penthouse floor. She ran to Alan and hugged him. “I’m so glad you’re here.” She looked at me. “Both of you. Come inside.” She released Alan, hooked her arms through ours, and walked us into her apartment. Although the word apartment didn’t do it justice: it was a combination of antique store, museum, and movie set—a wealthy-client-focused real estate agent’s wet dream.

  The moment we entered, I was overwhelmed by a heavy, bad feeling.

  “So what’s the news about Colin, Mom? Has somebody found him?” Alan turned to face her.

  “No, but one of his friends said that several piles of ash and skeletal remains were found in the lair of one of Colin’s enemies. Apparently somebody killed them.”

  Alan hesitated, clearly thinking the same thing I was. “I don’t suppose there was any way to identify the remains? Was Colin there?”

  I knew he’d died there.

  “I don’t know yet. Devereux went to check.” She started to cry. “But I’m sure he’s not there. He’ll be found alive. He wouldn’t leave me.” Her emotions belied her words. She covered her eyes with her hands and sobbed.

  I looked around for tissues and found a box on a nearby antique desk.

  “Come and sit down, Mom.” Alan guided Olivia toward a small couch and sat next to her. He took the box I offered and handed her a couple of tissues.

  Sensing someone standing behind me, I turned to apologize for stepping in front of him or her and found a man holding his finger against his lips in a “don’t talk” gesture.

  “Don’t let them know I’m here,” said the attractive man with a British accent. He was average height, maybe five feet, ten inches, slender with dark eyes and pitch-black hair pulled back into a short ponytail at the nape of his neck. His European-cut light-gray suit, black shirt, and silver tie were disheveled.

  I glanced back to see if Alan, who was still patting Olivia’s arm and trying to soothe her crying, had noticed or heard the man. Apparently not.

  “Tell them you need to use the bathroom. I’ll meet you there.” He gazed longingly at Olivia.

  If I needed any proof that Colin was dead, or no longer undead, this visit put paid to it. I wasn’t happy to realize that I’d been selected to break the horrible news to Olivia that her mate was gone, but I didn’t see what choice I had. Yes, I could hold back the information, watch her suffer in the not-knowing, let myself off the hook. But all those options were unacceptable.

  I looked at the ghost of Colin, set my resolve, and moved toward Alan and Olivia. “Excuse me—I’m going to find the bathroom. I’ll be right back.”

  “It’s down that hallway.” Alan pointed.

  “Thanks.”

  I found the bathroom, which was luxurious enough to be an upscale spa, turned on the light, and closed the door.

  “I’m sorry we didn’t get a chance to meet under happier circumstances.” Colin walked over to an actual gold toilet, lowered the lid, and sat. “Now I wish I’d fulfilled Olivia’s request that I visit you professionally. Maybe I wouldn’t have continued to make such poor decisions. Please”—he pointed toward a chair at the nearby makeup table—“have a seat.”

  I pulled the chair close to him and eased into it. “So you were murdered by people you owed money to, as Olivia believes?”

  “Yes.” He shook his head slowly. “And no.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I did owe them money, but that wasn’t the reason I went there.”

  “It sounds strange that vampires can control one another with money. I mean, why would it even be an issue? Couldn’t you all just take as much as you want by materializing in a bank or having humans give it to you?”

  “You’re right—we can have whatever we want, but there are those among us who still cling to the fears and beliefs about money we had when we were human. Especially the younger vampires. They haven’t figured out yet that mortal notions of wealth no longer apply. And some of them simply enjoy the sport of acquiring money.”

  “So, if it wasn’t about money—?”

  “It was about Olivia. And Devereux.”

  “What?”

  “They were preparing to abduct her to get at Devereux.”

  “What’s Devereux got to do with this?”

  “It’s well known that he’s been Olivia’s protector and mentor for a long time, and he’s very rich and powerful. They assumed Devereux would do whatever was necessary to get her back. Thanks to my own connections, I heard about their plan. I stupidly
went to confront them, thinking I could negotiate or distract them long enough to consult with Devereux about a way to keep Olivia safe, but there were too many of them. I was out of my league.” He gave a sad smile. “As usual, I made the wrong choice.”

  Listening to him made me wonder if I could counsel ghosts, because Olivia had been right about Colin’s depression. Why couldn’t I treat them, too? Ghosts weren’t any more unnatural than vampires. But I doubted ghosts had a source of income, so maybe I’d be doing some pro bono work with the non-material.

  “And they killed you?”

  “Yes. They ripped off my head and tore out my heart. The standard vampire assassination.”

  I’ll have to remember that.

  I couldn’t think of a tactful way to ask the question that immediately sprang to mind, so I just blurted it out. “But if they did those things to you, how is it that you’re … whole … now? You’re not missing your head or your heart.”

  He didn’t appear bothered by the question. “I can manifest as I wish. I don’t know if that’s because I could change my appearance as a vampire or if it’s a ghost thing, but I assumed you’d prefer this form.”

  “Er, yes. Thank you.” I tried not to think about what I would do if some apparition appeared in its most grisly aspect. “What about the piles of ash and skeletons that were found? Is one of them yours?”

  “Yes. They’ll be able to identify me by my clothing. That’s one reason I wanted to talk to you alone. I want you to speak to her for me, to tell her what happened and how sorry I am. Will you do that?”

  “Yes, of course.” I stood, preparing to return to Alan and Olivia. “Wait—you said they killed you, but there were other remains present. Who do they belong to?”

  “That’s the other thing I wanted to tell you. After they took my heart and before I was beheaded, a tall bald man wearing a long black coat appeared in the room. I heard someone scream, then I was gone. I’m sure that man destroyed the others. You should tell Devereux.” With that, Colin vanished.