Blood Therapy (Kismet Knight, Ph.D., Vampire Psychologist) (13 page)

No way! Not even Dexter would do that. …

Marvin threw himself facedown on the couch, sobbing wildly.

Eleanor covered her ears with her hands.

“Eleanor?” I raised my voice and she let her hands drop, looking guilty and afraid. “Please answer me.”

“This is hard, Doctor Knight.” She twisted her hands. “I don’t want to hurt Marvin—I’m very fond of him. He did
accidentally
kill a couple of humans and then buried them in the yard next door, but that was twenty years ago. He dug them up recently and brought them home—what was left of them, anyway. Mostly he just finds the corpses—homeless people, junkies, mortals who have car crashes where nobody’s around, people who kill themselves. He’s quite an efficient body snatcher.”

His mother must be so proud.

Marvin pulled a pillow over his head, muffling the sobs.

My mind spun. If Marvin was human, I could call the police and turn the entire mess over to them, put Marvin on a seventy-two-hour psych hold so he could be evaluated and properly medicated. But what options were available for chronically mentally ill bloodsuckers? Meds didn’t work on them. Who could I tell? Devereux? Maybe, but he wasn’t available right now. This situation definitely pounded another nail into the coffin of not working with vampires. Nobody could be expected to cope with such insanity.

But I’m a therapist, dammit. I have to do something. Don’t I?

Eleanor squeezed her eyes tight and covered her ears again.

“Marvin!” I said.

He didn’t answer, so I tried again. “Marvin!”

No response. He’d told me at our last session that, in addition to everything else, he also has a phobia about being touched. His childhood had been hideous—he’d suffered sexual abuse at the hands of all the trusted people in his life, so he was unable to have
normal
relationships or intimacy. I tried calling his name once more, with the same lack of reaction, then I took a risk. I hoped McKay could hear me if I screamed, because it was entirely possible my technique could backfire. Marvin might be a wimp, but he was still a vampire.

“Marvin!” I reached over and touched his arm.

He bolted up, his face a mask of fear. But he’d stopped crying.

His terrified expression made me feel guilty for doing something I knew frightened him, but sometimes we have to weigh the cost of an intervention against the price of the status quo.

“Marvin?” I spoke in a soft voice. “I’m sorry I touched you, but I need you to talk to me. Can you do that?”

Yuck!
I looked at my hand.
I just touched someone covered with decomposing-corpse cooties!

Eleanor stared at him, still very upset, the corners of her lips quivering.

He nodded and combed shaky fingers through his tangled hair.

“Tell me about the bodies, Marvin. Why do you collect them?”

Holy shit. Did I just actually say those words?

“They make me feel safe.” He looked at the floor. “I know this sounds stupid, but they’re like the toy soldiers I had when I was a kid. I can line them up around me and keep the bad people away. I’m sure if I can build a tall enough wall with them, I’ll finally be okay. I won’t be scared anymore.” He looked at me with sad eyes. “And I didn’t mean to kill the ones from before. I wasn’t very good at just drinking a little blood back then, and they were drug addicts who were already close to death. I haven’t hurt anyone since, honest.”

Any minute now I’m going to wake up. …

“I’m sure that’s true, but we’re going to have to deal with the current situation. Are you willing to have the bodies removed from your home? Do you want Eleanor to keep on living with you? It sounds like it’s very important to her that you give them up.”

He started crying again. “I don’t know what I’ll do without them. I’m freaking out just talking about it. But I don’t want Eleanor to leave.”

Hoarding was so difficult to cure. Marvin had a lot of work ahead of him, if he could even find the strength to begin. Maybe the thought of losing Eleanor would be the impetus for change.

“Eleanor, talk to Marvin. Tell him what you need in order to stay with him.”

She cleared her throat, and a tear slid down her cheek. “I just want to be more important to you than the dead bodies. I want you to spend time with me instead of them. I hear you talking to them. I feel left out. And I want you to empty an entire bedroom just for me. I need my own space!”

She wants to be more important than the dead bodies. That’s reasonable.

“Marvin? What do you want to say to Eleanor?”

Breathe, Kismet. This is a nightmare and nobody came to the door. I’m fast asleep.

