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

by Hilburn, Lynda

  Anne tells me that despite my ongoing relationships with vampires, my brain is still unharmed, and, for the most part, uninfluenced.

  Cerridwyn says the same. I went to her house for another reading and she verified that not only is my brain healthy, but it’s stronger. She said I’ve done a good job practicing the hum. I’ve discovered that sound magic is a potent, fascinating branch of the occult, and I haven’t even begun to utilize the possibilities. Of course, Cerridwyn knew about my drinking the elders’ blood before I mentioned it, and she agreed it was a necessary precaution. She also said I would be surprised by the new manifestations of my abilities over time—although, she wouldn’t be specific—and that I should prepare myself for another personal and professional challenge thanks to my affiliation with vampires. Besides sounding ominous, it strikes me as exhausting. Challenges because of the vampire world? So, what else is new? She agrees that it’s a good idea for Devereux and me to start over, to take things slowly. She says both of us need to learn more about ourselves before trying to forge a union—or whatever it is we’re forging. I couldn’t agree more.

  Nicky disappeared. Since he’d been so disciplined about keeping all his appointments with me, I became concerned when he missed one. After all, he had been actively suicidal and self-destructive. But even taking his mental state into account, I strongly suspected that Wanda had found a way to get rid of him. After watching their interpersonal dynamic the night of the gathering at my office, it didn’t take my new ability to guess what had happened. Unfortunately, I was right. At my request, Devereux assigned a few members of his security force to search for the young bloodsucker, and they easily read the murder details (is it murder if an already dead creature is killed again?) from Wanda’s mind. She’d beheaded and staked him in the basement of the fast-food restaurant where she worked. Apparently she’d desperately wanted the job as head taco-maker and was more than a little insane herself. Nicky was young enough that his remains could still be identified. At Devereux’s command, Wanda was destroyed on the spot—not because the Master has any particular interest in the fate of any random individual, but as a gift to me. I still don’t know how I feel about that. I’ll miss Nicky.

  Esther has discovered an unscented sparkling body paint that she can wash off every few days and have a new friend reapply for her. The friend— Fred, a gangling boy who suffered a catastrophic brain injury right before being turned—shares her Twilight addiction. They’re both joyfully sparkling.

  Marvin and Eleanor broke up. Despite Devereux’s insistence that he stop collecting dead human bodies, Marvin’s compulsion prevails, and Eleanor refuses to accommodate him. She has moved back into her old apartment in one of the Master’s buildings and has adopted a few cats. Well, actually, a lot of cats. We might have a new therapy issue to confront.

  Marvin’s depression has increased since he lost both Eleanor and all his hoarded bodies, but he comes to individual therapy regularly and is exploring the underlying causes of his addiction. We experienced a setback recently when Marvin lost control of himself and brought a couple of his favorite—particularly ripe—dead bodies to a session. He’d dressed them like Civil War soldiers, one in blue, one in gray, and he threw such a panic-driven temper tantrum when I said he couldn’t keep them that building security had to be called. He was held at a “vampire jail” that nobody will explain to me and kept in solitary confinement in a coffin for days. I don’t know yet if his switch to talking about his fear of the dark is a positive change from his dead-body fetish or not. I suppose we’ll find out.

  My Fear of Fangs group celebrated recent biting breakthroughs for Chain and Betty, who has also been practicing not breathing. Chain was so proud of himself that he got carried away and bit everyone in the group last week. I had to schedule individual sessions for everyone to manage the fallout. I’m thinking of putting the group on hiatus for a month to give them time to recommit to the process. And besides, after the last bloody session, my office needs new carpet.

