Blood Therapy (Kismet Knight, Ph.D., Vampire Psychologist) (41 page)

Suddenly, fear saturated the room—
ours
. Devereux’s usually repressed predator nature exploded, and even with our protections, our old-brain memories of being prey kicked in full-throttle.

Holy crap! Had Alan lost his mind? Was he trying to push Devereux’s buttons on purpose? But why? Did he have a death wish?

My heart pounded. I looked over at Alan and saw the pulse in his neck racing like a cheetah on speed.

Quicker than my eye could register, Devereux was standing in front of Alan, close enough to startle him and cause him to stumble backward a few steps before he caught his balance. He stared into Alan’s eyes, a dangerous edge to his voice. “Have a care, Agent Stevens. My affection for your mother will keep me from killing you, but there are many other ways I can make a lasting impression. Because you are under duress and worried about Olivia, I will ignore your disrespect. Once.”

I knew Alan had voiced Devereux’s worst fear: that he wouldn’t be able to destroy Lucifer. Alan was sometimes oblivious, but I couldn’t believe he’d missed the sensitivity boat to that degree and had simply goaded Devereux because he was pissed.

And from previous experience, I knew that we were both going to pass out pretty soon if Devereux didn’t lighten up.

“Master?”

“What is it, Evan?” Devereux said, answering the man in the doorway while still staring at Alan, who had begun to shake. Sweat was running down the sides of his face.

“Devereux, please stop. You’re going to scare us to death.”

He turned his head slowly toward me, so slowly it looked alien and unreal, as if he’d become someone—or something—else. He raised his head, and his nostrils flared as he breathed in the fear that perfumed the air.

“Master?”

He looked at the man—Evan—still standing in the entryway and shook his head a couple of times, snapping out of whatever vampire trance had overcome him. “Did you take the donors to Olivia and Michael?”

“That’s what I need to talk to you about, Master—Olivia and Michael aren’t here.”

“What?” Moving so fast I saw only a blur, Devereux left the room.

When he’d shifted his focus to Evan, his intensity waned and Alan and I were set free from the paralyzing terror. We ran after him.

I heard him calling Olivia’s name as he moved through the huge penthouse.

Evan and another vampire stood in the living room with the human donors: two women and two men. They waited, fidgeting, looking ill at ease and unsure of what to do.

Devereux thundered back into the room like a vengeful god, his long leather coat and platinum hair fanning out behind him, his face a mask of ferocity, now aroused not only by Alan’s taunt, but likely by the knowledge of what had happened to Olivia and Michael. “They are gone, and we all know who has them.”

Alan began to ease toward Devereux, then stopped. “I’m sorry for what I said before. I thought I’d try a little reverse psychology. I didn’t really mean it. I just wanted to rattle your cage, to motivate you. To piss you off so you’d go and rip his ass. Hanging around with vampires who are civilized made me forget the truth of what you all are.” He looked down at the front of his pants. “I’m surprised I didn’t wet myself.”

“You need not have reminded me of my duty to find Lucifer. I am aware of it always, and being unable to find him has been a humbling and enraging situation.” Having reassumed his debonair, cultured persona, Devereux looked at each of us and gave a quick nod. “I apologize for scaring you.”

I rubbed my arms to warm the chills that had broken out after the fear decreased. “We’ll live. So what now?”

“Yeah, my little standoff caused you have to deal with me, and you weren’t able to hear Lucifer abducting my mother and Ass-wi— er, Michael. I really am sorry. If anything happens to her, it will be my fault.”

“Do not blame yourself. I am glad he took Olivia.”

We both goggled.

“You’re glad?” Alan asked, his expression somewhere between shocked and incredulous. “Why?”

“Because even though I cannot search out his specific signal, I can easily track your mother’s.”

“So you know where he’s taken them?” I pushed sweat-drenched hair off my forehead.

“I do.” He turned to the vampires and donors waiting with wide eyes. They probably hadn’t expected to materialize into so much drama. “Evan, take the donors away.”

“Yes, Master,” he said, and with a little
pop
sound, they all vanished.

