Dark Harvest

Lynda Hilburn

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Epilogue

Excerpt: The Vampire Shrink

Copyright

Chapter One

“Top o’ the morning, guys and gals, and welcome to Wake Up, Denver!, WOW Radio’s top-rated talk show. I’m your humble host, Carson Miller, and sitting here with me in the studio today is Denver’s own self-proclaimed vampire psychologist, Dr. Kismet Knight. She’s ready and willing to answer all your bloodsucker questions. Give us a call. The phone lines are open. Welcome, Dr. Knight.”

“Thanks, Carson.” I leaned in. “I’m happy to be here.”

He swiveled his head in my direction, and wiggled his eyebrows, still talking into the microphone. “Let me start by saying that you look finger-lickin’ good this morning, Doc. Seriously babe-o-licious.” He ran his thick, lumpy tongue slowly around his lips in a horror-film version of what I supposed he thought was a sexual come-on.

“Uh, thanks?” I studied his stained, too-small T-shirt and unfashionably faded jeans.

Oh, shit. Great. Another Howard Stern shock-jock wannabe, except fat and bald. What is it with all these radio assholes?

He slid his sweaty hand across my knee and grabbed on with claw-like fingers, clutching hard enough that I was sure there’d be bruises. I used both my hands to pry his grip loose and, when that didn’t work, I dug my fingernails into the veiny, liver-spotted skin on the top of his hand. That got his attention. He opened his mouth in a silent yelp and I managed to shift my knees away. Grinning at me, he shook his fingers in the air, which was either an attempt to restore the circulation in his digits or his version of the universal, outdated frat-boy “hubba hubba” motion. The second seemed more probable. He continued speaking as if he hadn’t just acted like an adolescent, predatory creep.

I glanced over at the door that led from our small sound booth to the engineer’s room to calculate how many steps it would take me to escape if radio’s Uncle Fester got another wild hair.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I have to tell you that it’s a shame we aren’t on TV, because Dr. Knight is a feast for the eyes. She’s wearing a clingy black dress that hugs her curves in all the right places. Legs that go on forever. Big blue eyes. And she’s got this great long, dark hair.” He reached out to touch my hair and I smacked his vile hand away. He lowered his voice and gave it an extra layer of smarm. “It gives a guy ideas, if you know what I mean. Anyway, Doc. What the hell is a vampire psychologist? Are you a vampire?” He laughed, his belly flopping against the table, making the microphone wobble. “Hey, I heard this joke. A vampire and a werewolf go into a bar, and …”

While he rambled on, I indulged in a graphic daydream about what Luna, a hostile Amazon-woman vampire of my acquaintance, could do to this jerk. And it was a good thing that my boyfriend, Devereux—boyfriend, significant other, geez, did that sound stupid, but I didn’t know what else to call him —isn’t a morning person, er, vampire. He doesn’t suffer fools gladly and I knew he’d make short work of this mental midget.

Not that I needed Devereux to protect me, mind you. I didn’t get the nickname The Highlander for nothing. Hey, behead one vampire and you get labeled forever. But if you had a studly master vampire who insisted on playing bodyguard, wouldn’t you indulge him once in a while? Just one fang-flashing snarl from Devereux has been known to cause more than a few stupid mortals—or immortals, for that matter—to flee.

I was enjoying my mental walk down memory lane so much it took me a moment to realize Carson had turned to me, leering.

“So, Doc. What’s the deal? Are you a vampire?”

I scooted my chair a bit farther away from the host, tilted my head, and beamed an insincere smile, focusing on his ridiculous question. If he only knew. “No, Carson, I’m not a vampire. I’m a psychologist who works with the subculture of individuals who believe they’re vampires. Or who want to be vampires. People seeking meaning through role-playing and exploring the dark side of themselves—the unknown—and by flaunting society’s ideas of good versus evil.”

“Wow, Doc. That sounds pretty sexy,” he oozed. “Are you saying that Denver has a lot of these people? These pretend vampires?” He slid his hand up my leg and I slapped it away, giving him the hairy eyeball.

He laughed and pointed to the microphone, expecting or maybe daring—me to continue my interview despite his obnoxious behavior.

I glanced at the studio clock on the far wall, regretting the fact that I’d agreed to be a guest on the show for an entire hour. I definitely should’ve done more research to determine which media interviews would actually help my career, which ones had odious hosts, and which ones just wanted to exploit the fact that I’d been involved in a heavily reported serial murder investigation a few months earlier. A case dubbed the “vampire murders.” Finding blood-drained bodies did tend to generate interest. Almost nobody knew that the perpetrator was a mentally defective vampire, diagnosed with what used to be called “Multiple Personality Disorder,” and who was still on the loose. Nobody, that is, except a Denver police lieutenant, one cocky FBI agent, a bunch of vampires, and me.

“It seems the Doc here needs more coffee. She’s a little slow on the uptake this morning. Let’s go to the phones. Studio line is open.”

He gave me an innocent look and shrugged, as if to say I shouldn’t hold him responsible for his “performance” persona. I notched up the ice content in my glare and scooted my chair back a couple more inches.

The studio phone had two rows of buttons, eight in each row, and all of them were lit up and blinking. He reached over and pressed the closest one.

“You’re on the air. Give us your first name and your question for the luscious Dr. Knight.”

“Hello? Dr. Knight? This is Susan in Aurora. I want to know if you’ve ever worked with any real vampires?”

Why, yes, Susan. I actually chopped the head off one, was locked in a coffin by another, and have sweaty, wild, and crazy sex regularly with yet another.

Nope. Better not say that.

“That’s an interesting question, Susan. Why do you ask? Do you think that vampires are real?”

“Well, not exactly, but I guess I wish they were real.”

“Hmm. Why do you wish they were real?”

“Well, it would just be so cool to be with a guy who could read your mind and who could make you live forever. A guy who would want to be with you all the time. A guy who wouldn’t cheat on me.”

“Ah, it sounds like you’ve had a painful experience with a man recently. A non-vampire, right?”

“Yeah. But a tarot reader told me my boyfriend was a psychic vampire. I bet you work with a lot of those, too.”

“I do come across a lot of psychic vampires.” I looked over at Carson. “They seem to be everywhere. And for the listeners who might not know what that is, a psychic vampire is someone who feeds on the emotions and energy of others—psychologically speaking. We all know people who suck on our energy—who manipulate and control things to their advantage. We can’t make them stop trying to feed on us, but we can take ourselves off the menu. We can create healthy boundaries for ourselves so that no one can drain our energy without our permission.”

Carson leaned into his microphone. “Hey, Doc. Why would anyone give permission for some psychic vampire to feed on them?”

I glanced toward him, smiling. “Well, sometimes we don’t realize we’re dealing with a psychic vampire until they’ve already stuck their psychic fangs in our necks. They can be very clever. Very manipulative. Extremely self-absorbed. We’re bespelled before we even realize what happened. Or, sometimes a person with inadequate boundaries—or a poor self-image—unconsciously invites a predator into his or her life. Psychic vampires seem to sense the vulnerabilities in others and they prey upon them. They go from one victim to another, feeding and draining. Isn’t that right, Carson?”

“How would I know, Doc?” He frowned, pursed his lips. “Are you saying that I’m a psychic vampire?”

Duh.

“No, Carson. Of course not. Whatever gave you that idea?” I expanded the false smile and batted my eyelashes.

Okay. So I have a healthy Inner Bitch.

“Well, I want my listeners to know that I’m not any kind of vampire. Although I wouldn’t mind doing a little sucking on various parts of your bodacious bod.”

I gave him a cold stare and sneered.

He smirked and punched another button on the telephone.

“You’re on the air.”

“This is Crystal, Dr. Knight, and I’m calling because I have terminal cancer and the doctors say I only have a couple of months left to live. They’ve done everything they can. I’m only twenty-four, Doctor, and I don’t want to die. I want to live at least a normal amount of years. If I can find a real vampire to bite me and turn me into one of them, will my body be cancer-free?”

Shit. They never taught this stuff in ethics class in graduate school. Do I tell her the truth, that yes, her body would be cancer-free, but she’d be the walking dead? Or, do I pretend that I still think the vampire thing is a fantasy and just let her die? Which is better? Dead or undead?

“I’m so sorry you’re sick, Crystal. According to vampire legend, if a vampire brings you over, you no longer have a mortal body. So, yes. You’d be cancer-free. But you’d also be dead. Since there aren’t any real vampires available at the moment to ask—Hey, that’s true, they’re all dead ’til sundown—I do have a medical suggestion for you. My office phone number is in the book. I’d like you to call me so we can discuss options. Will you do that?”

“Sure. I don’t think it’s going to do any good, but why not? I’ll call you later today. Thanks, Dr. Knight.”

Ah, Crystal. Be careful what you ask for because you just might get it.

“That’s great. I’ll talk to you then.”

Carson edged close to his microphone, making loud sniffing and sobbing noises, pretending to cry.

“Gee, Doc. That was heartbreaking, wasn’t it? I wonder if she’d be willing to have some hot sex before she bites the dust? Could you ask her when she calls you?”

He chuckled at the shocked expression on my face. He’d apparently wanted to see how far he could push me. But for what possible purpose? There was something very foul about Carson Miller.

“Keep those calls coming in, Denver.” He clicked the next flashing button on the phone. “You’re on the air with the succulent Dr. Knight and the humble Carson Miller. Speak now or forever hold your … whatever.”

“Hi, Dr. Knight! This is Amber. Me and my girlfriends are cosmetologists, and we’re listening to you at our hair salon, along with our customers. We think you’re cool.” Clapping and cheers sounded in the background.

Carson slumped back in his chair, a demented grin on his fat face.

“Thanks, Amber.” I put a smile in my voice. “I appreciate that. How can I help you?”

“Well,” she began, her tone breathy, excited, “we’re rabid vampire book fans. We read every vampire book that comes out, and there are lots of vampire romances these days. Why do you think women get turned on by the idea of having sex with a vampire? I mean, aren’t their bodies cold and hard like statues? How arousing is that?”

I chuckled. “Let me begin with your first question. I think women are intrigued with the notion of having sex with vampires, because vampires are extraordinary. They’re immortal and desperately need the woman’s very blood in order to exist. Imagine being needed that intensely. That’s a pretty powerful metaphor, don’t you think?”

Be still, my heart …

“Wow,” Amber said. “I never thought of it that way.”

“And,” I said, “it’s doubtful that a gorgeous vampire would be sitting in front of the television, night after night, drinking beer and ignoring her—like an undead Homer Simpson, right?”

She laughed. “You better believe it!” More catcalls and cheers from the salon.

“Women fantasize about males who are heroic, mysterious, or non-ordinary—as well as gorgeous with bodies to die for. And what’s wrong with a good fantasy?”

I should know. Devereux is definitely fantasy material.

“Woot! Woot! Woot!” came from the speakers.

After they calmed down, I continued, “And about vampires having bodies like statues, some of the popular books do portray their vampires that way, but I definitely agree with you. I probably wouldn’t find a cold, hard body appealing. I prefer the authors who give their vampires warm, almost-human characteristics. If I were going to write a vampire novel, I’d have the vampires retain control of their body functions: heartbeat, breathing, warmth, state of sexual readiness …”

The softest, warmest lips imaginable …

“Yes! Sex at the drop of a … fang!” Wild cheering floated across the airwaves.

With a loud click, Carson disconnected the call and barked into his microphone. “Damn! That’s enough of the sex talk.” He cupped his equipment. “You guys are turning me on, and I won’t be responsible for what happens. Next call.” He punched another button on the phone.

“Dr. Knight? My name is Nancy Whitmore and I’m a social worker in Denver.”

“Thanks for calling, Nancy. How can I help you?”

“I remember reading about the murder case you were involved in a while back when a couple of young people were killed. Vampire wannabes, the media called them. The murderer was never caught. I’m wondering if you’ve seen the numbers of kids getting into the vampire lifestyle decreasing or increasing since then? I would’ve thought the negative publicity would scare them off, but I’m finding more and more kids are getting lured in. Do you offer any groups or educational classes I can refer the kids to? Is there any validity to the talk about some kind of evil energy getting stronger in Denver?”

Carson stood and walked behind my chair, clamping his sausage-sized fingers on my shoulders, massaging roughly. The engineer on the other side of the glass in front of us shook his head frantically, gesturing at Carson to return to his seat. Carson’s hands inched away from my shoulders, heading down toward my breasts. I bolted from the chair, grabbing my microphone as I slipped out of his reach.

Speaking of evil energy. What was up with this fool? I hadn’t heard any feedback about him from anyone that would’ve led me to believe he was such a degenerate. Was he on drugs? He’d be a midnight vampire snack, if he didn’t chill pretty soon. There was more than one benefit to hanging out with the undead.

I leaned against the glass separating the on-air room from the hallway, where spectators were lined up, laughing and pointing at Carson’s supposedly clever antics. I tried to focus on answering Nancy’s questions, while making sure I stayed out of Carson’s vicinity.

He danced around the studio while I spoke, lifting the front of his T-shirt, pointing to his protruding, hairy stomach. His audience made its pleasure known. I tried not to lose my breakfast and kept my voice steady.

“Those are great questions, Nancy. Yes. I do offer both groups and educational classes. Have them call my office. I have noticed an increase in people of all ages joining these cults. It doesn’t make sense, because there’s been so much negative publicity about the dark underside of the vampire lifestyle. But there does seem to be an escalating interest. I’ve also heard the talk about Denver being one of the places where evil is growing. A police friend told me recently that all forms of violent crimes are up here. People seem to be losing control of themselves. I admit I don’t understand what could be causing the changes.”

Well, at least not anything I can talk about.

Carson leaped back into his chair, drew his microphone close, and affected a whining, high-pitched voice, “Oh, my goodness gracious. There’s evil in Denver. Somebody save me! That’s enough with the social worker.” He punched the next blinking button. “You’re on the air, and I insist you be more interesting than the last caller.”

There were a few seconds of silence, during which the hairs on the back of my neck rose and goose bumps swarmed over my arms. Although silence doesn’t begin to cover it. It was more like the air had been sucked out of the room. Or a black hole had opened up—cold, bottomless, and terrifying. Even Carson seemed temporarily entranced. Then a deep, sonorous male voice spoke.

“Dr. Knight. I have looked forward to meeting you.”

My solar plexus tingled as it always did when a vampire was near.

Whoa. What’s going on here? This guy has the vampire voice, for sure. And his vibe is definitely bloodsucker. But it’s daylight, so he can’t really be a vampire. I shouldn’t be able to feel a vampire over the telephone, right? I don’t trust myself anymore to make judgments about who’s a vampire and who isn’t. Brother Luther slipped right under my radar and that almost got me killed.

Carson, who’d snapped out of his mini-trance, wheezed into the microphone, “Hey, Doc. I think we got us a live one here! Or a dead one! I’m a riot—I really crack myself up. I’ll bet this guy’s a vampire. He sounds like a vampire. So, Mister Vampire. What’s your name and what’s it like being a creature of the night?” He sat back in his chair, smiling, waiting for the next straight line to be supplied for his comedy routine.

The caller whispered, “Silence, tedious human.”

Carson slumped in his chair, his chin landing on his fleshy chest, his eyes snapping shut.

I stared wide-eyed at Carson, having seen this kind of hypnosis-like state before. Always from vampires. Real ones.

“Dr. Knight?” the deep voice purred.

I gasped involuntarily. His voice was distractingly arousing. It caressed my skin like warm fingers, reminding me of intimate encounters of the gorgeous undead variety. What the hell was going on?

I cleared my throat. “Yes. I’m here. There does seem to be something … unique … about you. Something …”

“Vampiric?” he whispered, the resonance of the word vibrating like a hand stroking my body.

Yikes. I think I moaned. Pull yourself together, Kismet. You’ve been through this before. Now’s not the time to reexplore the “V” spot. Take a deep breath and cross your legs. Tight.

He gave a devilish chuckle.

“You’re a vampire?” I blurted a bit too loudly.

“I am, indeed.”

And hopefully, all the listeners will assume he’s a wannabe or a nutter.

“How can you be a vampire and be awake during the day?”

“I am very old. Older than anything you can understand. I no longer have any limitations on my abilities. As long as my body is sheltered from the direct rays of the sun, it is pleasant to move about. Although, I much prefer the night. And, each vampire has his or her own special skills. You have only had a small taste of mine.”

When he said “taste,” I felt something tongue-like move between my legs and I pressed my thighs even tighter together.

I glanced over at Carson to make sure he wasn’t witnessing my discomfort, but he was still out cold, drooling down the front of his shirt. His studio audience seemed entranced, too.

This can’t be good. The entire radio audience is listening to me talk to a real vampire. Is this some kind of setup? I’ve never felt a vampire this powerful before. Maybe not even Devereux.

Apparently reading my thoughts, the caller said, “They will not remember a thing, Dr. Knight. Do not trouble yourself about the humans. They are in a light trance. We can chat freely.”

I suddenly imagined hundreds of cars swerving off roads all over the Denver metro area, as listeners dozed at the wheel.

He laughed, the sound tightening my stomach. I wasn’t sure if the feeling was pleasure or pain. Maybe it was both.

“Ah, yes. One might expect a psychologist to be the compassionate type. But never fear. The populace is safe from me. At least for the moment. They are merely hypnotized. It is quite simple to insert a mental suggestion into the radio waves. For a vampire, creating an altered state is not dependent upon proximity. Your mortals believe they’re listening to a pleasant tune while we speak and will resurface remembering a relaxing daydream. No harm will come to them. Until it suits me, anyway.”

“What do you want?” I finally managed to mumble. The sound of his voice made my head fuzzy.

“Just to introduce myself. I am a unique soul, even in the vampire world. Lyren Hallow, Vampire Hunter Extraordinaire, at your service. You may call me Hallow.”

His disclosure momentarily threw me and I sputtered, “What? A vampire hunter? But you’re a vampire. How can you be a vampire hunter? Aren’t there rules about that?”

“A fiend has to make a living, yes?” He laughed, the sound caressing my pleasure centers. “Even ancient vampires are not immune to the delightful siren song of money. Surprisingly superficial, I admit, but the acquisition of gold has always been an intriguing game. And in my own defense, I challenge you to keep uncovering reasons to crawl out of the tomb every night after thousands of years. Existence can be such a chore. But hunting down and killing my own kind, now there is something a nightwalker can sink his fangs into.”