“What if I put them all in one room, so you can have your own space? Would that work?” He looked at her hopefully.

“Hmm,” I interrupted. “I don’t think that will take care of the problem, Marvin. We’re going to have to discuss moving the bodies out completely.”

He looked ready to start crying again, so I quickly continued. “Would you feel safe talking to the Master about this?”

“The Master? Is he even still the Master? I heard some things—”

I cut him off. If Marvin had heard the rumors, then it was official that every vampire had. “Yes, he certainly
is
still the Master. Do I have your permission to tell him what you and Eleanor have shared with me? He can have some of his staff collect the … remains and figure out a way to have the bodies turn up somewhere so the families of the missing people will know their loved ones are dead. You can give them closure. That would be a good thing, wouldn’t it? You’d like to help them, right?”

How obsessed with these bodies
is
he?

He pouted. “I guess so. If I
have
to.”

I rolled my shoulders to release some of the tension there. “That was very courageous, Marvin, and a step in the right direction. Eleanor”—I shifted my gaze to her—“is there anything else you need to say? This is your opportunity to clear the air.”

She frowned and looked at Marvin. “I can’t stop thinking about your cat comment. I used to have several cats when I lived in my old room, and they all disappeared. I want to know if you had anything to do with that.”

His chin trembled, and he stared at the floor.

Eleanor jumped up, wringing her hands. “No! Not my cats! You knew how much I loved them. What did you do with them?”

“Please don’t be mad, Eleanor! I just brought them home to play with, and then I couldn’t give them up. I might have forgotten to feed them, though. That’s why I keep lots of cat food around now.” He wiped his running nose.

Ick. Vampire snot.

I handed him the tissue box.

He blew his nose, then brightened. “But you can have them back! They’re all in the closet.”

Eleanor stared at him for a few seconds with her mouth open, then stomped to the front door and unlocked it.

“Eleanor?” Marvin said. “Where are you going?”

She flung open the door, turned back long enough to give him a nasty glare, then bolted into the night.

Marvin leaped off the couch. “Oh no! She’s going to take my cats!” He hustled after her.

Well, at least she’s practicing her assertiveness skills. That’s something. And I have to give her points for a dramatic exit.

McKay bounded across the grass and met me on the porch. “Are you all right, Doctor Knight? What happened?”

I didn’t know whether to laugh or scream, but I gave him a tired smile and breathed through the heightened terror. “I’m fine.”
Nope. I’ve gone insane
. “Therapy is hard work—sometimes people have strong emotional reactions. It goes with the territory. Good night, Mr. McKay.”

“Good night, Doctor. Sleep well. We’ll watch over you.”

Yawning, I closed the door and locked it, grateful for my dark guardian angels.

As I shuffled upstairs, I felt a flash of optimism. I’d just survived Eleanor and Marvin’s crazy session. I was strong, smart. I could figure out my mess.

But just in case, where
was
that sword?

The sun hit me in the eyes.

I wasn’t dead.

Lucifer hadn’t finished me off while I slept. I stretched, luxuriating in still having a heartbeat.

Making it through the night definitely perked me up.

And since I hadn’t scheduled any clients until the afternoon, I could call Cerridwyn for an appointment and line up a few hypnotherapists to interview.

Feeling irrationally cheerful, I made some coffee, drank it with a light breakfast, checked voice mail messages, then took a quick shower.

It occurred to me that Devereux hadn’t visited my dreams, and I was glad for the reprieve. What did it say about our relationship that having no contact with him felt liberating? But it was also true that I was worried about him. It would be harder than I cared to admit to let go of him if it came
to that.

Finding a qualified hypnotherapist in my local area wouldn’t be a problem. According to my Internet search, Denver was favored with an overabundance of traditional and nontraditional practitioners. I waded through the information I’d printed out last night, and narrowed the list to four candidates. I went to voice mail with the first three calls and left messages.