“You aren’t planning to leave me behind, are you?” Alan edged closer to Devereux. “If you don’t let me help rescue my mother, I’ll never be able to live with myself. I can understand making
her
stay here”—he thrust a thumb over his shoulder at me—“but—”

“Hey! What’s so understandable about that? Aren’t I the crazy vampire’s fixated object? Who’s to say that he won’t come back here as soon as the two of you are gone? In fact, that might be his plan—lure the bodyguards away so he can enjoy the spoils at his leisure. I can tell you for sure that I don’t like that plan!”

“You may be correct, but in any case, I never intended to leave either of you behind.” He looked at me. “After speaking with Zephyr, I accept it is important that you be there.”

“Uh, good? But why?”

“I have no idea.”

Damn! The blind leading the blind.

“So what’s the plan?” I asked.

Devereux looked around the room and pointed to our coats lying on a nearby chair. “Fetch your jackets, and we will be off.”

“Do you know where we’re going?”

“Not specifically, but I am clear we are going to Olivia.”

Alan and I bundled up, and Devereux opened his arms.

Familiar with the drill, I grabbed on around his middle and motioned for Alan to join us.

“Really? I have to hug Devereux? Isn’t there another way?”

“You may hold onto me or remain here. The choice is yours.”

“Come on, Alan. What are you, twelve? Don’t be an ass-wipe.” I smiled.

“Shit.” Alan hooked his arms around Devereux’s chest.

Devereux tightened his grip on us, and I experienced the now-familiar sensation of riding a free-falling elevator.

My feet hit hard ground, and Devereux released us.

Alan stumbled a few steps and leaned over, bracing his hands on his thighs. “That’s an awesome mode of transport, but it really messes with my head.”

I breathed for a few seconds to calm the queasy, discombobulated feeling. “Yeah, mine too.” I looked around at what appeared to be a regular suburban neighborhood. Wherever we were, they’d received a lot more snow than New York City had. We stood in the shoveled driveway of a two-story traditional house in an endless sea of traditional houses stretching as far as the eye could see in all directions. This one was on a corner. The curtains were closed, and lights blazed in every room.

“Where the hell are we?” Alan huffed.

The block was lined with bright streetlights. I walked over to the intersection to read the road signs. “We’re on the corner of Blue Bird Lane and Sunshine Way.”

Alan raised his eyebrows. “Seriously?”

I scanned the area. “Are you sure this is the right place, Devereux?”

“Yeah, this looks like Mr. Rogers’ neighborhood. Why the hell would Lucifer bring my mom here?”

“I do not know this Mr. Rogers,” Devereux said gravely, “so I cannot verify whether or not he lives near here, but I am certain your mother is inside that structure.” He pointed to the house. “And it is protected by magic.”

We heard footsteps clomping behind us, and we all turned toward the sound.

Shit! What now?

“Well, hello! I’m Sherry,” said a woman hurrying up the sidewalk from the house next door. Zipped into a long puffy white coat, dark Ugg boots, and a fluffy fur cap, she carried a covered casserole dish in one hand and a half-full martini glass in the other. “Are you friends of Mr. D’s? I was just heading over to bring him some dinner and see if he’d like some company. He’s an insomniac, you know.” She looked at me. “I’d shake your hand, but you can see mine are full.” She opened her mouth wide and gave a full-throated, almost-hysterical laugh that brought to mind one of the dinosaurs in
Jurassic Park
.

Who the hell’s Mr. D? Jesus. We’re all bozos on this bus.

Alan and Devereux bunched in next to me.

“Hello. Yes! We are Mr. D’s friends. I’m Kismet.”

“What an interesting name. Are you Middle Eastern?”

“No. My parents are musical theater fans.” I pointed to Alan. “This is Alan.”

He stepped forward and lifted an imaginary hat. “Hi, Sherry.”

“And this is Devereux.”

Her eyes traveled up his body to his face, and I watched all the muscles in her jaw go slack. Her mouth sagged open, and her eyelids fluttered.

He bent a finger under her chin and lifted her face so he could bring his eyes closer to hers. “You thought about going to visit your neighbor tonight, but decided against it. It is much better to stay home where you are safe and warm. You will return the food to your refrigerator, take off your winter clothing, and sit in your living room enjoying your drink. After that, you will retire for the night and will sleep soundly until your usual waking time. Go now.”

Stiff-legged, entranced, she spun around and shuffled back the way she’d come.