  Olivia kept her word about counseling. She’s still grieving the true death of Colin, and she will be for a long time, but she has begun to venture out of her penthouse occasionally. At Colin’s insistence, she has stopped inviting mediums to channel him, because he told her it felt like a violation—a psychic rape. But as he promised, he joins us regularly for our psychotherapy sessions, sometimes listening as Olivia pours out her heart about losing him, but more often giving encouragement and suggestions for her healing and growth. He makes quite a wonderful co-therapist. He has asked if he can have his own private consultation with me in the near future. Apparently, he has some otherworldly decisions to make. I’m hoping he’ll answer a few questions I’ve come up with about the afterlife—or as he describes it, the parallel dimension he inhabits now.

  Despite saying he wouldn’t be available to me in the future—that he didn’t interfere in the lives of humans—Zephyr has shown up in my dreams a few times. I suppose it’s possible that he’s only a figment of my nocturnal imagination, but I think it’s really him. Each visit, he takes me back to the vast underground caverns in South America and shows me yet more priceless artifacts and treasures. I get the feeling that he likes having an appreciative audience. Sometimes I go to bed early, just in case he wants to play tour guide that night. He informs me he’ll collect me on the same date yearly so I can drink the elders’ blood. And he did drop a bit of a bombshell: it turns out the magical concoction slows my ageing process—so what will that mean for me?

  Speaking of effects from the ancient blood, my ability to communicate with ghosts is definitely increasing. They’re everywhere, some more intrusive than others. Mostly they show up as reenactments of previous events—loops that play again and again. It has been very gratifying to verify that I can stop those replays with a combination of my words, emotions, and intentions. Discrete manifestations aren’t as easy to control. Discovering I’m being followed by a dead person—as opposed to an undead person—is becoming a regular occurrence. Some don’t speak to me; others do. So far, there’s no rhyme or reason. My not-really-serious question to myself when I met Colin, about whether or not I’d be counseling ghosts, was answered because the specters are showing up in my psychotherapy office now—whether there’s another client already present or not. I need a new game plan. Vampires and ghosts—what’s next?

  Brown Hat’s videos—I just can’t get used to thinking of him as Jack Kent—are as educational and intriguing as he said they’d be. He gathered hours and hours of interviews with various vampires, including anecdotal accounts of their transformations, very powerful and evocative journalism. If he’d gone public with the recordings, the lid really would’ve been ripped off the coffin. If even only a few mortals believed them, the wall of secrecy protecting humans from vampires would have been breached, encouraging the bloodthirsty Dracul-sympathizers who want to return to being visible predators again. As horrible as it is to even contemplate, Brown Hat’s death was probably a good thing. He was right that the recordings would help me understand my blood-drinking clients better. I made a copy of the videos for Devereux, because he needed to see what some of his vampires are up to. Apparently, his coven is harboring many traitors who were captured on tape, draining humans regularly behind the Crypt. He isn’t happy.

  Dr.—call me Ham—Taylor and I have begun meeting every other week to discuss all things paranormal. He was flabbergasted to learn about the “reality” of ghosts and magic. His view of the world has definitely been upended, but he’s coping. As much as I enjoy his company, I’m not sure meeting me was such a great thing for his peace of mind. He said he has scheduled his sex reassignment surgery and has decided to keep Hamilton as his first name. He said he’ll tell clients he is named after both sides of his family, which is true, and he’ll change the nickname from Ham to Hammy. I’m hoping I can persuade him that another nickname might be more appropriate for a professional. I wonder how long it will take me to remember to refer to him as she?


  Devereux surprised me last week by organizing a film retrospective of several well-known vampire movies at the site of last October’s Vampires’ Ball. He invited so many real bloodsuckers who’d played the roles that my head spun. Not only was Valentino there, but also the two actors I’d seen at the wedding—including the gorgeous Latin heartthrob—plus a very young, intense dark-haired Broadway performer who’d added new levels of sensuality to the genre in the early 1980s. My mind boggled as I was introduced to more and more actors who turned out to be the real deal. I’m still star-struck!