He laughed again, as if he found himself highly amusing.

I cleared my throat, stalling for time. Ever since I stumbled into Denver’s hidden vampire community, I’d been struggling to regain my balance—to find some sanity to cling to in the midst of one absurd revelation after another.

“Why are you telling me all this?”

“I have been hired to harvest someone you know. I thought it only sporting to tip my hand ever so slightly—just to keep things interesting. And, of course, you are becoming very well known in the bloodsucker community. I simply could not resist strolling through your brain, if even from a distance. I expect you will make the quest much more tantalizing for me. The link between us is open now, so it will be much easier for us to communicate in the future. But, alas, I must leave you. Duty calls. Oh, and by the way. You might notice some changes in your behavior. Fewer inhibitions. Nothing to worry about. Until we meet again, lovely Doctor Knight.”

There was a click and the line went dead. So to speak.

Changes in my behavior? What the hell does he mean by “harvest”? Does he mean he’s going to kill someone? Someone I know? Or, rather, some vampire I know? This must be a sick joke.

I hadn’t noticed that the engineer on the other side of the glass partition in the studio had been staring off into space, until he suddenly jerked back to awareness. So did Carson, who managed to startle himself out of his chair, which rolled away from him and struck the wall with a crash. His flabby hindquarters hit the floor with a dull thud.

He wiped the pooling saliva from his chins and stood, looking around, a stranger in a strange land.

“What the hell just happened?” he bellowed, scratching his bulging belly.

The engineer knocked on the glass, then pointed to the clock to show Carson that he needed to announce the station identification and the time, because several minutes had passed and our interview was over.

Carson grabbed his microphone and slipped back into his boorish on-air personality. He gave the required information, and glared at me. “I’d like to thank our guest, the boob-dacious Dr. Kismet Knight, for being on the show today. Aliens must have abducted me because I sure as hell don’t know where the time went. But stay tuned. I’ll be right back after these words from our moneymakers.”

He clicked off his mic and turned suspicious eyes to me.

“I don’t remember shit, and I don’t know what you did, but I know you did something. I feel it in my bones. There was that weird phone call and then—nothing. Maybe you slipped something into my coffee. This isn’t over, Kismet, baby. You’ll be hearing from me again. I have a feeling there’s a story here, and I intend to be the one to exploit it as only I can.” He made a sucking-in-air noise with his mouth that reminded me of the Hannibal Lecter character in The Silence of the Lambs.

I grabbed my briefcase and gave myself clear evidence of how many steps it took to get out the studio door.

It was tempting to tell Carson what kind of nasty coffin of worms he was opening, but I decided not to. He’d been the worst kind of abusive idiot to me during our interview, and I wasn’t in the mood to go out of my way to save his neck—literally.

Besides, if he wanted to step into a rerun of The Twilight Zone, who was I to interfere?

I hustled down the carpeted hallway toward the lobby fast enough to generate static cling in the bottom of my dress. The material sealed itself around my knees and I stopped, resting a hand against the wall next to the reception desk, watching tiny electrical sparks dance around the fabric as I tugged it away from my legs.

Carson’s voice slithered out of the invisible speakers built into the ceiling of the radio station, announcing his next guest. It was the former Miss Denver, who’d been disqualified when her breast enhancement surgery had been discovered. As if everyone and her sister wasn’t lining up for augmentation these days. Thanks to my mother’s contribution to my DNA, I wouldn’t be joining the throngs anytime soon.

But the poor beauty queen. I wondered if she was as clueless as I’d been about Carson’s agenda, or if she expected to be humiliated.

I must have mumbled something out loud while I was bent over, working at the hem of my dress, because a voice answered me.

“Carson Miller is an oozing wart on the ass of humanity. No, wait. He’s what gets sucked out of porta-potties after sports events. No, wait. He’s what you squish out of a pimple.”

Chapter Two

Surprised, I jerked my head up to discover the source of the accurate descriptions and found a hand reaching out in my direction.

My gaze traveled up—way up—to settle on the face of the tall woman standing in front of me, smiling.

Instinctively, I grasped the offered hand, and matched her smile.

She had to be well over six feet tall, because I’m just four inches shy of that in my bare feet, and today I was wearing three-inch heels. She still seemed to tower over me. Even in her comfortable-looking athletic shoes.

But it was her hair, even more than her stature, that caught the eye. An amazing waterfall of silky, white hair that fell almost to the backs of her knees.

My dark brown hair is very long and curly, but compared to hers, I’ve got a crew cut.

I stared rudely at the arctic avalanche of snow flowing down her body, trying to figure out what sort of genetic glitch could have given someone so obviously young, such pure white hair. After a few seconds, my good manners reappeared and I offered a nod of apology.

She laughed, a warm tinkling sound, and released my hand. “Yeah, don’t worry about it. Everybody has that reaction. I’m the Snow Queen, otherwise known as Maxie Westhaven—the Maxie part being short for Maxwell. My parents definitely wanted a boy.” She laughed again, and spun around in a circle. “Ya think they were a little disappointed?”

I added my laughter to hers, nodding as she proved she had a healthy sense of humor about her Victoria’s Secret model-type body. Even though she tried to camouflage her curvy shape, it wasn’t something you could hide under a Denver Broncos T-shirt and baggy jeans. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m Kismet—”

“Yeah. I know who you are. I saw your picture in the paper a few months back when you were embroiled in all that vampire stuff. I even tried to interview you then. I just heard you on the radio. Oh, by the way, I’m a reporter for National Skeptic magazine. Have you heard of us?”

My smile dissolved.

Unfortunately, I had heard of the rag. Along with anybody else who ever went to a grocery store or a Laundromat. It was impossible to miss the latest copy, which featured an absurdly fake photograph of a two-headed alien on the cover and an article about the merits of treating depression by exorcism, rather than seeing a psychotherapist.

The magazine was schizophrenic. The articles spent as much time publicizing ludicrous “cures” and practitioners, as they did debunking the so-called fakes, charlatans, and New Age gurus they supposedly exposed.

Disappointed, because I’d immediately liked her, I wrapped my professional aura around me again, and reminded myself that I had to be very careful with the media. I didn’t want to do anything to put my vampire—or vampire wannabe—clients in danger. Not to mention a certain master vampire who scrambled my brain waves and jump-started my libido every time he materialized into my room.

I fired up my formal therapist’s voice and answered her question, “I have, yes.”

Maxie apparently noticed my attitude change and distancing maneuver. “Hmmm. I can see that my occupation doesn’t fill your heart with joy. Well, let me ease your mind. I didn’t approach you for an interview. I just wanted to meet you. You seem interesting. We actually might be kindred spirits, because I’m sure you spend a lot of your time convincing confused people that they don’t want to pretend to be vampires, and I spend a lot of mine debunking the ones you can’t talk out of it.

“See?” She shrugged and flipped a thick handful of the long, white hair over her shoulder. “We’re on the same side, here. And I’ll bet you thought my description of Cretin—I mean, Carson—was on the money.”

I smiled before I could censor myself. I didn’t believe for a minute that she hadn’t come over to interview me. My intuition was doing jumping jacks to get my attention—making sure I’d gotten on the clue bus and noted the obvious fact that the snow-haired reporter was lying. I knew she definitely wanted something, and now I was curious. If she really was just prowling for a story lead, I could hold my own. I’d become expert at zigging when the media wanted me to zag. But I wasn’t picking up any blatantly negative energy from her—in fact, she gave off quite a lighthearted, playful vibe. Surely, it wouldn’t hurt anything to let down my guard a little. Probably. Maybe. After all, I had been trying to make more human friends lately to balance the alternative. I’d never make any connections if I always suspected the motives of everybody who came near me. There’s a fine line between being careful and being paranoid—a line I frequently tripped over.

“You’re right. It was on the money, if understated.” I chuckled, and met her eyes, which surprised me by being the same, sky-blue color as mine. I’d gotten so distracted by her amazing hair that I hadn’t even noticed the perfect features of her face. The pandemonium with Carson must have thrown me off my game more than I realized.

Gee, Kismet. You’re losing it. Aren’t psychologists supposed to be observant? Wouldn’t you say that’s a handy skill for a therapist to have?

She smiled wide, exposing perfect porcelain. “Can I buy you a coffee?”

I raised an eyebrow and cocked my head. “And you were saying what about not wanting to interview me?”

She held one hand up, as if she were preparing to be sworn in for testimony in a court hearing. “I swear on a stack of Dracula novels that our conversation over coffee will be off the record. What do you say? We’re on the seventeenth floor now, and my office is down on the tenth, and there’s a Starbucks on the twelfth. Is Starbucks neutral enough territory?” She pointed to the elevator and plastered an obvious innocent look on her face.

I laughed, actually happy at the thought of having a few moments of chitchat with another woman around my own age—and species. No matter what her ulterior motive might be. It was fascinating spending so much time with the undead, but I always felt like an outsider—an other. Not that I needed any help feeling that way to begin with.

There were a couple of empty hours before my first client session of the day, so what the hell?

I grabbed my coat off the hanging pegs along the wall next to the elevator, and we rode down to the twelfth floor-all the time treated to Carson’s sleazy, frantic voice squealing through the speakers, going on about “mondo tits.” Comparatively speaking, I guess I’d gotten off easy.

*

“This is some good shit,” Maxie said, as she held her coffee mug in both hands and inhaled the aroma. She closed her eyes and smiled, obviously in the midst of a religious experience.

I laughed and took a sip from my mug. Another coffee junkie. At least we had that in common.

As I waited for her to complete her euphoric java worship and open her eyes, I scanned the people in the room, noticing that Maxie attracted a lot of attention. That wasn’t too surprising when you factored in the outrageous hair, the model’s face and body, and some indefinable energy that seemed to radiate from her. And, even though I’d gotten used to generating a little attention in a room myself lately—consorting with vampires tends to bring out a woman’s wilder side—it was actually pleasant to be out of the spotlight.

“So. You want to know about the hair, right?” Maxie blurted, distracting me from my people-watching.

Suddenly, distant laughter echoed in my mind, and I caught a quick movement out of the corner of my eye. When I swiveled my head to investigate, nothing was there. Goose bumps ran a marathon up my arms. I stared into my coffee, wondering if the special blend of the day contained an extra ingredient, or if I was simply having an anxiety attack. After my experiences earlier in the year, I no longer took anything for granted. Not even my sanity. Or, maybe especially not my sanity.

I scanned the room and reminded myself I was in the “normal” world—sitting in a coffee shop. No paranormal creatures waiting to jump out at me. Nothing lurking in the shadows. Just regular nine-to-five types, dressed for corporate success, indulging in a bit of overpriced caffeine. Yeah. But what about the vampire who’d called the radio show? He’d really felt like a vampire. And a powerful one, at that. Thinking it was possible for one of them to walk around during the day blew all my carefully constructed denials out of the water. Acknowledging they exist in the first place had been mind numbing enough, without the terrifying realization that safety was a bigger illusion than I already assumed. Part of me longed for the innocent days before I fell into the crack between the worlds.

“Doc?” Maxie tapped my arm. “You still with me?”

My gaze snapped back to her fish-eyed stare. What the hell was wrong with me? I did have a tendency to drift away, but not usually when I was sitting with someone. I’d worked really hard to learn to stay present with clients. I definitely needed more coffee.

“Sorry. Didn’t mean to float away on you. Not enough sleep, I guess.” I wiped the corners of my lips with a napkin. “Yes, absolutely. I’d love to know about the hair. You’ve got to admit it’s unique. When did it turn white?” Forcing the vampire thoughts aside, I relaxed into my chair, appreciating the opportunity to discuss something I wasn’t required to give advice or have an opinion about.

She scrutinized my face a few seconds longer, one eyebrow raised, then grinned and scooped the thick whiteness back into a tail, holding it with both hands. “When I was twenty years old, something amazing happened to me and my hair changed—overnight—from blond to white. I simply woke up one morning with old-lady hair. Let me tell you what a shock it was to the other girls in my dorm at college—not to mention my family.”

Hmmm. She believes her hair changed overnight. Interesting. I wonder what really happened?

“There’s no way your hair could be described as old-lady hair. It’s gorgeous.” I examined her face, guessing her to be in her late twenties to early thirties. “You said something amazing happened? Amazing good or amazing not-so-good?”

Okay. I didn’t want to be interviewed, but I couldn’t help turning the tables on Maxie. Once a therapist, always a therapist. Lift up the rock and see what’s underneath, that’s my motto. I’ve never been good at small talk.

She stared off for a few seconds, then turned serious eyes back to me. “Amazing good. Maybe I’ll tell you about it after we get to know each other better.”

Hmmm. Secrets. Did she know that offering that kind of tantalizing interpersonal tidbit was like waving a red cape at a bull? I was just about to find a way to sneak into her psychic side door when she scooted her chair closer to the table.

“So, do you believe in vampires?” Maxie fixed her eyes on mine, her lips spreading in a Cheshire-cat smile. “Strictly off the record, of course.”

Talk about a quick change of subject. Maxie was probably a very good reporter, and I smiled in appreciation of her tactics. But I definitely didn’t want to discuss vampires, and the wheels in my brain were spinning, kicking up mental dust, as I tried to think of something innocuous to say. I’m sure my inner struggle was apparent, because I felt various emotions surf across my face.

I must have hesitated long enough that she thought she’d better try something different, because she said, “Okay, I’ll go first. No interview. Honest. A simple conversation. Just two ordinary businesswomen talking about their daily lives. A couple of regular professionals, discussing alien abductions, vampires, werewolves, reincarnation, demonic possession, and other everyday occurrences. Regular, run-of-the-mill rock-and-roll.” Her voice picked up speed and volume as she spoke.

“I’ve been writing for this magazine for five years and I’ve heard every preposterous story you can imagine. I think I could surprise even you. But in all that time, as I’ve investigated each bizarre allegation thoroughly, I’ve never come across anything that could be even remotely considered paranormal. Not one real vampire. No werewolves. No aliens. No demons. Just a lot of sick, weird, fucked-up humans looking for attention or behaving very badly. I now know for a fact that what you see is what you get. There is no magic. There is no Wizard of Oz. Just the demented little man behind the curtain, pulling the levers.”

She flopped back in her chair, breathless.

Her passionate diatribe had captured the attention of everyone in the coffee shop, and the room was so quiet you could hear a vampire fang descend.

Noticing she was center stage, Maxie smiled, stood, and spread her arms wide, acknowledging one side of the room, then the other. Her long veil of hair swayed as she moved. “Thank you, America. Thank you for this honor. They like me! They really like me!” she said, imitating an old Academy Awards acceptance speech.

“Give ’em hell, Maxie!” yelled a young male wearing a backward baseball cap. He thrust his fist into the air. The other customers applauded.

She bowed dramatically, lifted her hair out of the way, and dropped into her chair.

“If I hadn’t found fame and fortune as a magazine reporter, I woulda gone into acting. And who knows? If this job doesn’t pan out, I still might.” She slapped her thigh with her palm, threw back her head, and howled.

Either Maxie was a certifiable candidate for a rubber room, or she was the most free-spirited person I’d met in a long time. Maybe ever.

The other Starbucks customers applauded again, some howling back at her. Apparently, they were used to her theatrics. I’d thoroughly enjoyed the performance and clapped along with the rest of the audience. I found myself laughing uninhibitedly. When I realized it had been a while since I’d done that, I was surprised by how good it felt.

“Wow,” I said. “You’re passionate about your skepticism. No fence sitting for you, eh?”

“Yeah, that’s me. The Opinionated Cynic. The Know-It-All Pessimist. The Been-There, Done-That-And-Found-It-Boring Mocker. So, what about you? Are you a skeptic, or do you really buy all the stuff your clients try to sell?”

That was a tricky question. If she’d asked me six months ago, I’d have been able to honestly say that I agreed with her assessment completely. That vampires, wizards, witches, ghosts, and various other preternatural phenomena were all imaginary—or delusional. No rational person could believe in fairy-tale or horror-movie creatures of the night. No reasonable, sane person would give credibility to nocturnal creepy-crawlies.

But in the last half year I’d looked under the bed and found the monsters. There really was a vampire tapping at my window. Hell, forget tapping. He didn’t bother with a window. He just materialized wherever he wanted and dazzled me with his platinum hair and turquoise eyes. Skepticism was no longer an option.

Unless, of course, I’d gone completely bonkers, and all my experiences could be explained away by a brain aneurysm or epileptic seizures. I took the possibility of medically caused insanity very seriously. A while back I’d actually gone so far as to have myself tested, just to rule out those probabilities. The scientific part of me simply stubbornly refused to acknowledge what seemed to be happening. As glad as I was to find myself aneurysm-free, that meant the simplest explanations were probably true. To paraphrase Occam’s razor, “When analyzing a complicated situation, after you remove all the unnecessary elements, whatever is left—no matter how weird—must be true.” Not being able to blame the vampires on a brain disorder meant that the simple fact—that vampires exist—must be true. But just because I understood that twisted reality didn’t mean I’d totally made peace with it. No matter how many vampire clients I had.

Maxie waved her hand in front of my face and I jumped, my gaze reconnecting with hers.

“Shit, Doc. That was another long pause there. You must drive your clients nuts with that silent, staring thing. I’ve never understood how you shrinks do that. Should I go Freudian and read something into it? Are you avoiding the topic?” She smiled with her mouth, but her eyes were serious—calculating.

What was going on? My brain had obviously skipped a groove again. Was I having some kind of reaction to all the stress over the last few months? Hallucinations and an inability to focus couldn’t be good for business.

Suck it up, Kismet.

“No. I’m not avoiding the topic.” I straightened in my chair, ignoring the questions I saw in her eyes. “I’m just thinking about how much I want to say about it. No matter what my personal opinion might be about vampires, I do have clients who either believe they’re bloodsuckers or who want to become one. If I say that I don’t believe in the undead, that could crush the trust I’m building with my clients. If they think I’m humoring them, they’ll feel betrayed and our progress will stop. Even if you aren’t interviewing me right now, it’s possible you might be tempted to use what I tell you in a future article, and I can’t take the chance that my clients might be harmed. So, I can truthfully say that I’m keeping an open mind about whether or not vampires exist.”

Not bad. Sounds plausible. I’m actually keeping more than my mind open to the idea.

Maxie took a breath, maybe getting ready to ask a question, but I was on a roll.