The fourth call was answered by an actual person: Dr. Hamilton—please call me Ham—Taylor. Discovering he preferred to go by the name of a pork product gave me pause and ordinarily might have put me off. After all, there were hypnotists who led people to believe they had valid credentials when they didn’t. And I wasn’t looking for a stage hypnotist. No clucking like a chicken required, thank you. But Dr. Taylor laughed engagingly at my hesitation and provided a long list of sterling qualifications. Not only had he earned an M.D. from Harvard Medical School, but his grandfather, also a physician, had worked with Milton Erickson, the famed medical hypnotherapist, and Ham had grown up with that influence. He’d followed his interest in various alternative healing modalities and was comfortable exploring subjects like psychic abilities and the supernatural. Now that I’d spoken to Dr. Taylor, I vaguely remembered a young client telling me the clinician was great, if eccentric. The fact that he recognized my name from all the media attention at Halloween, and already knew about my vampire-wannabe clientele, saved me from having to give a long explanation about my request for an appointment. By the time we’d scheduled for the next morning and hung up, I was excited to meet him, regardless of the outcome of the session. Maybe he’d be a kindred spirit.

Next I called Cerridwyn, who answered on the first ring. Before I could identify myself, she said, “Hello, Doctor Knight.”

“Uh, hello.”
She must have caller ID
.

“No, I don’t have caller ID. I have psychic abilities.” She gave a throaty laugh. “Which you well know, since that’s why you’re calling.” She cut right to the chase. “I can see you in one hour. I’m at 423 Maple Street. Until then.”

She hung up.

I held the phone out and stared at it, as if it could explain what had just happened. Once again I was impressed by her keen skills, and even though it was irritating to have yet another person read my mind, I couldn’t argue that she’d certainly been spot-on. And I did want her help.

Planning to go directly to my office after seeing Cerridwyn, I dressed in a dark-blue wool pantsuit, answered a few e-mails, then drove the short distance to her address, which turned out to be a lovely Victorian-style house.

I parked and walked up onto her porch. She opened the door before I could ring the doorbell. Her long gray hair was pulled into a bun on top of her head. Instead of the flowing gypsy dress she’d worn when I saw her on the Mall, she was dressed in new-looking jeans and a lavender sweater, which matched her socks and the deep purple of her eyes.

She smiled genially and held out a hand. “Welcome to my home.”

I took her hand, and she pulled me inside. A couple of pairs of her shoes sat along the wall near the door. I took that as a cue. “Would you like me to remove my shoes?”

“Yes, if you wouldn’t mind. I appreciate the tradition of honoring someone’s home by removing shoes. You can put them on the mat next to mine.”

She gestured for me to follow her into a large living room arranged with high-quality classic furniture, amazing paintings of goddesses from various cultures, and a grand piano in the corner. The floors were polished wood. A huge fireplace filled one of the walls, the flames sending warmth into the room. I didn’t know what I’d expected a psychic’s house to look like, but it wasn’t this gorgeous place. “Your house is incredible. Did you decorate it?”

“Thank you. The house has been in my family for more than a century. My parents are responsible for the restoration and the furniture. I added the paintings, which were created by one of my coven-mates. Please”—she pointed to the burgundy brocade couch—“sit, make yourself at home.”

A large black cat appeared out of nowhere and jumped onto my lap.

“Oh!” Surprised, I stroked a hand along the soft fur. “You have a
black cat.”

She laughed. “Of course. Would you expect anything less?” She gently pushed the cat off my legs. “Down, Pyewacket.”

“Pyewacket? That’s an unusual name.”

“Not in some circles. I named her after the witch’s familiar in one of my favorite old movies,
Bell, Book and Candle
. Have you seen it?” She sat across from me in a rocking chair.

“No. I don’t think so, but if you recommend it, I’ll have to pick up the DVD.”

“I think you’ll like it. Of course, you’ll have to take it with a grain of salt—it was made in the 1950s and the morality of the time demanded the main character make a stupid decision. I’d tell you more about it but I don’t want to ruin the ending.”

“No, I’m interested. Tell me.” I had to hear what she considered a stupid decision. “I’ll still enjoy the movie.”

“If you’re sure …” She warmed to her topic. “Well, in order to win the love of the mortal male, the witch, played by the marvelous Kim Novak, had to give up her magic. She had to literally stop using witchcraft and become society’s limited idea of a good girl to be rewarded with love. She had to
conform
.”