Blood Therapy (Kismet Knight, Ph.D., Vampire Psychologist) (11 page)

“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.

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 anything 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?”

“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.

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?