“But I will say that I’ve seen things that shake my notions of what’s real and what isn’t. Even in my non-vampire-wannabe clients, the mind is capable of creating astounding things. Think about all the horrors humans have caused throughout the ages. It raises the question of who really are the monsters.”

“Yeah, you’ll get no argument from me there. People definitely suck. Monsters are everywhere. And I get what you’re saying about your clients, so I’ll respectfully stop talking about vampires. But this whole discussion has given me a terrific idea.” She clicked her spoon on the side of her coffee mug and absently ran her tongue over her front teeth for a few seconds. Her eyes were still riveted on mine, but she was obviously deep in thought. “Are you free this evening?”

My eyebrows tiptoed up my forehead. I hadn’t seen that question coming. But despite my intention to respond in my habitual way—giving my standard “I’m already committed” speech—I surprised myself by saying something totally different.

“Maybe. My plans are flexible. What’s going on this evening?”

I guess I really was willing to make some changes—step outside my rigid social comfort zone. Whaddya know? Therapist, heal thyself.

She smiled wide. “I’ve been invited to a vampire staking. Wanna come?”

Chapter Three

A vampire staking.

I stared at Maxie with my mouth hanging open.

Of course. How silly of me to assume she’d suggest something totally inappropriate like meeting for dinner, going to a lecture, or maybe listening to a local jazz band. What was I thinking? That would’ve been the height of boredom. The epitome of the mundane. So pitifully human.

Why settle for routine, when we could watch vampires be killed?

No, thanks. I’ve already seen that movie.

I closed my mouth and cleared my throat. “Run that by me again?”

She threw back her head and laughed. “Wow. I wish I could read minds right now because I’d pay money to know what just flashed through your brain. You should’ve seen your face! You looked like I kicked your puppy. Or you thought the topic was serious.”

“You mean you were kidding about being invited to a vampire staking?”

“Oh, hell no. I get invited to weird shit all the time. Vampire stakings, werewolf hunts, devil-worshiping ceremonies, exorcisms, witch burnings—any and every bizarre thing you can imagine. Welcome to my sick little world. But it’s all bullshit. Blatant cries for attention from the sickos and deviants who populate my journalistic universe.”

“So, you’re covering the event for your magazine?”

“I am, indeed. And I’ve got to admit that sometimes the costumes and fake monster props are worth the price of admission. I know you’re dedicated to helping the terminally confused, but in my line of work, the mentally ill can be downright entertaining. I thought you’d enjoy exploring another aspect of the vampire wannabe community. Wouldn’t the Vampire Psychologist want to understand as much as possible about her potential clientele? Who knows? Some of these folks might end up on your couch.”

If she knew how crowded my couch already was, and who—or what—regularly came to sit on it, she’d be in yellow-journalism heaven. As much as I wanted to make some new friends, I had the uncomfortable feeling that Maxie’s idea of fun dangled a little farther over the abyss than mine.

But she did have a point. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt me to explore the twisted layers of the vampire community—wannabe and otherwise. I couldn’t always just wait for the lost souls to show up at my office. After all, I still had a book to write. I wasn’t willing to completely ignore the scholarly requirements of the academic portion of my professional responsibilities, and a chapter about an alleged vampire staking could reenergize my muse.

Or not.

Now that I’d considered the possibility, even thinking about going to some vampire-inspired event with a reporter made my head hurt. I knew I was asking for trouble, even without my radar flashing.

Nope. Definitely need to stay home and wash my hair tonight.

I opened my mouth to decline the invitation, and was interrupted by a small, rodent-like bald man, who bounded into the coffee shop and scurried over to our table.

“Hey, Maxie. Boss wants ya, pronto. Deadline, ya know? Chop-chop.”

He reversed direction and sprinted out as quickly as he’d entered.

“Yeah, thanks, Dave,” Maxie shouted at his retreating form.

“How did he know you were here?” I asked.

“I hide here as often as possible.”

“Why didn’t they just call you?” I didn’t see a phone, but she could have it in her pocket.

“What’s the good of sneaking off somewhere if I’m going to carry my cell phone with me? That sort of defeats the ‘hiding’ part, doesn’t it?” She gave an exaggerated sigh and tapped the tip of her index finger against the end of her nose. “Officially putting nose back to grindstone now. I’ll see you tonight.” She stood in a fluid motion, beamed a mischievous smile, and danced gracefully to the exit.

“Maxie, wait!” I leaped up out of my chair. “I don’t want to go to a vampire staking!”

The room went still.

I heard Maxie laugh as she reached the exit. She raised one hand in the air, waving good-bye. “No chickening out now, Doc. I’ll leave directions to the vampire deal on your answering machine. See you there at 10 P.M. Hey. Nice ta meetcha.” Her last words were muffled by the closing door.

“Dammit to hell!” I slammed my palm down on the table, sending a spoon clattering to the floor. The metallic sound echoed in the silence.

Immediately embarrassed by my theatrical overreaction, I eased down into my chair, folded my arms across my chest, and scanned the sea of raised eyebrows. It was as if a cosmic pause button had been pushed. Everyone in the room posed, frozen in place, staring at me. Maybe they were waiting to see what other temperamental outbursts I had up my sleeve. Too bad I couldn’t make my head spin all the way around or levitate off my chair.

But, as far as I was concerned, the show was over. Elvis had definitely left the building.

The silence persisted for a few seconds longer and then, as if an invisible switch had been thrown, the noise volume resumed its normal level of controlled chaos.

I lifted my half-full coffee mug and took a healthy swig before discovering it had gone cold. I glared at the cup like it was the cause of my meltdown. What the hell had I gotten so angry about? The radio show with Carson was irritating, but I’d handled worse before without losing my cool. What was it? I was definitely behaving strangely.

A possible answer floated into my mind.

It had recently occurred to me that my professional training had a downside. All my therapeutic reserve and ability to remain silent while integrating client information was great in the clinical setting, but it sucked big-time in interpersonal situations. I’d let Maxie manipulate me, and it pissed me off, though I was angrier with myself than at her.

Of course I wasn’t going to some pathetic gathering of attention-seeking occultists and rebellious goth teenagers. It didn’t matter what Maxie thought was going to happen. I didn’t owe her anything, and I’d made my decision blatantly clear.

I slid the coffee mug to the center of the table, gathered my things, and strode to the door, grumbling under my breath.

In the hallway, the elevator doors popped open as soon as I pressed the down button. Carson’s voice rasping, “Take it off! Take it all off!” blasted from the speakers.

Cringing while I listened to him, I was reminded that no matter what kinds of paranormal monsters might be hiding in the closet, we humans were capable of spewing our fair share of ugliness into the world.

I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature.

*

The downtown skyscraper housing the radio station was only a few blocks from my new office. The thick fog and overcast skies of the morning had magically transformed into another of Denver’s famous sunny, clear masterpieces. I rolled down my car window, trailed my hand through the brisk air, and allowed the tight muscles in my neck and shoulders to relax. I hadn’t realized how stressed out and tense I’d been. Evidently, fighting off a brain-dead radio host and discovering the existence of a self-proclaimed, day-walking vampire punched the needle on my weirdness meter higher than usual.

But what a glorious day. Springtime in the Rockies was as unpredictable as an adolescent’s mood. The blizzard that had paralyzed the area a few days ago, blanketing the Mile High City in several feet of snow, had retreated east. We were left with an already melting winter wonderland, much-needed moisture, and postcard-perfect mountain scenery.

Days like this reminded me why I chose to live here.

I pulled through the underground parking lot and cruised into my very own space. A smile eased across my lips. Even the garage was immaculate. I’d had my doubts about moving into Devereux’s building when he offered—after all, who knew how long my relationship with the gorgeous vampire would last?—but so far things had worked out well. Better than well, actually. Everything about my new arrangement—the architecture, furnishings, location—was a perfect reflection of Devereux’s style and elegance.

Thinking about the scary, humiliating circumstances surrounding the move flipped my smile into a frown. I’d actually been kicked out of my last office. Not something I’d add to my curriculum vitae anytime soon. Discovering the dead body and blood-covered walls and carpets, a parting gift from a violent and mentally ill bloodsucker named Brother Luther, had left a bad taste in the building manager’s mouth. I couldn’t really blame him. I hadn’t forgiven myself for completely misreading the cues about the emotionally disturbed vampire. Of course, back then I hadn’t even accepted the possibility—much less the reality—of vampires. Denial can be such a comfortable place to hide.

Soft Celtic music caressed the airwaves during the elevator ride to the main level of the building. The doors parted without a sound, ushering me into an architectural marvel. Five months in residence hadn’t dulled my appreciation of the breathtaking beauty of the gold and marble lobby. Devereux had spared no expense in creating the stunning space, which he’d filled with exquisite furniture and incredible artwork, including his own. The fancy address was headquarters for most of his business enterprises. Apparently, my counseling practice was the only “outside” company allowed. I still wasn’t sure how I felt about getting such special treatment. I knew the “reasonable” rent he charged me was a mere fraction of the market value. As I said, denial is my friend.

I walked across the large area, listening to the echoing clicks of my heels on the imported marble tiles, as I made a beeline for the office manager. Victoria Essex waved a hand in greeting and beamed a wide smile from behind her ornate desk. Of all the positive aspects of my new office, meeting Victoria had definitely been one of the highlights.

“Kismet! Isn’t this a marvelous day?” Still smiling, Victoria shot out of her chair. She glided over to me with her arms extended, in preparation for one of her friendly hugs. Gathering me close, she squeezed enthusiastically, then stepped back, grasping my upper arms. “Are you okay? I heard that Carson idiot on the radio this morning. Was he as big an asshole as he seemed to be? He made me reconsider my vow to do no harm!” Her eyes sparkled with humor.

I leaned forward and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “Asshole is an understatement. He’s definitely toad material. Are you sure I can’t talk you into casting just one little spell?” We both laughed.

She released my arms and smiled. “Can you come and sit for a minute? I haven’t seen you for days.” Without waiting for my answer, she grabbed the hand that wasn’t clutching my briefcase, and tugged me over to a nearby couch.

Victoria was a study in contrasts. Her naturally curly, golden blond hair was chin-length, with tight spirals framing a heart-shaped face. Sharp cheekbones, dimples, a straight nose, and round, peridot-colored eyes caused her to have the appearance of the exotic girl next door. Her face always reminded me of a Shirley Temple doll I’d seen in an antique shop. But her body was a different story. It was voluptuous in the richest sense of the word—wide hips, rounded belly, and generous breasts. The self-identified Wiccan Mae West. Several inches shorter than me, she favored very high wedge-type shoes, so we usually saw eye to eye.

Half the fun of coming to my office was checking out Victoria’s daily wardrobe choice. She had a vast collection of flowing goddess dresses in vibrant colors, and a never-ending supply of gemstone jewelry, much of which she made herself. In addition to being Devereux’s building manager, she was the high priestess of a local coven of witches and the owner of an Internet-based Wiccan ritual supply business.

She locked eyes with me, face serious. “Are you going to tell Devereux about the vampire hunter who called the radio show?”

The question took me by surprise, and my jaw dropped. Not only because Victoria had never mentioned vampires in any form before, but because the scary, on-air bloodsucker had asserted that none of the radio listeners could hear him. My facial expression must have been an open book, because she nodded, frowning.

“Yes. I heard him. Every evil word. He’s very powerful. And very dangerous,” she said.

My brain spun for a few seconds, questions lining up, elbowing each other as they all tried to cram through the doorway to my mouth. Of course she had to know about vampires. How could she work for Devereux for so many years without acknowledging the fanged elephant in the room?

“Wait a minute. If you could hear him, then he lied about nobody being aware of our discussion. So, why should I believe he was a vampire? He was probably just another lost soul looking for attention.”

She pressed her hand on mine. “No. He’s exactly what he said he is. I could hear him because I have the unique ability to resist the powers of the undead. That’s one of the reasons Devereux hired me. I’m his bloodsucker bullshit detector.”

I stared at her, speechless. Once again my reality basket proved to be nothing more than a sieve, allowing trickles of long-held truths to stream away into oblivion. I’d apparently leapt to faulty conclusions about Victoria’s sweet, Earth Mother appearance and missed yet another train leaving the parallel universe station. Like everyone, I saw the world through my expectations, beliefs, and limitations, but I was continually astounded by the evidence of how narrow my lens really was. And how relentlessly I still clung to my notions of “real.”

She cocked her head and grinned. “New information, eh? I’m not exactly what you thought I was, right?” She patted my hand. “I figured we’d get around to telling each other the truth one of these days. The vampire hunter showing up just kicked the schedule’s butt a little. I spoke up because I wanted to make sure you realized what you’re dealing with. I think it’s highly meaningful that he wanted to talk to you, specifically.”

I licked my lips and cleared my throat, finally shepherding my wandering thought sheep into a herdable mass. “Why did he want to talk to me? I’ve only been involved in the vampire community for a few months. I’m no expert—yet. Why focus on me?”

“That’s a good question. Wish I had an answer. But one thing’s certain: he wasn’t telling you the whole story, and somehow you’re involved. Whether you want to be or not.” She paused, studying me. “I guess being the love muffin of the most powerful vampire in Denver has its downsides, eh? You probably had no idea about all the undead drama you’d get tangled in. I’d be willing to bet nothing in your education or training prepared you for the last six months.”

I opened my mouth to respond, then pressed my lips together, still watching her. Victoria had given me an opportunity to vent some of my frustrations—to share my confusion with someone involved in the freak-show weirdness. Working as a therapist was a lonely occupation anyway, and choosing such a “unique” clinical focus meant I couldn’t even consult with colleagues. Having no healthy outlet for my own issues was a recipe for professional disaster. And it wasn’t as if I didn’t like Victoria. From the first moment we’d met when I came to look at the office Devereux offered, she and I had clicked. Our Inner Children had bonded. But something made me hold back. Maybe it was just my suspicious nature, but since she worked for Devereux, discussing him with her felt like crossing a mental field strewn with hidden psychic land mines.

She chuckled. “I hope you’re not a poker player, because your face reflects every emotion you feel. You wouldn’t last ten minutes at the gaming table! Of course, I’m more perceptive than most, but you’d be a lamb to the slaughter.” She smiled softly. “I just want you to know that I’m available anytime you need a shoulder or a pal. Yes, I do work for Devereux, but my first allegiance is to myself. I’m a very loyal friend. And, I happen to know Devereux very well—warts and all. I’m aware of his intense personality. He’s been a powerful immortal for so long that it doesn’t usually occur to him that others might have different needs and desires. He tends to wear people down—like charming Chinese water torture!”

I relaxed and smiled. That was a perfect description of how Devereux behaved with me, and I hadn’t come to terms with the dissonant emotions his gentle bulldozing caused. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to share a little.

“Charming Chinese water torture? What a great description of Devereux’s communication style. You know, he’s wonderful in so many ways—handsome, intelligent, creative, thoughtful—the man of my dreams who just happens to be a walking corpse. But he wants me to acknowledge that I’m his long-awaited ‘mate,’ and he isn’t shy about pushing me in that direction. For some reason, my acceptance of that title seems to hold more importance than it should. I don’t understand why it’s such a big deal.” I shook my head. “Why can’t he just let our relationship unfold slowly so I can get used to it?

“He’s always popping in, unannounced, doing his best to convince me that his plan for the evening is better than mine. I know he’s gorgeous, and he smells good, and the sex is great. And there’s no question that traveling through thought is amazing. But he’s so … so bossy! He’s always digging up yet another thing I need to be protected from—coming up with one more reason to treat me like his fragile possession. He just lifts that magnificent chin into the air and makes proclamations, as if I have no opinions. And so far, nothing he’s warned me about has proven to be problematic. Talk about crying wolf. Most of the time I can’t decide whether I want to jump on him or run, screaming, into the night.”

Victoria snickered, fanning herself.

I paused, realizing I’d said more than I meant to. Apparently, I really did need someone to talk to. My therapeutic persona was definitely in danger of springing a leak. “I’m sorry. I know better than to keep all my emotions bottled up, because when they finally spill out, it’s messy. Being a therapist is easy for me because my role is clear—strictly defined. But dealing with the rest of my life? I’ve never been good with that.”

She smiled gently and took my hand in hers. “You’re so hard on yourself. If you think that controlled bit of self-disclosure was messy, remind me never to call you in the midst of one of my PMS-driven, chocolate-fueled pity parties. You’d have me locked up! Hey, I know. You should come to one of my coven’s rituals. A little wild, sweaty dancing around a fire would do wonders for you.” She hooted out a laugh and squeezed my hand. “Or maybe not. Since you just looked as horrified as if I’d asked you to run naked down the Sixteenth Street Mall, I’ll assume your dance card for strange experiences is currently all filled up. Perhaps we’ll put off your visit to Witch Central for a while longer. But here’s some unsolicited advice about Devereux: he is one of the most terrifyingly powerful creatures on the planet, but he’s got a loving soul. And he’s trainable. If you let him manipulate you, he will. It’s human—and vampire—nature. But if you say ‘no,’ he’ll have to deal. Stop being so nice!”

She guided my hand back to my lap and patted it maternally. “Don’t take any of his shit!” Giving a theatrical, stereotypical witch’s cackle, she stood, waving her arms through the air to indicate her territory. “I’m always here and my circle’s always open to you.”

“You should’ve been a therapist.” I stood. “You’re pretty good at this interpersonal stuff.”

“I am pretty good at it. But therapy has too many rules. It’s too restrictive. I get plenty of opportunities to build my skills as the Healer and Seer for my coven. It’s more fun to make stuff up as I go along. I hope this is only the first of many conversations we’ll have. Remember: take no shit!”

“Take no shit!” I yelled, thrusting my fist into the air over my head. It felt good to get into the spirit of things. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d just had fun. Professional persona be damned!

Victoria’s eyes went wide and she clamped her hand over her mouth. She was staring at the area behind me and I turned to follow her gaze. Hesitating just inside the glass entrance door was a group of people, huddled together. They appeared more inclined to bolt away rather than make the trek across the lobby. My first client, her fiancé, and both sets of parents were right on time.

Shit.

Chapter Four

The view from the bank of the west-facing windows in my office was spectacular. I stood watching as the sun gracefully descended behind the high peaks of the Rockies—making its daily journey into the archetypal underworld. A solar Persephone honoring its pledge to rendezvous with the darkness.

Surreal colors arced across the sky, creating otherworldly designs, like angelic Rorschach blots. Soft shades stroked visual hands along the contours of my soul, saturating my eyes and making me catch my breath. Sharp hues exploded, sparking ancestral memories.

