Blood Therapy (Kismet Knight, Ph.D., Vampire Psychologist) (12 page)

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.

Eleanor couldn’t have been more different from Marvin. Petite and trim with shoulder-length blond hair, dressed in a tan sweater with matching pants, she’d been a librarian when she was attacked and turned. Her conservative, obsessive nature followed her into the vampire realm. A compulsive cleaner, she struggled to keep herself and her environment under tight control. Living with someone like Marvin had to be her worst nightmare.

“What happened, Marvin?” I gave him my attention. “Why did you have a panic attack?”

Hmm. The fear is diminishing. I can breathe. Is it because Marvin and Eleanor aren’t very old? Or because they’re less predatory?

He pointed a quivering finger at Eleanor. “Like I said—she tried to take my stuff again. She wanted to clean up my room.” He pressed his hand against his chest, trying to calm the theatrical breathing. “I told her it freaks me out when she does that, but she won’t listen. I caught her moving my private … objects. Tell her, Doctor. Tell her she can’t do that. It scares me.”

“Eleanor,” I said, turning to her, “give me your version of what happened. Did you move Marvin’s possessions?”

She pursed her lips and folded her hands primly in her lap. “Yes, I did, Doctor. Things have gotten out of hand. If I’d known what Marvin collects, I’d never have let him talk me into moving in with him. I had a perfectly nice basement room in one of Devereux’s buildings. Everything was neat and tidy, all my books were alphabetized on the shelves. I was happy then. But things are a mess now. Not only does he save musical instruments, old vinyl records, every cassette recording ever made, and stacks of CDs, but there are also piles of newspapers and magazines, shoes that aren’t even his size, crates of condoms—which he blows up like balloons—and bags of cat food. He doesn’t even have a cat!”

“I used to have a cat! In fact— Er, never mind—”

Eleanor gasped. “Are you saying—?”

“I don’t want to talk about that.”

“So,” I interjected, my intuition sounding the alarm, “what did you remove, Eleanor? What set Marvin off?”

Marvin leaped to his feet, trembling. “Don’t tell, Eleanor. You know I need my stuff to feel safe. Everything I keep is important to me. Don’t betray me!”

Oh, great. Whatever the big secret is, it’s going to be dramatic.

“Please sit down, Marvin.”

He sat.

“We’re all just here to talk. There’s nothing to be afraid of.” I nodded at Eleanor. “What was it?”

Eleanor shifted her eyes between the carpet and Marvin’s angry face. “I was in the middle of pulling one of the dead bodies out of the room when he came home and caught me.”

“Eleanor! Don’t tell!” He pulled on his hair, his eyes wide. “We can talk about our problems without being specific. You promised.”

“Dead bodies?” I asked, anxiety spiking. “What kind of dead bodies, Eleanor?”
Does this clear up the cat reference?

She shifted her gaze to Marvin. “I know I promised, but I can’t deal with it anymore. There must be thirty dead bodies in there by now, unless you’ve hidden more I haven’t found yet. They stink, Marvin! And they’re filthy. They take up too much room. There’s dried blood and bodily fluids all over the floor. I can’t get the stains out. The bodies don’t stay neatly piled up—a stray arm or leg always flops into my path, and I trip over them.” She looked at me. “He dresses them in costumes, Doctor. Military clothes. There are corpses scattered all over the apartment.” She returned her attention to Marvin. “And there’s nowhere to put my periodicals or my computers.”

What the hell? No, I don’t want to know this! I can just get up and run away now. …

Marvin started to cry. “You can’t take my bodies away. Please, Eleanor!”

I straightened and took a deep breath. “Eleanor, what kind of bodies are you talking about?”
As if I didn’t know.
Shit, shit, shit! I don’t want to hear this.

“Dead human bodies, Doctor.”

Dead. Human. Bodies.

I grabbed the arms of the chair. “Let’s be clear: are you saying Marvin is killing humans and bringing them to your apartment?”