  Michael continues his transition from half-thing into full vampire. He came to visit me at my office one night to apologize for telling so many lies. He said it would probably take months more before he was completely reborn. He offered to talk to me about his experiences and his knowledge of the vampire world, and I readily agreed. Since we’re both being honest now, spending time together is pleasant. We actually talk more about “normal” therapy issues than the madness of the undead. Once he transforms, he’d like to hang out his shingle again as a therapist to the bloodsucking community. I’m looking forward to it.

  Alan has been so busy reacquainting himself with his mother and dealing with the FBI that we’ve hardly spoken. Since he’d focused his life on exploring the truth about his mother, and he now has most of the pertinent facts, he isn’t sure what he wants to do anymore. He and Devereux came up with a plan to satisfy the FBI’s demand that Alan find the human serial killer pretending to be a vampire, or turn the case over to someone else. Alan alerted the San Francisco police, including Detective Andrews, his gorgeous, ass-kicking upholder of justice, that he had tracked the killer to an abandoned warehouse there. An unnamed source contacted the local and national media and the scene was set for a showdown. Devereux acted the role of the killer and swapped gunfire with Alan, who took a slug in the arm, just for appearance’s sake. By the time the police and FBI gathered to storm the building, it burst into flames. Alan, who’d apparently barely made it out alive, staggered clear, bloody and hurt—and a hero. Devereux had liberated an unidentified corpse from a Canadian morgue to be the remains found at the scene, and he also altered the minds of everyone he encountered, making sure they were all on the same page as far as Agent Stevens’ bravery and dedication to his work were concerned. Alan, triumphant, took a leave of absence from the Bureau to figure out the rest of his life. He told me he spent a couple of days in San Francisco with Detective Andrews. Non-business days. I know I don’t have any right to be jealous, but I still am. He told me he’ll be in touch soon. I hope that’s true.

  Devereux is still struggling with his concerns about my ability to sense his emotions more distinctly—not to mention the fact that he can no longer read me as a matter of course, thanks to the elders’ blood and the hum. He was correct when he said he probably wouldn’t be able to curb his ego after so many centuries. Even though he tries very hard, he’s bossy, secretive, and certain he knows what’s better for me than I do. He’s still not telling me why I’m so important to him—I mean the real reason—but despite his domineering tendencies, I find him irresistible. There have been a couple of times that he infuriated me and raised my emotions to the point that my thoughts became available to him, and he took full advantage of the moment. He’s unrepentant about working to regain the upper hand. For some reason, that doesn’t bother me. Since dispatching Dracul and Lucifer—I didn’t want my part in the deed to be widely known, so Devereux gets credit for everything—he has once again assumed mythic proportions and has become the Penultimate Badass Master of the Vampires. He has reaffirmed his role as protector of the secret world of the undead. Needless to say, we don’t get to spend as much time together as we’d like. But we’ve agreed there’s no hurry. After all, I’m just starting to adjust to my strange, new reality. Surely, things can’t get any weirder than this … ?

  Follow Kismet Knight’s continuing adventures in

  Crimson Psyche, Vampire Psychologist, Book Three.

  ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

  There are so many people to thank for the publication of this book it would take pages to acknowledge them all. Here are a few to whom I’d like to show special appreciation:

  Jo Fletcher, editor extraordinaire, and publisher of Jo Fletcher Books, an imprint of Quercus Books, UK. She has been patient, kind, and supportive throughout our time together, and I am very lucky to have her as my editor.

  Michael Fragnito, vice president and editorial director of Sterling Publishing, USA, and his staff, who have worked hard to keep my books moving forward despite ongoing challenges.

  My agent, Robert Gottlieb, chairman of Trident Media Group, who continues to help me navigate the ever-changing world of publishing.

  And of course I can’t forget my writer/author friends and brainstorming buddies who kept me afloat during some unexpected rough seas. Many thanks and much love to Betsy Dornbusch, Esri Allbritten, and Laurie Hawkins. To all my critique partners and beta readers, I send continuous gratitude. You are the best!

  Most important of all are the wonderful readers who love Kismet and her world and who bombard me with emails asking for the next book: Thank you, thank you, thank you. This book is for you.