Watching the amazing color and light show unfolding above the mountains helped me to put life—mine and my clients’—into perspective. This enjoyable ritual gave me a few minutes to weave the threads of the day into a larger tapestry. To cling to the illusion of control.

Remembering the expressions on the faces of the clients I’d startled in the lobby after my conversation with Victoria made me smile. I suppose I could’ve made up some excuse for the behavior they’d witnessed, but I decided to follow the first rule of psychotherapy: when in doubt, say nothing. I’d developed the “therapist nod” into an art form. That gentle up-and-down head motion performed by all counselors. A compassionate invitation to surrender—the quintessential soft place to fall. There is something to be said for silent, unconditional, positive regard.

In the midst of my decompression daydream, my inner radar suddenly engaged, and I sensed the change in the room’s energy before I heard the faint “pop” sound, indicating the arrival of a vampire.

“Good evening, Dr. Knight.”

Hand extended, I moved toward the elegantly dressed man who’d materialized into the center of my office. He clasped my hand in his. “Hello, Mr. Roth. It’s good to see you. Right on time, as always. Please be seated.”

He gave a brief nod before settling himself in the middle of the nearest couch and arranging his ever-present briefcase next to his feet on the carpet.

Mr. Roth was a successful Denver attorney. As was his habit, he wore a handsome, gray, Italian-designed business suit, complete with a crisp white shirt and a red tie. His short, black hair was slicked back from his wide forehead—Dracula-style—and dark brown eyes shone with intelligence underneath thick, arched brows. His nose was slightly too small for his slender face, and his chin a bit too large, as if he’d been taken apart and put back together using the wrong parts.

Although he gave the impression of being serious and businesslike, he’d introduced me to his sense of humor during our first session. When I’d asked about his decision to become a lawyer after decades of being a vampire, he’d said it was natural for a bloodsucker to be an attorney. In fact, he said, the words were synonymous.

Since vampires had no need of attorneys, he represented the worst kinds of human perpetrators: murderers, rapists, child molesters—mortal monsters of all varieties. I’d inquired about why he represented the dregs of humanity, and he said he enjoyed the game. I assumed he meant the legal game, but he’d corrected me, saying it was all about winning the case—setting the person free—before taking matters into his own fangs and draining him dry.

Justice, vampire-style.

Let’s hear it for instant karma.

He’d come to therapy after resisting draining one of his fouler clients. He was afraid it set an unhealthy precedent. We’re exploring the issue.

I’d wondered how he managed his law practice in the day-based legal world, and he’d mentioned a human colleague. He said his inability to function during normal business hours was inconvenient, but it wasn’t an insurmountable problem. Apparently, Denver has a busy night court system.

I gathered my writing pad and pen before sitting in my usual chair.

He lifted his index finger. “Before we begin tonight, Doctor, I must apologize.” He paused dramatically. The combination of the mesmerizing tone of his vampire voice and the skills he’d perfected while orating before juries was impressive. It took all the grounding techniques I knew to remain unaffected. I didn’t think any human juror could resist his arguments. He had the most compelling voice I’d ever heard, and tonight it was especially hypnotic.

Whoa. I just got the chills. Is he apologizing for something he did, or something he’s going to do? Sometimes I wish religious symbols really did affect vampires. It sure would be convenient to hide behind a cross or a Buddha statue once in a while.

“Apologize, Mr. Roth?” I smiled to mask my reaction to the sudden tingling in my solar plexus. He’d never done anything out of order, but he was a vampire and I’d be a fool to forget that.

He shook his head, folding his hands in his lap. “Ah, now I must apologize twice. First for needing to cut our session short this evening due to a rash of unexplained deaths, and second for allowing my distress over those deaths to cause my energy to be so intense that I frightened you. Please forgive me.”

My deodorant just said “fuck it.”

I wouldn’t even bother to claim I hadn’t been afraid. He’d obviously sensed—or maybe scented—my fear. And I’m sure my heart was pounding loud enough for him to dance to. Even though he wasn’t as skilled at telepathy as Devereux, he’d promised to mute his mind-reading abilities while we were in session. He’d been diligent about keeping his word until tonight, so clearly something troubled him.

“There’s nothing to forgive.” I smiled. Whatever I’d felt from him earlier had dissipated. My radar quieted. “Tell me about these deaths.”

He gave a brief nod of acknowledgment and crossed his legs, his brows contracted. “It’s all very strange. As you know, most vampires—especially weak, young ones—have little control over their appetites and impulses. Their world is violent, harsh, and dark. It isn’t until we survive beyond the first few years that our true personalities emerge once again, and we have choices. Most of us can’t even regulate our heart rate, breathing, or body temperature for centuries. So, given that environment, new bloodsuckers occasionally turn up truly dead for one reason or another. Usually, only a few per week, at most.” He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. “Over the last month, there have been scores. All over the city. Vampires dying like flies. And some humans, too.”

Uh-oh. Déjà vu.

“How are they dying?” Was there some kind of vampire virus afoot? Chemical warfare? A mob of marauding vampire killers? Another bloodsucking serial killer on the loose?

“That’s the odd part. There’s no cause of death. None of the victims were drained of blood. No apparent wounds. They simply ceased existing.”

My notepad fell onto the floor. “But, how is that possible?”

“That’s the question. And I don’t have an answer. In the meantime, I have the uncomfortable task of defending clients who are actually innocent—who simply managed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.” He checked his watch, and stood. “As I said, I must end our session early this evening. So much carnage—so little moonlight.”

He bent and kissed my hand. “I will see you at our regular time next week. Hopefully, I will have good news. Until then.”

He vanished.

I retrieved my notepad from the floor, rose, and walked over to the window, contemplating the disturbing information Mr. Roth had shared. I couldn’t imagine something powerful enough to kill vampires and humans without leaving a trace. I hoped none of my clients would be affected by this dark turn of events. Devereux probably had information, but he was out of town, so I couldn’t ask him. Yet.

The unexpected change in schedule left me feeling disconnected and set adrift. I hated to admit it, but I’d come to rely on Devereux’s companionship. When he was off being master of the vampires or international mega-corporate genius, I missed him.

You’re pitiful, Kismet. Time to get a life.

An enticing aroma caressed my nostrils and a velvet voice whispered, inches from my ear, “What kind of life would you like? The possibilities are unlimited.” Soft lips trailed kisses down my neck and my brain cells scrambled.

Devereux …

My breath caught and it took me a couple of tries before I found my voice.

“You’re back. There’s something I wanted to ask you. If I could only remember what it was …”

Or why I’d want to use my mouth for talking when it could be put to such better uses.

“Later.”

He kissed my jaw and I was undone.

As always when Devereux was near, my body had a mind of its own. I relaxed against his chest and reveled in his arousing fragrance and the feel of his soft hair tickling the side of my face. My heart rate increased, and my breath went shallow. Formerly functional knees softened. I was never sure if my reaction to his presence was excitement, fear, or a little of both. Was my body simply reacting to my outrageous attraction to him, or was he manipulating me with his powers as a master vampire? Should I care? Probably. Maybe later.

I closed my eyes, hesitating before I turned to him. There had to be something wrong with how he affected me. It couldn’t be psychologically healthy for me to want to throw myself on him within seconds of his approach—to want to cling to him like a cheap spandex suit. I’d gotten better at reining in my impulses, but it was still a struggle.

Nobody should have a face that gorgeous. Or eyes so magnetic. Or a body so compelling. It just wasn’t … normal.

Right, Kismet. As if anything about a vampire could be normal.

He slid his hands up and down my arms, then stroked my hips through the soft, form-fitting fabric of my dress, and moaned softly. His tongue flicked along my neck, and I relaxed my head even more, lifting my chin to give him better access to his favorite pulsing vein. I’d discovered that allowing Devereux to drink my blood while we have sex pushes my orgasm into the stratosphere. I felt like a shameless addict, jonesing for the sharp needle points of his teeth to pierce my skin, providing the fix I craved. Instead of biting, he just nibbled gently then let go.

I groaned in disappointment.

He whispered against my ear. “I love how you desire me. I can feel your need.”

I could feel his … need … too, pressing against me.

Shouldn’t I be annoyed by this guy’s ego? His arrogant assumption that I want him? The fact that it’s true is beside the point, isn’t it? I think I’m going to need to sit down soon. Or maybe lie down. Yeah, lying down would be much better.

“Look at me, Kismet.”

Look at you? Nope, that’s always trouble. I think I’ll just stay right where I am, rubbing my buns against your “throbbing manhood,” as they used to say in the romance novels.

“My throbbing manhood?”

Damn mind-reading vampire.

But something about the way he’d said those words, with his strange manner of speaking and his European accent, made me laugh. In fact, I laughed so hard that he gasped as I vibrated against his erection. Since he rarely sucked in air on purpose, much less allowed anyone to catch him by surprise, I was intrigued. I simply had to look at him, so I turned.

The expression on his face was heart-stopping.

He’d tilted his head back, closed his eyes, and parted his lips just enough so that the tips of his fangs glistened. His beautiful light blond hair flowed down his chest, soft and touchable. He was dressed in his usual snug, black leather pants with a vibrant blue silk T-shirt tucked in at the waist, displaying his well-toned body to perfection.

I studied him, my heart pounding in lustful anticipation. He truly was an unusually beautiful man. He opened his eyes and I felt myself falling—as if the carpet I’d been standing on had liquefied, and I sank into a blue-green universe. I’d never been totally sure what color his eyes were. What was the difference between turquoise and aqua, anyway? But obviously, arousal brought out the best in his devilish orbs because they sparkled like gemstones. Or maybe it was a vampire thing. He gave a slow blink, and a wicked smile quirked his lips. He slid his arms around my waist and pulled me close for a kiss.

Without any more hesitation, I looped my arms around his neck, fit my body tight against his, and kissed him back. His mouth was wonderful: warm and soft and wet. He teased his tongue through my lips and I opened for him, inviting him to take more. Regardless of any other doubts I might have had about my relationship with Devereux, our sexual chemistry was never in question.

Part of me was lost in the delicious thing his mouth was doing, and another part noticed the fact that we were standing in front of the window, for all of Denver to see. As soon as I thought that, he broke the kiss.

“Yes. We require privacy. I totally agree.”

The office suite consisted of several rooms. One—at Devereux’s insistence when I agreed to take the space—was a bedroom. Clients would never know what was behind that door, but Devereux and I had made ample use of it many times. I knew what he had in mind when he scooped me up into his arms.

I used to get irritated when he did the scooping thing, but I’d acclimated. Sort of. Sometimes I even secretly enjoyed it. Of course, that wasn’t always the case. We had plenty of arguments about his “macho” behavior. He insisted he wasn’t trying to dominate me, only to express his feelings. But no matter what kind of spin he put on his behavior, the truth was that it couldn’t be easy for a centuries-old male to cope with the expectations and desires of a modern woman. And it was no picnic for me to deal with a nightwalking Neanderthal. No matter how gorgeous and debonair. The topic was definitely still under discussion.

He thought us into the bedroom, mentally lit the candles scattered throughout the area, and deposited me onto the large bed, which was covered with a fluffy, white silk comforter. I sighed with pleasure as my body relaxed into the soft cloud of fabric.

Moving through thought used to jar my equilibrium, but now I found it energizing. For some reason, I’d had a more difficult time believing bodies could shift through time and space than acknowledging the bizarre fact that the world was populated with horror-movie creatures. I had to give my brain credit for learning to deal with the impossible on a daily basis.

Devereux stood next to the bed, oozing sexuality, staring at me. He tugged his shirt over his head in one smooth motion, leaving his pale chest bare except for the unique medallion he always wore. The necklace appeared ordinary enough, but I’d seen it flare like a beacon. I didn’t care what tricks it could perform, though. I was more interested in the muscular chest it was nestled against.

I’d almost lost him five months ago. He’d been the target of an undead vendetta, and his own powerful magic had been used against him. Devereux insisted he sprang from the same lineage as the wizard Merlin. His ancestors were witches and seers. I was still working on accepting that bit of information. Did I mention that I’d met Devereux’s dead mother?

During that surreal experience, Bryce, one of the vampires who had been turned by my blond immortal, had gained knowledge of the ancient wizardly wisdom, and tried to manipulate Devereux. Seems he lusted after him and felt rejected by Devereux’s disinterest. Hell hath no fury like a bloodsucker scorned. Bryce almost succeeded in his plan to capture Devereux for his own pleasure, except for the inconvenient fact that I chopped his head off with a ceremonial sword.

It took Devereux six weeks to recover from the spell Bryce and his evil helpers cast. Little did the jealous offspring know it would be his own blood that fueled the ritual fire.

Devereux cocked his head and smiled. “It does not require mind-reading abilities in order to interpret the expression on your face, my love. You need not worry about me I have fully recovered and am stronger for the challenge.” He slid his hand down the flat plane of his stomach, and popped open the button on the waistband of his pants. “Let me prove it to you.”

Various parts of my body grinned, jumped up and down, and yelled, “Yippee!” The rest of me held her breath, reaching for the mental popcorn.

He hooked his thumbs into the waistband, and angled the leather down his legs. His long, platinum hair fell forward like a silky curtain. I had a sudden urge to grab that curtain and pull him down on top of me, but resisted. It was much more fun watching him disrobe and crawl onto the bed. Much more arousing.

His naked body definitely qualified as eye candy. Long and lean with muscles in all the right places. He was always so comfortable in his own skin, so at ease with his nudity. But, after all the centuries he’d inhabited that skin, I guess it was to be expected that he’d enjoy it.

Eternity as a sex object. What man could ask for more?

“I am only interested in being a sex object for you,” he said, as he stretched out next to me, lying on his side. He braced his head with a hand and smiled, watching me. He trailed a finger across my lips. “You are wearing entirely too many clothes. I wonder, what might we do to correct that situation?”

Bursting with ideas, I rolled toward him and let my gaze slide down his body, allowing my eyes to take detours in order to appreciate the natural wonders along the route. One monument in particular stood out from the scenery, and my hand reached over to explore.

Devereux groaned. There simply was nothing like a lusty Devereux groan. His voice was always enticing and magical, but the erotic sensuality he layered into that deep, growling sound sent waves of pleasure through my body, hardened my nipples, and caused moisture to pool in my nether regions. Yes, it was that good.

I tightened my fingers around his erection, then slowly released my grip. “I know just what to do with all these clothes,” I whispered. I kicked off my shoes, flung them into the air, and heard them land on the lush carpet. Then, like a stripper popping out of a cake, I rose to my feet on the bed, peeled the soft dress over my head, and tossed it onto the floor. Next came my black, lace bra and matching panties. I bounced up and down on the mattress a couple of times just for the fun of it—causing the bloodsucking hunk at my feet to bark out a laugh—then threw myself down on my back, smiling.

I turned to him, fitting my naked body against his. “So, where were we?”

His eyes sparkled mischievously. “Let me see if I remember.” He smoothed the palm of his hand over my breast and pinched my painfully hard nipple. Then he leaned in, caught my lower lip between his teeth and fangs—which had descended—and gave me a playful nip. I gasped and he pulled away, probably thinking he’d hurt me. To show him the error of his conclusion, I circled his neck with my arms, guided him in closer, pressed my lips to his, and teased my tongue into his mouth. I’d learned during our first sexual encounter that Devereux loved to have his fangs sucked on as much as another part of his anatomy. In fact, sliding my tongue up and down his canines had the same effect as what I planned to do next.

I started to ease my hand down toward the hardness pushing against my stomach, when he captured my hands, raised them over my head, and climbed on top of me.

He used his legs to nudge mine apart and simply slid inside.

I moaned deep in my throat. Oh, yeah. That’s a good plan, too.

He lifted his mouth just enough to mumble, “I have missed you these last few days. I hate when I must be away, but it cannot be helped. All I could think about was this. Filling you. Having you wrap your legs around me while I make love to you. Listening to your heartbeat. Possessing you.” He lowered his lips back to mine.

Whoa. That was pretty much all I could think about at that moment, as well. But, I’m sure he knew that, since he had the extra key to my mind.

His wish came true as he began thrusting vigorously. I wrapped my legs around his hips and took him as deep as I could. Within seconds, a delicious orgasm built, and I felt his subtle contractions as he approached his own edge.

Giving another marvelous groan, he broke the kiss and whispered, “Will you give me your blood, my love?”

“Definitely yes,” I mumbled, turning my head so he could lick the welcoming vein in my neck.

Geez. What is it about that question? Why does it always melt me into a puddle of hormonal goo?

He angled his head, kissed his way down my exposed throat, and gently pushed the tips of his fangs through my skin. His soft hair flowed across my breasts. We both moaned.

Having him thrusting inside me and sucking blood from my neck was the most extraordinary feeling ever. Wave after wave of pleasure pulsed through my body, and, as always, the sense of being separate dissolved and we became one being. Merged in every way. Soul to soul. Each experiencing the other’s arousal and release. Vampire sex with Devereux was an off-the-chart thrill.

I screamed as my body spasmed in bliss. My muscles tightened around his erection as he came. After a few seconds, he lifted his mouth from my vein, slid his tongue over the tiny holes to stop the bleeding, and brought his lips back to mine.

Tasting my own blood on his lips had become exciting—intimate. I’d grown accustomed to the flavor and even occasionally wondered what it would be like to sample his. Of course, I wouldn’t do that. Even though Devereux had assured me that the process of becoming a vampire was much more complicated than the literary or movie versions, I didn’t want to take any chances.

And how could I possibly exist without margaritas or chocolate?

Sensing him looking at me, I opened my eyes.

He raised his head, slid his tongue over his upper lip, and smiled down at me. “I apologize for being so impatient, for leaving out the delightful foreplay, as you call it, but I simply could not hold back.”

“Well, I guess I’ll forgive you this time.” I pretended to be serious. “Although, I wouldn’t want you to get into the habit of ignoring the appetizer in favor of the entrée.” Devereux definitely gave good appetizer.

“Not to throw cold water on this tender moment, but you’re getting a little heavy there, Fabio. Do you think you could scoot that delicious body of yours over a little so I can breathe? Some of us don’t have the choice of whether to suck in air or not, you know.” Calling him Fabio was a little joke between us. He didn’t really resemble the aging cover model, but he understood what I meant by the reference.