Devereux looked at Alan and then at me. “We must enter the house before anyone else notices we are here. The magic only prevents vampires from manifesting uninvited; it does not prevent a human from kicking open the door.”

“Now you’re talkin’!” Alan said, rocking heel to toe in his eagerness to blast into action.

“But won’t the whole neighborhood hear if we do that?” I asked.

They both looked at me as if I was the biggest wet blanket in the universe.

“You are correct.” Devereux grinned. “While it would have been very satisfying to kick in the door, I will simply push against it, quietly, and break the lock. Then Alan can actually open it. Come.” He grabbed the doorknob with one hand and braced his other over the dead bolt. With a quick
crack
, the lock broke.

Alan turned the knob and quietly opened the door.

We walked inside and scanned the empty living areas to our right and left. The rooms were furnished and decorated in a fussy Colonial style, not currently popular, but apparently still available. Low flames burned in the fireplace, and several lamps shone brightly. Magazines lay fanned out neatly across the wooden coffee table next to a plastic floral arrangement.

The place looked like a page torn from an early 1960s edition of
Suburban Homes
Magazine
. Did anyone actually design their houses this way anymore? Had we stepped into a time warp?

“Do you hear that?” Alan whispered. “It’s coming from up there.” He pointed up the stairway directly in front of us.

“Yeah,” I whispered back, “I’d recognize that ranting voice anywhere.”

“Get behind me, both of you.” Devereux climbed the stairs, and we followed.

If Brother Luther’s familiar braying voice and lecture topics hadn’t provided enough proof of his presence, his signature smell would have. But there was another energy in the house: something powerful. My solar plexus tingled.

We rushed up the steps, following the wild harangue, and froze at the doorway of a bizarre bedroom. Or what used to be a bedroom.

Devereux spread his arms across the entryway, blocking us from stepping inside.

The walls of the entire second floor had been gutted and opened up. Curved archways replaced the original interior drywall, creating an enormous master bedroom decorated in what could only be described as Tacky Brothel.

“Welcome to my home!” Dracul rose from the bed where Olivia, dressed in a black teddy, lay unconscious and bound at wrists and ankles, her long hair spread out across the pillows. Blood pooled around holes in her neck and upper thighs. Her very white skin was smeared with it.

Dracul stood like a fanged superhero with his hands on his hips and licked his bloody lips.

“Mom!” Alan started forward but Devereux held him back. “Wait,” he whispered.

“Did you hurt her?” Alan demanded.

“Not yet,” Dracul purred.

Our eyes shifted back and forth between Dracul on one side and the hysterically ranting Brother Luther on the other.

The curtains, bedding, and wallpaper were black and red, embellished with more tassels than I’d ever seen in one place before. Red scarves covered Tiffany-style lamps, casting crimson light. Photographs of naked men and women, flexibly posed in various sex acts, lined the walls and the fireplace mantelpiece. An impressive collection of sex toys sat on display in a lighted cabinet. All in all, it was a successfully updated rendition of an old-fashioned bordello.

The fire-and-brimstone diatribe increased in volume, and we shifted our eyes to Brother Luther.

Secured to a heavy wooden chair with his mouth taped shut, Michael fought against his duct-tape restraints as the crazed former preacher screamed in his face. His eyes watered, which was a natural reaction to the toxic odors wafting from the disgusting vampire. I knew from personal experience that it was impossible to determine which was worse: his breath or his body odor. I hoped Michael was far enough along in the changing-into-a-vampire process to need less air, because his nose appeared to be so clogged up it couldn’t be easy for him to breathe.

Dracul pointed at Michael. “Such an interesting specimen, this half-thing. I have, of course, seen many before. This one is particularly weak. All it took was one suggestion that he could not get loose and he began struggling against imaginary bonds even before I wrapped the tape around him.” He smiled. “I
love
duct tape! What a wonderful invention!”

Even from the distance of the doorway, I felt a headache threatening thanks to the stench. It was as if the fiend was rotting from the inside out. The quintessential ghoul.

“Demons! Sinners! Minions of Satan! You will be punished! You will be washed in the blood!” the walking nightmare raged with a Southern accent as he flailed his arms through the air, spittle flying from his decaying mouth.