In the blink of an eye, he was lying next to me. “Ah, how careless of me. I would not want to suffocate the love of my life.”

“The love of your life?” I turned to him. “That’s an odd thing for a vampire to say, isn’t it, since you’re not really alive in the normal sense of the word?”

He frowned. “Are you still troubled by the state of my existence? Is that why you will not accept your role as my mate and take your place in my world?”

Here we go again. Shit. He heard that.

“Yes. That thought was clearly broadcast in your mind. I do not wish to upset you with these discussions, but we must resolve this issue.”

“Why?” I sat up. “Why must we resolve this issue? Why is it even an issue? What aren’t you telling me? Are you keeping something from me?”

He effortlessly moved his body, shifting to sit in front of me. “No. It is not a matter of that. The truth is that I am still attempting to understand your importance to me. The urge to bond with you is great, but the explanations elude me.”

“Bond with me? What the hell does that mean? You haven’t mentioned that before.”

“No, you are correct. I have not expressed it in those exact words, but I have spoken of our deep connection and our destiny.”

“Wait.” I wagged my finger at him. “Are you talking about the portrait of me? You claim that you painted eight centuries ago? That’s what you’re basing all this on?”

Okay. I know he had a psychic vision of me eight hundred years ago and he painted a portrait where I wore the blue, silky blouse I’ve owned less than a year, but I’m making a point here …

“My claim?” His frown deepened and he raised his chin. “As if I am not telling the truth?” He glared at me, his eyes darkening. “The painting is part of it. I have since gone back in time to explore the lifetime you and I shared prior to that …”

“What?” I felt my eyebrows shoot up my forehead. “Are you talking about reincarnation? You’ve got to be kidding. There’s no actual proof of any such thing …”

“Yes.” Anger warmed his voice as he interrupted me. “Just as there is no actual proof for the existence of vampires, yet anecdotal evidence has apparently been enough to convince you of that reality.” He grabbed my hand and pressed it against his chest. “I am proof that there are more things than your science can understand.”

He had me there, but I wasn’t interested in being logical. He’d had eight hundred years to accept all the weird information he’d thrust upon me during the past five months. My brain hadn’t processed what I’d already discovered, and there he was, adding more straws to the camel’s back. The camel was getting pissed.

Inhaling a long, slow breath to calm myself, I withdrew my hand from his chest. Sometimes my therapy training really came in handy. Stirring up his legendary anger probably wasn’t a good thing. Since he’d never directed it at me, I didn’t have any firsthand knowledge about how messy his temper could get, but I was determined to hold my ground.

“Okay.” I locked eyes with him and kept my voice dispassionate. “I’ll concede the possibility of reincarnation, and anything else you’ve got tucked away in your supernatural bag of tricks, but you’ve got to stop pushing me. You’re trying to force me to accept a role that I’ve had no part in creating and one that is my decision to make. I understand that you’ve been around forever, and you’re used to calling the shots, but I’m not one of your minions. I’m not a handmaiden to the master. I know things were different when you were human, but in my world, a woman isn’t property. I’m a professional. I’m my own person and I intend to remain so. Is that something you can, er, live with?”

“It was truly never my intention to bully you in any way.” His eyes softened, and he sighed. “Nothing is more important to me than being with you.” He slid his finger across my cheek, removing a stray hair. “You are absolutely correct that I am used to giving orders and expecting obedience. It is only recently I have come to realize that might not be an effective way to create a modern relationship.” He paused for a few seconds and an expression of sadness shadowed his face. “Often, it does seem I have existed forever. And forever can be a very long, lonely time. I give you my word I will join the twenty-first century.”

I couldn’t help but smile. A gorgeous fallen angel looking vulnerable and sad was just too much for my Inner Therapist to ignore. I had asked him during his recovery to explain why he seemed so stuck in the past. Why he spoke with such a heavy accent and used antiquated words. He said until he met me, he’d preferred the past and tended to spend most of his time there. I thought he was talking about reliving memories, but he meant it literally. He said it was a matter of splitting his attention—of holding aspects of himself in both times and places. Uh-huh. Right. I added that to my list of things to figure out later.

“Okay, oh, great and all-knowing mind-reading master, let’s kiss and make up. We’ll agree that I won’t psychoanalyze you and you won’t coerce me. Do we have a deal?”

He lifted my hand and kissed the palm, his shining aqua eyes gazing at me from beneath long, dark eyelashes. “We do, indeed.” A devilish grin slid across his lips and he leaned forward, pushing me back against the bed with his motion.

I laughed and wrapped my arms around his neck, pulling him close for a deep, wet kiss. In the midst of appreciating the little lust fires breaking out all over my body, I heard a husky voice in my mind.

“Dr. Knight. I had no idea you were so … passionate. What a conquest you will make.”

I froze in mid-writhe, reeled in the tongue I’d been exploring Devereux’s tonsils with, and thought Hallow?

Devereux jerked up and stared at me, a horrified expression on his face.

“Why is Lyren Hallow in your mind? How do you know the Slayer? What conquest?”

Feeling slightly disoriented, I mumbled, “Oh, yeah. I meant to tell you. A day-walking vampire named Lyren Hallow called the radio program I was on this morning and said he’d come to kill someone I know. He said he’d heard of me, and …”

Devereux vanished.

Chapter Five

“… Wanted to meet me. Hey! What the hell?”

I rolled out of the bed and circled, walking from one side to the other, lifting the corners of the bedding to look underneath. Of course, that was stupid. I knew Devereux wouldn’t be there, but I couldn’t stop myself from searching. I had to do something. After a few seconds, I stood naked in the center of the room, hands on my hips, scowling.

He’d done lots of popping in and out since I’d known him, but he’d never simply vanished when I was in the middle of a sentence. How rude! Yeah, as if vampires worried about impressing Miss Manners.

His clothes were still on the floor where he’d left them, which meant—wherever he was—he was nude. I chuckled out loud thinking about him showing up somewhere in the altogether. But he must have been very upset about Lyren Hallow to suddenly blink out like that. I’d never seen him have such a strong reaction to another vampire.

The sensual voice in my head a few moments ago had caused the same fuzzy reaction as during the radio program. His tone had an oddly soothing effect. It was only after the fact that I felt creeped out by my uninvited visitor. While he was slithering around inside my brain, I didn’t seem to be in any hurry to show him the door. What did it mean that yet another vampire could invade my mind anytime he wished? And what did he mean by “conquest”?

“He meant exactly what he said.”

Devereux popped into the room a few inches in front of me. He collected his clothes and began dressing. “You should have told me immediately that you were contacted by that madman. I would have taken steps earlier to protect you. I have been so distracted by having to mediate a feud between two vampire covens that I did not realize Hallow had arrived during my absence. I am certain he planned it that way. But that cannot be helped, and I have made arrangements for you to move into my penthouse. We will go to your townhouse first to gather clothing and supplies. You may return to your home when Hallow has been dealt with.”

He bent down and retrieved my dress from the floor. “Here. Put this on while I find your shoes.”

Fetch. Heel. Roll over. Play dead.

I took the dress, stomped over to the edge of the bed, and sat. He was doing it again. Proclaiming another crisis I needed to be protected from, exactly like the two thousand previous dramas. Without giving me any pertinent details, he’d just assumed he knew more about what was best for me than I did. I watched him pick up my shoes and walk toward me.

He stopped in front of me and frowned. “Kismet. You are not dressed. What are you waiting for?”

My voice rose in pitch and intensity. “I’m waiting for the courtesy of some answers. What was it you were saying earlier about not wanting to bully me? What do you call this?”

He made a dismissive gesture with his hand, an arrogant expression on his perfect face. “We have no time for this now. It is important that you be somewhere safe. Somewhere I can watch over you.”

Imprison me, you mean. If I’m not careful, you’ll stick me in one of those old dungeons underneath The Crypt. For my own good, of course. No way do you get to flick me off so easily.

“Well, make time, your majesty, because I’m not going anywhere,” I said very slowly, struggling to hold back a sudden tidal wave of anger. When had I lost control of my life? I’d obviously been too accommodating. “Who is Lyren Hallow, and why is he such a big deal? You called him the Slayer. What did you mean by that?”

Okay, Kismet. Get a grip. What’s happening to me? Why am I overreacting?

He glared at me, his own anger spiking. “You need to stop being unreasonable. I will tell you everything as soon as we are in my penthouse where there are magical protections in addition to vampire security. This is no time for you to misbehave.”

My jaw fell. “Excuse me? Misbehave? You’re treating me like a naughty child again. Being older than dirt doesn’t give you the right to be condescending.”

Red alert, Kismet. Time to calm down. I don’t understand why I’m getting so upset. It almost feels beyond my control.

He opened his mouth to say something, obviously changed his mind, and sighed impatiently. “Please. Put on your dress and shoes. I do not wish to transport you nude, but I will if necessary.”

Okay. He’s still bossy, but at least he didn’t just zap us out of the room whether I liked it or not. Is that progress?

I simmered, studying him for a moment, trying to figure out why he was so spooked. It would have been easy for me to launch into the next verse of our familiar song about his domineering attitude, but the stern expression on his face and his taut body language made it clear I wasn’t going to win this one. I had the uncomfortable feeling that my relationship with Devereux wasn’t so different from the situations I discussed with the clients at my volunteer shift at the Battered Women’s Shelter. Maybe their mates weren’t nightwalkers, but the power imbalance felt the same.

“Okay,” I said, sliding my dress over my head. “I’ll let you take me to my townhouse, since that was my destination anyway, but when we get there, we’re going to talk.”

He gave a quick nod, then without waiting for me to put my shoes on, he wrapped his arm around my waist and we rode the vampire express.

We materialized in my living room and I swayed gently when he let go. It usually took me a moment to feel steady on my legs. The experience reminded me of roller-skating when I was a kid. After wearing the skates for so many hours, navigating flat surfaces felt weird. My depth perception was out of whack, and I felt dizzy. That’s what it was like to travel through thought.

I padded over to the couch and flopped into the cushions.

Devereux followed me, hands on his hips. He cocked his head and gave me an annoyed glare. “What are you doing? We must return to my penthouse. You should gather your clothing.”

I pasted on my best bland expression and spoke conversationally. “I told you. I’m not going anywhere until you tell me what’s going on. Why does this Hallow upset you? Who is he? You might as well sit down and tell me, because nothing else is going to happen until you do.”

He scorched me with his gaze for a few seconds, then raised one perfect eyebrow. He sighed theatrically, and sat next to me.

Maybe you can teach an old dog new tricks.

“Dog?”

“Never mind.” I imitated the dismissive gesture he’d used earlier. “Tell me about Hallow.”

He held up his hand, palm toward me, his voice cold. “You must stop saying his name. In the magical world, speaking someone’s name is an invitation. It is especially important for you not to, since he has already accessed your thoughts and influenced your behavior. You must discipline yourself to avoid even thinking it.”

“But why?” I asked, genuinely perplexed. Wouldn’t I know if someone had influenced my behavior?

“Were you aware of my influence on you when we first met?” he answered, in response to my unvoiced question. “Did you realize that your heightened interest in sex and your increased awareness of men in general were caused by dormant desires I had awakened in you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“At the time, you said you found yourself attracted to several men. In fact, you judged yourself harshly because of it.”

“Are you saying you did something to me? You caused my reactions?” My fists clenched.

“Yes.” He nodded. “But not intentionally. I simply enhanced your … repressed … sexuality.”

I had thought it was odd that I attracted so much male attention back then. How irritating that he hadn’t told me.

“You could’ve said something, you know, instead of letting me beat myself up about it.”

“Yes.” He shrugged. “I suppose I should have, but there never seemed to be an appropriate moment.”

“Never an appropriate moment? But you have plenty of time to warn me about this Hallow guy?”

Devereux closed his eyes for a few seconds, probably mentally counting to ten, or whatever vampires did to calm themselves, then he refocused on mine. “This individual is the oldest vampire on the planet. So old that I cannot even imagine the mind of such a creature. Something seems to happen when one lives so extraordinarily long. A change occurs. Time itself begins to distort the brain cells, causing a stronger reliance on the old brain—the primitive mechanisms.

“Humans are predators, of course, and vampires even more so. In this ancient’s case, the predatory instinct has been heightened beyond all known limits. The thinking part of his brain continues to evolve and expand, but it is governed by a dark, evil nature. He is, in essence, a perfect killing machine. As the centuries wore on, he became more violently sadistic. It no longer satisfies him to merely destroy his human food. He now requires ever-greater stimulus, so he has turned to killing his own kind. He takes great pleasure in torture and misery. He has a stable of female slaves to serve his needs, which he adds to frequently.”

He paused briefly before speaking, his eyes blazing murderously. “I believe he plans to add you.”

My mouth fell open and goose bumps crawled up my arms. I hugged myself to ward off the psychic chill. “Add me? Why would you think that? Hal … that guy hasn’t even seen me. What possible reason could he have for wanting me? Is it because of you?”

“Perhaps partially. You must not underestimate your notoriety in the vampire world. You are well known. It is possible that he is simply curious about you. Taking you from me would be icing on the cake, as they say. He would see you as a toy, a temporary distraction. Of course, by the time he had finished with you, there would not be much of you left.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, my mouth dry, afraid I already knew more than I wanted to.

“I have seen the empty shells of the women Hallow leaves in his wake.” Devereux jumped up and paced, his hands clasped behind his back. “Their minds are useless and their bodies wasted. They have described their captivity in ways that sound like human heroin addiction: pleasure beyond belief followed by an aching need that never ends. Apparently, he can create such ecstasy in the women that they would rather die than leave him. Inevitably, their bodies begin to deteriorate as he depletes their life force and thrusts them into madness.” He returned to the couch, expression solemn. “That is why I became so upset when you said he had contacted you.” He tipped his head in a slow bow. “I apologize if I resorted to caveman tactics.”

I patted his hand and gazed into his sincere eyes. “Apology accepted. So, let’s say the energy sucker does intend to add me to his harem. Are you seriously suggesting that I hide out in your penthouse indefinitely? That I never leave the building?” I spoke with a playful tone, because it was simply beyond the realm of possibility that Devereux would propose something so ludicrous.

“Yes.” He nodded, eagerly. “That is the only way for you to remain safe. Your office is merely an elevator ride away, so there is no real reason for you to go anywhere else. I do not wish to curtail your freedom, but it is necessary. I must insist that you follow my guidance.”

And, here we go again …

“You must insist?” I fisted my hands in my lap and scowled. “So, you’re only willing to restrain your chest-beating instincts when it suits you? You really don’t see me as an individual, do you? Someone with her own goals and needs and desires? No. You only see me as some fated extension of yourself. What about all the other times you forced me to rearrange my life and my work because you thought I was in danger? Nothing bad ever happened. Why should I listen now? How do I know this isn’t just another excuse for you to stroke your ego? Do you know for a fact that he’s interested in me? Nope. Sorry. I won’t allow anyone to make decisions for me.”

Whoa. What’s up with my short fuse today? It’s true that he’s being his usual bossy self, but since when can’t I handle it? What’s wrong with me? My anger is way over the top. Breathe, Kismet. Just breathe.

I leapt up from the couch and wandered aimlessly around the room. He followed me, grabbed my upper arms, and gave me a shot of vampire voodoo with his eyeballs.

“I am willing for you to be angry with me if it means you will remain unharmed. We can return for your things later. I am taking you to safety now.”

His gaze had produced the usual hazy, entranced feeling, but I could still feel the edge of my anger underneath the fuzz. In fact, my anger felt pretty good.

But why am I angry? My head feels funny.

He slid his arm around my waist, and I twisted away, pulling him off balance. The shock on his face was almost comical. The master simply wasn’t used to disobedience.

Stress is an amazing thing. All that adrenaline pumping and cortisol surging.

He reached for me again, and I pivoted, shoving him with my hip. He growled and lunged. We performed a sweaty little grapple for a few frantic seconds, he trying to hold onto me without hurting me, while I struggled to get away. I don’t know how we remained on our feet. At one point we each had handfuls of the other’s hair. Lots of snorting and grunting ensued.

“Ahem.” Luna, Devereux’s hostile, femme fatale assistant stood a couple of feet away, sneering. She had a habit of showing up uninvited and unannounced.

“Forgive me for interrupting your disgusting little mating ritual, but the master is needed. The truce between the covens has been breached, and they’re at each other’s throats again. If you don’t mind, I’ll just go and stake myself now, which is the only way I’ll be able to rid myself of the grotesque scene I just witnessed, since it’s burned into my brain.”

Devereux disentangled himself from me, straightening his clothing and hair. I leaned forward, braced my hands on my knees, and tried to catch my breath.

What the hell just happened? I’m not behaving like myself. I can’t believe I got so upset at Devereux. Since when do I deal with my problems physically? I’ve never done anything like that before. And where did all that muscle come from?

“We will go with you, Luna,” Devereux proclaimed.

He slid his arm around my waist again, preparing to transport us to his penthouse, and I screamed, “No!” I wanted to stay put and figure out my strange behavior. Of course, he paid no attention. But something weird happened. I felt the usual, hair-raising sensation always present when we blink from one place to another, but instead of landing in Devereux’s elegant living quarters, there was an itchy, tingling, pulling feeling along my back, and then we were standing in my living room again.

Whoa. I wasn’t an expert at undead transportation, but I didn’t think Devereux had planned that.

“How did you do that?” he demanded, turning to glare at me.

I’m sure I looked as confused as I felt. “Do what? I didn’t do anything.” Unless thinking I didn’t want to go and screaming “no” counted. But why would it, since it never had before?

He stepped closer, his eyes distant and cold. “You forced us to return. I felt it. How could you possibly know how to do that? Who have you been talking …” He growled low in his throat. “It was him. Somehow he has lent you his power—strengthened your mental capacity. He has already begun to exert his influence.” He made an obvious effort to calm himself and stroked his hand over my hair. “You can rest assured that I will not allow him to interfere in this way—to change you. But while I consider the best course of action, I would like you to come with me of your own free will. I can probably still force you to accompany me, but it would be highly unpleasant for both of us. Will you come?”

I reached up and took his face in my hands, staring into his eyes. “Devereux, I know you want to protect me. I know your actions are motivated by love. You don’t think I can take care of myself, and you’re probably right that I have a lot to learn about your world. But how will I learn about this weird reality if you don’t let me make my own mistakes and explore my abilities in my own way? If you try to hold me captive—even with love—I’ll come to resent you. Neither of us wants that. I want to stay here, in my own home, and make my own decisions.”

He wrapped his fingers around my wrists, brought my hands to his mouth, and kissed one palm then the other.

“For an intelligent woman, you are being incredibly obtuse.”

My mouth opened and closed in indignation. In the middle of my inadvertent fish imitation, I tried to form a coherent sentence and failed. I pulled my hands away.

Devereux stared down at me as if I were a naughty schoolgirl being reprimanded by the principal. “You have no idea what that lunatic can do. And instead of listening to me—someone who actually does know what the beast is capable of—you dig in your heels and resist. Your careless actions could cause both of us pain. Now, please. Be the sensible woman I know you are and come with me.”

“Being sensible is highly overrated.”

Where did that come from? I didn’t mean to say that. This is getting creepy.

As much as I objected to Devereux’s possessiveness, my bizarre personality shift was becoming frightening. I felt as if I’d been thrust into a terrifying, foreign landscape without a map or a mental compass. Was I truly going mad?

I backed away and slammed into a strange vampire who’d just materialized behind me. The visitor didn’t even react to my stomping on his feet.

Let’s see how many more vampires we can cram into this room.

“Master. You are desperately needed. Things have taken a turn for the worse. They are calling for you.”

Devereux snarled at the newcomer. “Yes, yes, I am coming. Tell them I am on my way.”

The messenger departed and I crossed my arms over my chest, clear body language that, as far as I was concerned, the discussion was over. I needed a time-out.

“No, my love, the discussion is not over. Far from it. But I must go. At least promise me that you will remain indoors tonight.”

I smiled, promising nothing.

He grumbled something harsh-sounding in the strange language he sometimes used, shook his head, and disappeared.

Even if I wasn’t in the midst of a nervous breakdown, I had to admit it was entirely possible that he was right about my resistance, but Devereux’s suffocating behavior had gotten to the point that I had to take a stand, even if it seemed self-destructive, stubborn, and stupid. I couldn’t continue to hide behind him. It had been my decision to involve myself in the vampire, and vampire wannabe, worlds, so there was no point in cowering and playing the Damsel in Distress. I had to learn to take care of myself, or I’d spend the rest of my life being a victim.

Thinking about cowering made me remember my weird altercation with Devereux. Something was definitely different. I’d eagerly held up my end of the tussle. Even took a sadistic pleasure in grabbing handfuls of that platinum hair. My temper had slipped its leash and run amok. That was new for me and I wasn’t sure how I felt about it. But I had enjoyed the exhilaration.

But wasn’t it peculiar that I enjoyed it?

After the flurry of chaos, being alone in my townhouse seemed odd. The silence pressed against my ears, and the lack of drama felt empty rather than peaceful. Had I become addicted to the soap operas of the bloodsucking world? Was I hooked on the neurochemical roller coaster?

With those disturbing thoughts in my mind, I wandered over to my desk and sat. Extensive paperwork was simply a staple of my chosen career, and I rummaged through the insurance forms and consultation requests on my desk, and suddenly remembered I’d left my briefcase, containing my current client files, at my office.

Shit! Did I want to drive back over there, or … Damn! My driver’s license was in my purse, which was also still at my office. Then another revelation rolled over me: driver’s license, hell! My car was still there! I pounded my fist on the desktop and belted out a primal scream. Good thing my neighbors were in Mexico. I should’ve stopped thinking about Devereux’s hormone-kindling face and body long enough to gather my personal belongings. “Damn!” I slapped the desk again. “I wish I could just think myself there. A few minutes ago it was Vampire Central Station. Where’s a vampire when you need one?”

I could even envision exactly where in the office I’d left my possessions.

As soon as I pictured them in my mind, I felt the familiar swoosh and found myself in my office. Or, I should say, sprawled on the floor of my office. It was like somebody had opened a cosmic door, positioned his foot on my ass, and pushed me inside.

I sat up, stunned, and looked around. I’d landed next to the desk that held my purse and briefcase. Apparently, just imagining the place I wanted to be was all it took to get me there. I patted myself down, making sure all of me had arrived and reassembled in the correct order.

After I mentally scratched my head for a few seconds, I burst out laughing. Devereux was going to have a stroke when he found out. Well, maybe not a stroke because one had to be alive for that, but he’d suffer some kind of undead affliction. The idea that his destined beloved had developed her own abilities and might be able to survive day-to-day without his constant intervention would be as welcome to him as a broken fang.

When the laughter died down, I sobered. I’d just done something impossible, and the cautious part of me pursed her lips and shook a finger in my direction. She didn’t think this situation was funny at all and she was very concerned about the source of these new skills. She thought I ought to contact Devereux immediately and tell him about this surprising development. She was worried.

Wow. This is getting crazy. She? Isn’t she me? I should definitely call Devereux.

But not all of me agreed. In the midst of the anxiety, another opinion forced its way into the discussion, and I felt myself smile—almost as if my facial muscles had a mind of their own.

Why tell Devereux anything? Yes, the pleasure of watching the shocked realization blossom across his face would be entertaining, and there was no mistaking how exciting his temper tantrums could be, but why tip my hand? Why share this radically unexpected turn of events? An unfamiliar confidence filled me.

Okay. The fact that my new skill allegedly came from Hal … from the ancient vampire Devereux had mentioned, was unsettling news. That would be the part my blond Adonis hated the most. But who knew how long my ticket for Air Vampire would last? Shouldn’t I keep this little bit of freedom to myself? Maybe I wasn’t thrilled about how I got this ability, but as long as I had it, shouldn’t I use it? Besides, there was a more immediate issue to deal with: I had to find out if traveling via thought was a one-shot deal, or if it had a longer shelf life. Could I get myself home the same way I came? Would I be able to take my briefcase and purse with me? Burning questions. But if I popped home, my car would still be parked in the underground parking of the office building. Shouldn’t I simply take the easiest path and drive home? Just be a normal human? Boring but practical.

That’s what I did.

On the ride home I fantasized about thought travel. As outrageous as it seemed, it really wasn’t any more bizarre than most aspects of modern quantum physics. In fact, Einstein had speculated about the possibility of that very thing. It really shouldn’t come as a surprise that vampires could manipulate energy. What was really weird was the fact that vampires existed, period. Devereux had promised to tell me the story of the original vampire, but so far he’d managed to change the subject whenever I’d raised it. Another mystery?

It also occurred to me that I’d forgotten to ask Devereux about the deaths Mr. Roth talked about. I made a mental note to find out what he knew.

My townhouse was as quiet and bloodsucker-free as I’d left it. I strolled into the kitchen, rummaged through the refrigerator, and grabbed the newest-looking leftover container of Chinese food. I sniffed and my brain gave me the thumbs-up. I found a lone fork in the sink, and leaned against the wall to eat. I looked down at my lovely black dress, now lint-covered and dirty, and groaned. A greasy, fat noodle dangling on the end of the fork made a run for it down the front of the soft fabric. Perfect.

I pitched the empty food box, stashed the fork in the dishwasher, and shuffled over to the staircase leading up to my bedroom. A hot shower would feel like heaven.

I’d only climbed a few steps when the doorbell rang. In my pre-vampire life, someone coming to my door was a normal, natural thing. No cause for alarm. But since I’d fallen into an alternate universe, nighttime visitors could be extremely bad news. They could be downright hazardous to my health.

I tiptoed over to the door and eyeballed the peephole. Someone was definitely there, but I couldn’t make out whom. I reached over and flipped on the porch light, then peeked again. A tall woman with a waterfall of white hair stood there, smiling and waving.

Chapter Six

“Maxie? What are you doing here? How did you get my address?” The frown in my voice matched the one on my face.

I’d cracked the door open enough to stick my head out, but I hadn’t invited her in. What the hell was a reporter doing on my doorstep?

Her smile widened. “I can find anybody’s address. I’m a bit of a computer geek. Actually, yours was easy. Did you know that the American Psychological Association actually lists member contact information online? And it’s only protected by the flimsiest of passwords. Child’s play, really. Can I come in?” She didn’t try to hide the fact that she was inching her shoe into the door crack.

I tightened my grip on the handle and shifted my hip against the door. “I don’t think so, Maxie. I’m tired and I’ve got a lot of paperwork to do. Why don’t you call me tomorrow?”

She stuck her lower lip out in a pout. “I’ve left you several messages today, Doc. Remember? We’re going to the vampire staking? I originally gave you directions, but then the location was changed, so I left you another message, asking you to call me, but you didn’t. I thought I’d better hightail it over here and see if anything was wrong. Just being a concerned citizen, ya know?”

Maxie’s energy seemed intense, chaotic.

I stared at her and she pulled her foot away from the door, a contrite expression on her face. “I’m sorry, Doc. I tend to come on too strong sometimes. I just got back from interviewing a pedophile, and I hammered him with every aggressive interrogation technique I could think of. He finally caved, and it wasn’t pretty. I guess I hadn’t finished decompressing. I’ve been meaning to work on my polite social skills. It’s on my list.” She smiled and studied me. “Seriously. I do apologize. I’d kill for a glass of wine.”

If she really had just come from such a horrible interview, I could understand why I was picking up so many mixed energy signals from her. I was probably even sensing the perpetrator’s aura, too. I supposed it wouldn’t hurt to ask her in for some wine. In fact, that sounded pretty good to me, too.

“A pedophile? That had to be one miserable interview.” I pulled the door open in invitation. “How can you do what you do?”

She stepped inside and gave a melancholy smile. “I could ask you the same thing, Doc. You have to listen to shitty stuff all the time. Mostly I just talk to people who claim they were experimented on in a spaceship or who saw Bigfoot. Just your standard flaky loons.”

I laughed, thinking about some of my clients’ outlandish tales.

“Sit down, relax.” I pointed to the couch. “I’ll get the wine. Which do you prefer? Red or white?”

“White.” She sat, and I noticed for the first time that she was dressed in black leather. Quite a different look from the baggy jeans and football T-shirt she’d worn earlier. There was no mistaking the model’s body in those tight clothes. Interesting choice for a work outfit. I wondered if the creepy interviewee had been intimidated by all that leather? Maybe that was why she’d worn it. Dominatrix reporter. I glanced down at my dress and discovered the long, fat noodle that had made a suicide leap off my fork had sealed itself to my left breast. Although I don’t usually give much attention to fashion, I do make an effort not to wear my food. I suddenly felt insecure in my messy threads next to Maxie’s easy perfection.

I peeled the noodle off my chest, poured the wine, and brought the glasses to the couch.

“I take it you’ve never been to a vampire staking before?” Maxie asked.

“As I already told you”—I sat on the other end of the couch and gave her a blank face—“I have no intention of going to such a thing. We both know it will just be a lot of goth children, vampire wannabes, and the mentally ill. No purpose would be served by my attendance.” And I’d really had it with people forcing their opinions, desires, and expectations on me. This was as good a place to put my foot down as any. I prepared myself to argue with Maxie, waiting for her to lob the next sally over the net—to try to convince me that she was a better judge of how I should spend my evening than I was.

She sipped from her wineglass. “Can I level with you, Doc?”

Hmmm. Not what I expected.

I gave her my attention. “Of course.” Her vibrant personality seemed to crumble in front of me, and she suddenly looked very tired.

She met my eyes and hers shone with moisture. “I don’t want to go to this thing. But I have to. I think I’m in trouble at work. My job might be on the line. That’s why I asked you to go with me. I was just hoping for some company. For someone to … be a friend. I have lots of acquaintances, but nobody I can count on. I’ve gotten myself in some hot water financially—made some stupid decisions—and if I lose my job, the whole house of cards will come tumbling down on me.”

She heaved a sigh. “You seemed like such a warmhearted person that I guess I got carried away. I just wanted so badly to connect. To hang out with someone I could be myself with—whatever that is. I’m great at putting on a tough façade, and I never let anyone know how I really feel. Shit, I don’t even let myself know. But I can say for sure that I’m burned out on my job, and worried I’ll lose it at the same time. In other words, I’m totally screwed.”

One fat tear slid down her cheek. She plucked a tissue out of the box on the table in front of her and blew her nose, making an unusually loud, multi-octave honking sound.

The unique tone caused us both to raise our eyebrows, stare at each other for a moment, then burst out laughing.

“Whoa! Where’d that noise come from?” Maxie said, smiling. “Do I know how to lighten a mood, or what? Barnum and Bailey, here I come!”

I’d put my hand over my mouth in a futile effort to muffle my own laughter. I thought it was terrible of me to have such an inappropriate reaction after someone had shared something so emotionally intense. But it was probably similar to why people sometimes laughed at funerals. Stress causes unexpected reactions.

I caught my lower lip between my teeth to force myself to stop chuckling, but all that did was cause me to snort, and we both lost it again.

After what seemed like an endless amount of time, the frivolity calmed and we each reached for a tissue. I fanned myself with my hand, shaking my head, grinning.

“I think we both needed that, don’t you?”

“Hell, yeah! I already feel better just being around you. I think you’ve got the healing touch, Doc.” She smiled, then set her glass of wine on the table. “But I’ve taken up enough of your time. I need to head over to the ridiculous event, and I’m going to let you get on with your evening.” She stood. “I’m sorry I spilled my guts like that. It wasn’t fair to you, since that’s the kind of crap you have to listen to all the time. I hope you’ll forgive me for being such a wimp.”

I drank the last sip of wine in my glass and set it on the table alongside hers. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt me to get a firsthand taste of Denver’s occult underworld. She’d been right this morning when she suggested I could use the material in my private practice and for my book. Besides, now that I understood what Maxie was going through, I didn’t have the heart to send her off to the insanity alone. Who would’ve guessed the cynical reporter I’d had coffee with had such a vulnerable side? If I was really serious about making some new friends, here was a perfect opportunity for me to step outside my routine. To take a chance. To follow my own therapeutic advice. After all, I was client-free for the weekend, and hadn’t made any other plans.

And, interestingly, I also noticed that I’d felt more like the self I was familiar with since Maxie had arrived. Maybe the odd personality deviation had run its course? She might be a good influence on me.

“You honestly want me to go with you?” I frowned. “My being there will really make things easier?”

Her face lit up and a huge smile curved her lips. “No shit? You’ll actually go with me? Well, hot damn! Maybe I should let my Inner Whiner out more often.” She laughed. “Thanks so much, really. How cool! I have a friend.” She plopped down on the couch. “Are you going to change clothes? I don’t think a dress would be the best choice for the lunatic festivities. But, if you’re going as you are, I have to say I really miss the noodle. Maybe we could fish it out of the garbage and stick it back on your boob. I thought it made a powerful statement.” She hooted out a laugh, and I picked up a small pillow from a chair and heaved it at her head. She deflected the fluffy assault and continued laughing.

I smiled and folded my arms over my chest. “If you’re going to make fun of my fashion accessories, I’ll have to rethink my offer.”

She stood and bowed from the waist, her silky hair cascading down to the floor. “Many humble apologies, my new friend, for my thoughtless remark about your … noodle. I promise never to have another opinion about whatever you plaster to your tit. Unless, of course, it’s some hot guy’s hand, then I might have to speak up …” She laughed and flopped onto the couch again.

I had a quick memory flash of Devereux’s hand on that very tit, and smiled. Maxie was clever. She reminded me of Alan Stevens, a certain cocky FBI agent I’d gotten friendly with a while back. Maybe it would be good for me to spend some time with someone who enjoyed laughing. It was no secret that I tended to take things way too seriously. Definitely another downside to my profession. A downside I wouldn’t mind uplifting. And there was no time like the present.

“Yeah, you’re a laugh riot. Have more wine if you want. I’ll go upstairs and change. I’ll be right back.”

*

We walked out my front door to the street, arguing about which car to take. She insisted on taking her Jeep, saying it would come in handy.

“What do you mean? How will it come in handy? Are we going four-wheeling?”

She tugged on my coat sleeve, as I veered off in the direction of my garage to fetch my BMW, then she grabbed my arm and pulled me over to the beat-up Jeep at the curb.

She grinned. “No, but I gather from my informant that our destination isn’t car-friendly. Apparently, the ‘staking’ is happening in some abandoned area. We’ll have to camouflage the Jeep and walk to the main event. I like to make a surprise entrance. That way I get to see more than they intend for me to see.”

“So?” I shook my arm loose. “How does that put my car out of the running? My comfortable little ride can hide in the shadows as easily as your Jeep. You’re just prejudiced against slick cars.”

She opened the passenger side of the Jeep and shoved at me until I was all the way in. Damn, she was strong.

“Hey! No pushing! You’ll wrinkle my favorite suede coat.”

She circled around the front of the car and slid behind the wheel.

“Sorry,” she said, not appearing sorry at all. “Are you saying my Jeep’s not slick? I’ll have you know this vehicle has gotten me out of more tough spots than I can count. Take a look behind you.” She clicked on the inside light, twisted in her seat, reached into the back, and lifted a blanket.

I shifted in my seat and goggled. The back of the Jeep was filled with an assortment of shovels, tools, food, cold weather supplies, a tent, outdoor cooking equipment, flashlights, candles, what appeared to be sharpened stakes, and weapons—guns and knives.

Guns. Knives.

I slowly turned my eyes to hers, my stomach tightening. “What the hell, Maxie? Are you some kind of survivalist? Why do you have guns? And what’s with the stakes? I thought you’d never encountered a real vampire?”

“Chill, Doc. You’ve obviously led a very sheltered life. In my line of work, I deal with all manner of slime bags. Before I figured out the degree to which I needed to take care of myself, I barely escaped from some dangerous situations. It’s impossible to be a reporter if you aren’t going to follow the vermin into their holes. And, as far as the stakes, they’re amazingly effective at scaring off vampire wannabes. I’ll use whatever works.” She replaced the blanket and reached into a storage box between our two seats. She pulled out a strip of leather and tied it around her hair, making the longest ponytail—or, rather, horse tail—I’d ever seen. She saw me watching her and smiled.

“Still fascinated with the white hair?”

“No. Well, yes, but I was wondering how you deal with hair that long. Doesn’t it get in the way? Isn’t it heavy?” I thought about the relentless weight of my own hair and mine was only half as long as hers.

“Nope. I’m used to it. It’s just another one of my many charming idiosyncrasies. Besides, my significant other likes it this way.”

“Significant other? The plot thickens. You didn’t mention anything about that before.”

She slanted a glance at me and gave a mysterious smile. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.” She started the Jeep, shut off the inside light, and pulled onto the road.

“What makes you think I have something to tell?”

“Let’s just say that it isn’t easy for an incredibly gorgeous, wealthy man to avoid being stalked by reporters and the paparazzi. Even in Denver. Showing up on his arm once might have indicated a casual friendship. But there were repeated sightings. And then you moved your counseling practice into his building. The only business on the premises, I might add, that isn’t owned by his international conglomeration. Demented little inquiring minds want to know, Doc, and my rag of a newspaper intends to supply the answers. Devereux is an incredible man. Odd, though, that there’s no mention anywhere of a last name. He’s quite the mystery man. You wouldn’t happen to know what his last name is, would you?”

I glared. “Are we back to interviewing me, Maxie?”

“Mea culpa,” she grinned. “Old habits die hard.”

I had to hand it to her. That was a smooth move. She wasn’t any better at turning off her professional persona than I was.

“Okay. So you know about Devereux. It’s not a secret. What about you? Who’s your … person?” I never made assumptions about anyone’s sexual orientation.

“That was very politically correct of you, Doc. I happen to be a flaming heterosexual. I’ve always had a healthy appetite for energetic cocksmen. And right now I’m hopelessly mad about a man who’s too busy to pay any attention to me. He travels a lot for work.”

“Will I get to meet this energetic … man?” No wonder she felt so alone. The elusive boyfriend explained a lot.

“Well, it’s not out of the realm of possibility, but I seriously doubt it. He doesn’t live in Denver and I never know when he’s going to show up. But we make up for it with great phone sex.”

“Well, then.” I laughed. “It sounds like the perfect modern relationship to me.”

She smiled. “Yeah, but sex is certainly more fun when he’s actually in the room with me.”

Appreciating the truth of that statement, I grinned and stared out the window at the full moon, wondering where my sex object was. It was probably better that I didn’t know, though, since I was sure he’d be angry that I’d fled protective custody. I swiveled my head to glance behind me, just to make sure he hadn’t materialized. I never knew where he’d turn up. Devereux could literally be anywhere in a multitude of universes and still show up in a heartbeat to surprise me. And the ease with which I contemplated that bizarre thought made me shake my head. How weird was it that my vocabulary now included words like parallel dimensions, simultaneous existence, auras, etheric bodies, and Merlin, of all things.

Leave it to me to fall for a guy whose mother was an apparition and whose extended family included a famous, ancient wizard. I’d recently realized that I’d stopped labeling Devereux’s vampirism as the strangest thing about him. I hadn’t exactly gotten used to it, but in the midst of all his other disturbing tendencies, blood drinking didn’t rate very high on the fright meter anymore. Amazing, what one can acclimate to. Especially when it was linked with great sex.

I roused myself from my daydream and noticed we’d traveled away from the lights of the downtown area. We probably hadn’t been driving that long, but I’d lost track of time. “Where the hell is this place? Kansas?”

“Nope.” She chuckled. “We’re still in Denver. I took a back route so nobody would see us arrive. Here we are.”

She angled the car off the road, edged it between two rows of trees, and killed the engine.

I leaned forward and peered through the windshield. Thanks to the lunar illumination, it was easy to see in the dark. I pointed. “What is this place? That rickety thing looks like … it looks like some old roller coaster or something.” I swiveled my head toward Maxie. “This is where we’re going? An abandoned amusement park?”

“Bingo, Doc. I don’t know how long you’ve been in Denver, but the fire that destroyed half of this place was the talk of the town. It was arson. We wouldn’t have our fancy new, state-of-the-art tourist trap downtown if the little pyromaniac bugger hadn’t torched this one. And are you ready for this? The jerk set the fire because he was a pyromancer.”

I frowned. “A what? I’m not familiar with that term.”

Maxie nodded. “A pyromancer. Somebody who reads the future by interpreting flames. This is right up your alley, actually. At his trial, the little creep testified that the voices in his head told him to barbecue the whole park so he could write his own book of future predictions like Nostradamus. There’s an asshole born every minute. Come on. Let’s collect supplies.”

She opened her door, stepped out, and quietly pushed it closed. I followed her example and tiptoed around to the back of the Jeep.

“Are you sure this is where the thing is happening?” I glanced around. “I don’t see anybody. It’s so quiet.”

She popped open the plastic flap covering the rear window and peeled it back, flopping it up on the roof. “Shhhh. We’re on the other side of the park, but you never know who’s lurking.” She pointed to a bent, broken chain-link fence. “We’ll be crawling in under that fence and skulking around, on the lookout for a good place to observe.” She studied my clothes, her lips pursed. “The jeans, sweater, and hiking boots are great, but you might want to lose the coat—if it really is your favorite. Leave it in the car or it will get filthy. I have a couple of parkas here in the back. You can use one.”

I started to complain that I didn’t want to crawl anywhere, but she’d already turned her attention to grabbing supplies from her rolling disaster-preparedness stash.

Surrendering to the inevitable, I shrugged out of my coat, took my cell phone, wallet, and keys out of the pockets, and exchanged it for one of the black parkas. The silky, pillowy fabric was too warm for the mild weather, and it made me feel like the Pillsbury Doughboy. I crammed all my things into one large pocket, and filled the other with the flashlight, tape recorder, pocketknife, writing pad, and pen Maxie thrust into my hands.

“Okay. You have to take one of these. Which one do you think you could handle?” She held out a stun gun and a pistol, and shifted her weight from side to side impatiently as I stared at both the foreign objects in her hands. “Well? What’s the problem?”

“What’s the problem?” I whispered, louder than I probably should have. “You didn’t say anything about needing to be armed to attend this crap fest. What the hell are we going to do with weapons? I thought we were just going to hide out and watch. Are you planning to burst in and take hostages, or something?” This adventure had transformed from being an interesting change of pace, to something that made fear coil in my stomach.

Maxie stared at the ground and shook her head. She lowered the weapons to her sides, then raised her eyes up to mine. “I’m sorry. I’m used to doing these crazy things alone and I psych myself up for whatever’s going to happen. I should’ve told you that there’s always a chance some weirdo will freak out and do something violent. After all, if these people were normal and healthy, they probably wouldn’t be here. You should be used to unpredictable, mentally whacked people.” She brought the pistol and the stun gun into the space between us again. “I need you to choose one of these, just so I can be sure you have something to defend yourself with. You could use the pocketknife, but a perpetrator would have to get awfully close and personal before it would be a good option.”

She held the small pistol out to me. “Have you ever fired one of these?”

I took the gun. “Just a few times, when an old boyfriend dragged me to the firing range. I wasn’t very good. I’d probably shoot myself in the foot.”

In fact, I shot him in the foot back then.

“No, you won’t. It has a safety. Here, I’ll show you.” She demonstrated and then handed the gun back to me. “Take it, okay? Just in case.”

My hand tingled when I took the weapon, as if my skin was trying to reject all the emotions trapped in the handle. Not a good feeling.

“I really hate this, Maxie. This isn’t my idea of fun at all. You’re going to owe me big-time. Crawling in the dirt, carrying a gun, prowling through the burned-out remains of an amusement park—next time we listen to jazz and drink margaritas.”

She grinned and patted my shoulder. “Way to suck it up, my friend. What a trouper. This will be an adventure you’ll never forget.” She angled over to check out the back of the Jeep again and nodded. “Yes. I think we have everything we need. Let’s rumble.” She fastened the flap over the rear window, zipped the front of her jacket, and trotted toward the fence.

She shot me a glance over her shoulder. “Hey, you’d better zip up unless you want dirt and soot all over that fine rack.”

I heard her laughing as she effortlessly glided to a gaping section of fence. I looked down to zip the parka, still walking fast to catch up with Maxie, and tripped over an exposed tree root. Thanks to the foamy coat, I barely made a sound as I hit the ground. I raised my head in time to watch Maxie crawl under the fence, stand, and stride off, disappearing behind the ruins of a building.

“Maxie?” I croaked.

Chapter Seven

Silence.

I struggled to my feet and brushed off dirt, twigs, and a used condom. The damn coat was so bulky it was like wearing an extra-large fat suit. I finished tugging up the zipper and jogged over to the fence, staring at the curled-up corner.

Squatting, I examined the opening, talking to myself.

“How the hell am I supposed to cram this huge hot-air balloon of a parka through that small hole in the chain link? Of course, Maxie’s leather jacket slid right through. What was the point of dressing me up like the Michelin Man?”

I peeled off the jacket, pushed it through the bent corner of the fence, dropped to my hands and knees, then slid under on my stomach. The ground appeared relatively smooth, indicating that many people had made the journey before me.

Emerging on the other side, I stood, rotating my shoulders. I hated to put the parka back on again, but if Maxie thought it was important for me to have a gun, I probably should at least keep my hands free. I retrieved the fluffy beast, slipped it on, and took a few tentative steps into a maze of building remains. The full moon shone large and bright, like a cosmic lantern. Thanks to the extra light, it should have been easy to find Maxie, but she was nowhere in sight.

Thinking it would probably be better if I weren’t quite so visible, I detoured along a partial wall and scanned the area. This was definitely a weird place. Not only because of the scorched landscape—although that definitely qualified as creepy—but because of the ominous vibe. Something triggered my inner alarm. I couldn’t put my finger on what was off, but the air felt heavy—dangerous. Maybe Maxie was right about lunatics hiding in the shadows. I reached into my pocket and wrapped my fingers around the gun, but instead of reassuring me, it terrified me. I turned my head slowly from side to side, watching for—what? Nothing had happened to make me anxious, but all of a sudden, my gut clenched and my breath caught, as if I was sensing something—or someone—I couldn’t see.

“Maxie?” I whispered as loudly as I dared.

A feeling of dread washed over me and I froze, trying to figure out where the threat was coming from. If there even was a threat. I was torn between thinking my imagination was working overtime and wanting to trust my intuition. My heart pounded and my body temperature spiked so high that I unzipped the coat and used the edge to fan myself.

What was happening to me? I’d never had a panic attack before, but whatever my body was doing seemed to fit all the symptoms. Maybe I was just picking up the energy echoes from the chaos of the fire? I’d prefer that explanation to thinking I was losing my mind.

Then I heard a soft groan. I shifted my eyes in both directions, looking for the source of the low sound, and heard it again. Closer this time, but I still couldn’t see anyone near me. I jumped as a hand stroked the side of my face, then fingers trailed down my neck. I gasped and heard another groan. My whole body contracted in terror. I reached up to swat the invisible hand away, but there was nothing there. Yet I could still feel it—it was as real as my own skin—and the longer the phantom hand touched me, the more my muscles cramped.

Footsteps pounded toward me. “Kismet? Where are you?”

I must have been holding my breath, because so much air escaped from my mouth that I coughed and doubled over. The unseen hand was gone. “Maxie? Here. I’m over here.”

She crouched, grabbed my upper arms, and pulled me upright. “Where the hell did you go? I thought you were right behind me. What’s wrong with you? Why are you all sweaty and shaky?” She pivoted, waving the gun she carried. “Did someone attack you? What happened?”

I closed my eyes for a moment to calm myself. Either I’d been fondled by an invisible something or I was going mad. Neither option was acceptable. I preferred “none of the above.” But what other explanation could there be?

My fingers still had a death grip on the gun in my pocket, and I forced myself to let go. My palm was so slick with sweat, the gun slid out of my hand easily once I relaxed my muscles.

She half-turned her body so she was still able to catch anyone approaching, while making furtive eye contact with me. “Kismet? What the hell’s wrong with you? Tell me what happened.”

I opened my eyes, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. My hand rose to the spot on my face where the invisible touch occurred. “I don’t know what happened. Somebody touched me.”

She spun around, pointing the gun one direction and then another. “Who? Who touched you? What did he look like?”

I licked my dry lips. “He didn’t look like anything.”

“What do you mean? Did he have a bag over his head or something? A pointed, white hood?”

“No. I mean, nobody was there at all. But I swear I felt a definite hand on my face. And there was a groan. A male-sounding groan.”

She lowered her gun and raised her eyebrows. “Lay that on me again. An invisible hand and a manly groan? Do you realize how insane that sounds? Doc, help me out here. Get a grip. Don’t go looney-tunes on me now. Maybe you’ve been listening to too many schizo stories from your clients.” She retrieved a small flask from one of her oversize pockets, flicked off the attached lid, and offered it to me. “Here. A little brandy to calm the nerves.”

I shook my head. “No. I don’t want any alcohol. I feel strange enough as it is.”

“I insist, Doc.” She stepped closer and held the flask up to my lips. “There’s nothing like a little brandy—for medicinal purposes only, of course—to set the world right. Humor me.”

Since she was determined to force the brandy into my mouth, I grabbed the flask to keep her from jamming it against my teeth. I took a small swig and swallowed. Warmth spread down my throat and into my middle. I did feel steadier.

Hmmm. Funny-tasting brandy. I don’t even want to think about how long Maxie must have had that in her car.

She watched me and nodded, her face serious. “Okay. That’s better. Under different circumstances, I’d walk you back to the car and let you wait there for me, but I found the location of the main event and I need you to cover my back. Are you going to be able to be there for me? Can I count on you?”

Shit. Where in my job description did it say anything about scaring myself to death while trailing mentally defective role-players? I really wanted to crawl back under that fence and head for the Jeep, but Maxie had pressed my guilt buttons. Either she’d figured me out very quickly, or my buttons were blatantly evident to everyone. But regardless, she had me.

“Yeah, sure. You can count on me. Let’s go.”

I took a couple of awkward steps before feeling my legs solidify beneath me. My knees were still a little wobbly, but they held.

She walked alongside me, casting glances every few seconds to make sure I wasn’t going to pass out or bolt. Great. My intuition had decided to reappear. Where had it been when I was in the midst of the panic attack? Why couldn’t I read the intentions of whatever the hell it was that touched me?

“What did you find?” I whispered. The silence seemed especially thick again.

Speaking softly, she gave me a verbal tour of the demolished site, then pointed to the hulking edifice in front of us. Soft light shone from the broken windows. “Interesting that the biggest building in the park is the one that didn’t burn. I’d actually been here years ago when the huge structure was a unique fun house. It had quite an innovative design. Amazing art deco architecture. All the twisted mirrors and bloody exhibits were in hallways, and cubbyholes lined the walls of the structure on three separate floors. A large area was left open in the center where reenactments and horror-theater-type performances were held nightly. People lined the upper balconies to watch the orchestrated mayhem. Performances are still taking place in the center circle, but the morons are in charge now. I wonder how the idiots managed to generate light in there. You don’t think they’re dim enough to light a bonfire or something?”

Speak of the devil. Just as Maxie finished explaining, excited voices sliced the air. She grabbed my arm and pulled me behind a corner of the large building. We crouched, watching as a group of males dressed in theatrical versions of occult chic carried a wooden box—a coffin?—across our line of vision. As they approached, I heard a muffled voice screaming from inside.

I started to stand, and Maxie tugged me down again, vigorously shaking her head. I don’t know what I thought I could do about the person trapped in the box, but doing nothing seemed insane. I followed the goth caravan with my eyes, waiting for some kind of helpful idea to spring from my brain. Maxie tapped me on the arm and I turned to her. She mouthed “perform-ance” and flicked her thumb in their direction. My mouth formed an O, and I nodded, relieved. I’d forgotten we’d come to observe role-players. After my horrifying experience with violent bloodsuckers five months earlier, I tended to overreact. Just a little Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Nothing to worry about.

Maxie jerked her head toward the rear of the building, signaling me to follow her as she crept through the shadows to an old-fashioned fire escape hugging the wall of the colorful fun house. The bottom rung was only about six feet from the ground, and Maxie bent over, lacing the fingers of both hands together to form a foothold.

“Put your foot here and I’ll boost you up,” she said, her eyes constantly shifting about, scanning the environment for unexpected company.

“Hold it! What do you mean, boost me up? Boost me up where, Lucy?”

Maxie straightened. “You’re such a stick in the mud, Ethel. Put your fucking foot in my hands, get on the damn ladder, and climb up to the top floor.”

We grinned at each other for a few seconds, appreciating the old sitcom in constant reruns, then I remembered where we were and that I really did want answers to my questions.

“Why do we have to climb to the top floor? I thought you were invited to this thing. What’s the purpose of hiding?”

“I told you. I like to sneak up so I can see things they don’t want me to see. That’s how I’ve gotten my best stories.” She laced her fingers together again. “Jesus, Doc. Do all psychologists have to know every fucking detail all the time? Or is it just you? Has anyone ever mentioned that you’re a bit … controlling?”

Why, yes, they had, as a matter of fact, but I wasn’t the one doing all the bossing around at the moment. In this case, Maxie made me look like a slacker.

“Me, controlling? Hey, you’re the Dominatrix from Hell today, not me! I think I’ve been very polite and accommodating, while you …”

She put her hand over my mouth, leaned in, and whispered, “Somebody’s coming. Either climb the ladder or run over there and hide in those bushes while I go up.” She removed her hand from my face, laced her fingers again, her eyebrows raised, and waited a heartbeat.

I heard footsteps approaching, and without thinking, put my foot in Maxie’s hands and she boosted me up much higher than I’d expected. I grabbed on and scurried up the ladder.

Maxie was apparently athletic, or at least in good shape, because I sensed her rapidly moving up behind me.

We’d climbed almost to the top before I peered down to check out our visitors. It was hard to make out details even with the light from the full moon, but it appeared two guys had sneaked off for some private time and were in the midst of shucking the lower portions of their costumes in preparation for some … deeper … intimacy.

Maxie hadn’t realized I’d slowed and her head smacked into my rear, causing me to lose my grip on the bars. I almost yelped as she grabbed my legs and whispered, “Keep going!” Thankfully, we were up high enough that the small sounds we made hadn’t carried. Besides, the guys sharing body fluids below weren’t paying any attention to us.

We made it to the top floor and stepped across the six feet of iron grating leading to a heavy metal door, which was locked. I tugged on the handle and turned to Maxie, who shoved past me, extracting a set of small tools and a miniature flashlight from her pocket. She held the slender light between her teeth.

I peeked over her shoulder as she worked on the lock with a small knife-like tool. “Hmm. Breaking and entering. Should I ask what other illegal activities we might undertake tonight? Maybe next time we can hit a bank? Rob a gas station? Knock over a senior citizens’ center?”

She let the flashlight drop into her hand. “Shut up, Ethel. Yes! Am I awesome, or what?”

The door creaked open.

Maxie stuck her head into the opening, then stepped inside, signaling me to follow. I pulled the door closed behind me.

We’d gone to hell. Or at least a visual representation. In the pitch-dark blackness, colorful, glow-in-the-dark paint-depicted demonic scenes, rivers of blood, and evildoers feasting on the bodies of the previously living. Formerly ghoulish displays had been destroyed, the remnants of their wood and glass littering the floor.

My eyes adjusted to the darkness, and I noticed there was a path under my feet made of glowing sparkles. Remembering the last time I’d been in a fun house, when I’d slammed into an invisible glass on my quest for an exit door, I put my hands out in front of me.

“Hey! We don’t know each other well enough for you to touch me there, Doc.” Maxie chuckled softly. “Let’s go.” She clasped my hand. “The sounds are coming from this direction.”

She was right. The noise was definitely getting louder. A solid wall of chatter, punctuated by shrieks, screams, and laughter with a musical backdrop provided by Black Sabbath increased as we approached. We moved ahead slowly until we reached a set of floor-to-ceiling, padded, saloon-type doors—the kind that open in the center. Maxie pushed against one side of the door and a shaft of soft illumination appeared. We dropped to our hands and knees and crawled through, entering a mezzanine overlooking a wild party below. There were large gaps in the wooden barrier between where we were and thin air, so we stretched out on our stomachs, heads poking beyond the balcony just enough to explore the source of the noise. Maxie slipped a compact camera from her pocket and began clicking.

Light shone from freestanding torches spread throughout the room, and from flame-filled steel barrels in the center, providing soft respite from the prevailing darkness. The music burst from a large, industrial-looking CD player perched on top of some wooden crates.

The building had four sets of double doors at the entrance and all were gaping, either because they’d been propped open with rocks, or the doors themselves were missing. In spite of the ventilation, the air inside the building was thick with smoke from the various fires plus all the cigarettes and joints adding to the mix. Not to mention the sour stench of body odor, which floated like the bottom note of a nauseating perfume. My eyes stung and my lungs ached as I sucked in the acrid air. Maxie didn’t seem to be bothered by the toxic atmosphere.

There had to be at least a hundred people in the performance space. It resembled a rave, except most of the revelers were dressed as their favorite movie or television vampires. In some cases, they wore nothing but tattoos. Maxie was going to be disappointed. This event wouldn’t even present enough twisted behavior to provide her with material for a ridiculous article. Raves were pretty run-of-the-mill. Drugs, sex, alcohol. Not one mutated alien baby head to be found anywhere.

I’d just yawned, blinked my eyes to clear away the tears caused by the smoke, and thought about how great it would be to go home, when the crowd went berserk. The dancers slammed into each other, and the noise level exploded. Everyone started yelling at the tops of their voices and pounding on whatever was at hand. The noise was almost painful. Vicious fights broke out between couples who, moments before, had been extremely friendly.

“What the hell?” I said to Maxie, who paused in her picture taking long enough to shrug.

As if by some invisible signal, a circular opening formed in the middle of the frantic partiers and two robed figures pulled a struggling, scantily dressed female into the center. She fought to free herself, but was held fast. The spectators began chanting, “Kill her! Kill her!” as a third robed person pushed through the mob, heading straight for the woman, a long knife poised in the air. Without a second’s hesitation, he drove the blade into her chest, blood blossoming from the wound.

I gasped and rose to my knees, reaching into the pocket of the bulky parka to find my cell phone. My heart pounded and my hands shook. The amusement park was on the outskirts of town, so who knew how long it would take the police to arrive? As I watched, the woman fell and the robed guy continued stabbing her as she flailed on the floor. Her thin dress was saturated. I palmed my phone, ready to dial 9-1-1, when Maxie grabbed it out of my hand.

I jerked my head in her direction and was shocked to find her smiling. “You’re such a Girl Scout. Get down before they see you. Everything’s okay. I’ve seen this before. Just watch.” She pushed on my shoulder until I lay flat on the floor again, then returned my phone. “Put this back in your pocket. You won’t need it.”

The wannabes in the circle stopped chanting and began cheering. The knife wielder stood, raised his blood-covered blade into the air, and accepted the adulation of the onlookers. Then, he reached a hand down to the woman on the floor and she grasped it, letting herself be pulled into a standing position.

They took a bow and melted into the throng.

What the hell had just happened? Adrenaline flooded my body and my brain spun in stunned confusion.

Maxie shouted into my ear. “Adolescent party tricks. Fake knife. Packets of red paint taped to her body. Watch. There’ll be more. The children aren’t very original tonight.”

That had been a performance? I was so relieved I felt light-headed. Maxie could have warned me before I had an anxiety attack. But why hadn’t my intuition given me a heads-up about the pretense? I’d been really off since we arrived.

I’d just taken a long, deep breath to release any lingering tension in my body when a large, hairy thing crashed through the dancers, scattering them like paper dolls.

On closer inspection, the beastie looked like a big guy in a shaggy bear suit, the head replaced with a wolfish rubber mask. Sort of a low-rent, lupine Bigfoot.

“Oh, eek! It’s a werewolf,” Maxie deadpanned in a high voice.

The creature turned to a shirtless skinny guy, raked its claws down the young man’s chest, leaving dripping blood trails on the white skin.

Maxie leaned in. “Good luck getting rid of all that red stuff. There’s tattoo ink stored in the fake claws.”

I glanced at her and said, loud enough for her to hear, “You seem to know all about this insanity.”

She grinned, pointed at the hairy guy, and made the universal “crazy” gesture, twirling her finger next to her head.

The “werewolf growled, reached down, and grabbed his victim’s neck, tearing away the portion underneath his chin.

The attendees roared, thrusting their fists into the air in manic glee.

Were-foot stood over his victim, pounding his chest. The throat-less man remained prone for a few seconds, then jumped to his feet executing a graceful bow.

They wrapped their arms companionably around each other’s shoulders and were swallowed up by the wannabe herd.

A movement drew my attention and I noticed for the first time a tall man standing on a raised area in the midst of the crazed revelers. He wore dark, loose-fitting, genie-style pants, and his impressive bare chest was partially hidden by unusually long hair. Black, or very dark brown hair. It was impossible to tell in the firelight. He generated an air of authority—standing with legs spread, hands fisted on his hips—as if he were surveying his kingdom. After observing the dancers for a few moments, he raised his arms into the air and the crowd parted, making way for a cluster of black-robed figures to carry in the wooden box I’d seen earlier.

I nudged Maxie and whispered, “Who’s the genie guy with the long hair? Is he the leader of this cult? Have you seen him before?”

She lowered her camera and focused on the tall man. “I don’t know who he is. Never laid eyes on him.” She turned to me, grinning. “But I wouldn’t mind finding out. If he’s a genie, I’d be happy to rub his bottle anytime.”

I almost laughed out loud before catching myself. “That makes two of us.” I was too far away from the intriguing man to see if he really was as attractive as he appeared, but he did seem to have … something.

A couple of the robed participants moved to either side and lifted the top of the wooden box. “This must be the vampire staking portion of the evening’s entertainment,” I said.

“Yeah. It’s about time. If nothing interesting happens soon, we can head out. This has got to be the most boring pseudo-supernatural event I’ve ever attended. Sorry for dragging you out to such a feeble waste of time.”

The moment the top was off the box, the inhabitant started flailing his arms and legs, trying to sit up. The noise of the celebrants diminished a few decibels, as if they’d all quieted to listen to the prisoner scream obscenities. He didn’t disappoint.

Four collaborators lifted the struggling captive—who was a large, nude fellow—out of the box and, each holding an arm or leg, carried him up onto the platform where the long-haired guy waited. The noise level began to rise again as the partiers swarmed closer for a better view.

The victim’s limbs were stretched out to form an X, and the robed lackeys lowered him to the platform’s surface. They held the struggling man in place as the leader bent over, picked up what looked like four huge spikes and a fat hammer, and held them aloft. His dark hair streamed down the front of his body.

“My children! We have gathered here tonight to slay a traitorous vampire. A fiend who has been banished from his coven for disobedience and betrayal. A bloodsucker who will not follow the will of his master. I ask you now—shall he live or die?” The man had a deep, commanding voice that cut through the chaotic sounds in the room with an intimacy that made me squirm with discomfort. Something about his voice troubled me, but I couldn’t get a fix on why.

Then, like a scene from an old movie with the spectators at the Roman coliseum giving the thumbs-up or thumbs-down to determine a gladiator’s fate, the vampire wannabes in the fun house screamed their approval while gesturing downward.

Wow. Who knew role-players took their performances so seriously?

“So be it,” the leader proclaimed as he handed three of the thick spikes to a new helper who’d stepped onto the platform. He held up the remaining spike and the hammer, then leaned down and pounded the spike into the wrist of the man on the floor. The captive screamed and flailed, giving an amazingly authentic performance. Fake blood even spurted from the wound as the man in the genie pants pounded the spike in deeper. The group cheered.

I’ve never been much of a horror movie fan. Not being able to release the ghastly images from my brain after the end of the film definitely put a crimp in my enjoyment of cinematic carnage. So, why the hell was I forcing myself to watch this slasher parody?

The leader stretched out his hand, palm up, and his assistant placed another of the thick spikes there. Stepping over the victim’s head, the torturer thrust the spike into the man’s other wrist, and pounded until it appeared thoroughly wedged into his skin and bones.

More fake blood spewed from the new hole and spread out in a dark circle from the wound. The man’s screams sounded so legitimate that I had to put my hands over my ears at one point and remind myself I was watching theater. I couldn’t figure out how they made the wounds look so real. Maybe this production wasn’t as amateur as I’d assumed.

I leaned into Maxie, bumping her shoulder. She lowered her camera, turned her gaze in my direction, and shook her head. “These people need to get a life,” she shouted into my ear.

A high-pitched wail drew my attention back to the stage. Two more spikes were pounded into the victim’s ankles and his terrified shrieks echoed throughout the building. A familiar smell wafted into my nostrils and my head jerked up. I lifted my nose into the air, sniffing. Blood. My stomach tightened. I didn’t have any trouble recognizing the smell because I’d been up close and personal with it during the murder investigation I was involved in a while back. My office had been drenched with the red stuff.

Why was I smelling blood? The fake version shouldn’t have an odor. Were they using some kind of animal blood? One of my vampire wannabe clients had mentioned using pig blood from his grandfather’s butcher shop in some of his rituals. He said they actually drank it. Yuck.

It was hard to hear the man’s screams over the uproar of the audience, but he seemed to be suffering. In fact, his performance was terrifying. A miserable thought occurred to me and I felt sick. I’d recently worked with a client who enjoyed being physically abused. Experiencing pain was the only way he knew to feel alive. And the only way he could have an orgasm. I wondered if the man on the stage was like my client. Had he signed up for this torture? Or was he the best actor I’d ever seen? If he was mentally ill enough to allow himself to be tortured, shouldn’t I do something?

The observers were jumping up and down now, too excited to contain themselves. They’d cheered as each spike pierced the skin and more of the oozing liquid spread onto the platform. There was so much of the dark substance pooling around the man’s naked body that it began to drip off the edges and slide down onto the floor. A few adventurous wannabes leaped over to the dripping fluid, slid their hands through it, and smeared it on their faces, licking the remains from their fingers.

The leader stood, planted his bare foot on the victim’s round stomach, and stared down at the bloodied man impaled on the platform. The man’s sobs and screams had diminished in volume. Had he passed out for real, or was he still acting?

“Shall we complete the ceremony?”

The wannabes thundered an affirmative, and became even more agitated.

“Who wants to take on the sacred role of my lovely assistant tonight? My vampiric Vanna White?” The leader scanned the room, pointed at someone I couldn’t see and said, “You. You are chosen!”

The room went silent. Someone must have turned off the music, because it no longer blared. From within the mass of bodies, a light-haired, full-figured woman, dressed in a flowing white gown, made her way to the platform. Like some bizarre military escort, all four of the guys who’d secured the man left the raised area and walked down to surround the woman. Was this a take-off on Bride of Dracula?

As the woman approached, the leader opened his arms to her. She stepped into his embrace and he swept her into a dance. They twirled and circled on the platform, the bottom of the white dress sliding through the pooled blood until the entire hem was stained.

The crowd was oddly mute.

Then, as abruptly as the dancers had begun, they stopped moving. The genie guy cradled the woman’s face in his hands, kissed her, then gave her what appeared to be serious eye contact. She seemed to go limp, and he guided her onto her knees, next to the imprisoned man.

The tension in the room was palpable. Everyone was so hyper-alert, so on edge, that the slightest stimulation could set them off.

The vampire staking was quickly turning into a reality TV show. Maybe Maxie would be able to glean some disgusting angle to write about after all. I glanced at her to find her staring at the spectacle, camera forgotten. Something about the performance had riveted her attention.

The leader bent down and picked up a nearby stake and handed it to the woman. She stared at it until he knelt down beside her, maneuvered the spike over the bloody man’s chest, and enclosed her hand with his, tightening her grip on the iron.

“Hold on tight, now.”

He retrieved the hammer, stood and held the tool in the air for the approval of his audience.

They went berserk.

The leader swung the hammer, burying the spike in the man’s heart. The victim shrieked, making a sound I’ll never forget, then went silent again. Blood splattered everywhere.

A jolt of pain shot into my chest and my breath caught. A powerful wave of heat rolled through my body and sweat streamed down my face. My gaze was locked on the lifeless man on the stage.

Sheer terror swept through me. That was no performance.

Being drenched in blood must have startled the woman, because she became hysterical. Her fear was real. The leader lifted her into his arms, carried her to the edge of the platform, and tossed her into the crowd.

The tortured man’s misery had to be horrifyingly intense near the end in order for it to burst through my psychic protections. That man had just been brutally murdered in front of a huge audience.

I stared at the butchery, my brain spinning in shock, just about to turn to Maxie so we could make a plan of action, when several things happened at once.

The leader stood on the platform, blood dripping down his body. He waved his arms through the air, and almost every single person in the room fell to the floor. Scores of vampire-costumed bodies piled on top of each other, like a Halloween party massacre. A few of the leader’s helpers remained standing, flanking the maniac, as if they awaited further instruction.

Next to me, two robed figures appeared from nowhere, grabbed Maxie, and disappeared. “Hey! Stop! Where are you taking her?” I shouted. Adrenaline pumping, I jumped up, not sure what I was going to do but needing to do something. I turned, and smashed into the tall, muscular body of the long-haired murderer. He was suddenly just there. Up on the balcony with me, holding my upper arms.

I screamed.

He smiled, and his silver eyes sparkled.

Chapter Eight

Blood oozed down the killer’s smooth chest. Slamming into him had transferred some of the crimson liquid onto my sweater. The odor was so intense I could almost taste it.

“I’ve so looked forward to meeting you, Dr. Knight. I hope you enjoyed the show. It was performed especially for you.” His deep voice flowed into my ears like auditory silk, sending vibrating ripples across my skin.

I jerked from side to side, trying to break his hold on my arms without success. His rigid fingers were unyielding. “What are you talking about? How do you know my name? You just murdered that man down there.”

“Ah, yes. It wasn’t one of my finer spectacles, but it was, after all, a last-minute affair. I can always count on the mindless masses to create whatever drama I require. But I’m keeping you from discovering the purpose for our gathering tonight. Let us retire to the arena.”

He slid one arm around my waist and, with the slightest sense of motion, we were standing on the platform, next to the bloody dead body nailed to the floor.

Vampire. The sadistic madman was a vampire. What was wrong with me that I hadn’t realized?

I turned my head away from the corpse. Why did this monster want me to see his handiwork? Did he have something against psychologists? Had he been forced into therapy against his will when he was a child? If there even were such things as psychologists when he was a human child. Or was he just mad as a hatter?

“Do you recognize this man, Dr. Knight? I realize he’s a bit of a mess, but his features are easily identifiable.”

I struggled against him, trying unsuccessfully to twist out of his grip. “I don’t want to look. What kind of sadistic demon are you? Didn’t you have a large enough audience for your insanity?”

“Yes, of course, but I went to all this trouble just for you, so I’m afraid I’ll have to insist that you look. Let me get rid of that shadow so you can see better.” He cupped my chin, tilted it toward the body, and yelled at his helper, “Bring one of the torches closer.”

The light was relocated and I tried to shut my eyes, but I couldn’t. My eyelids refused to follow my brain’s commands. Against my will, I stared down at the face. The man’s eyes and mouth were wide open, locked forever in a silent scream, startled by death’s sudden arrival. There was something familiar about him. It took me a moment, then recognition crashed into me like a tidal wave. Carson Miller, the radio host. The obnoxious idiot. The dead guy.

My head spun, my body went clammy, and my solar plexus cramped. Watching what I’d thought was a performance had been disgusting enough, but the realization that I’d sat passively by, observing the murder of a person I knew, was too much for my brain to handle. My knees gave out and I dropped into a kneeling position in a pool of Carson’s blood.

“Oh, my. We are sensitive, aren’t we?” the vampire said, laughing.

I was too busy trying not to vomit to have any reaction to his psychotic sense of humor. “I’m going to be sick.”

“Well, it simply won’t do to have you smelling like the contents of your stomach, so let me make it all better.” He reached down, grasped my upper arms, and lifted me all the way up to his eye level. The movement seemed effortless, as if I weighed nothing. Shocked by being hefted into the air, I initially met his eyes, but something about them felt bad—dangerous—so I averted my gaze. Even the brief eye contact caused me to feel fuzzy. He spoke softly, in a low, rumbling voice, “Oh, come now. Admit that you find my eyes beautiful. You can’t resist them.” He said the last four words as a command. I felt my eyes shifting to his and fought as hard as I could to look anywhere but at him, and failed. I locked eyes with his shining, silver pools and found myself agreeing when he said, “You feel wonderful. Fully restored. Never better.”

He lowered me to the platform and I stood, swaying. I stared down at the bloody corpse and felt nothing. I was pretty sure I ought to have some kind of emotional reaction to being in the proximity of a murder victim, but I couldn’t summon anything more than distant curiosity.

“There now. Much better, although you’re still a bit sweaty and pale. Let’s take off that repulsive wrap, shall we?” He peeled the coat off me, like undressing a small child, one arm at a time, and threw it on the other end of the platform, away from the blood.

Part of me thought it was a great idea. Being so close to the fire was causing my body to overheat, and the smoke made it hard to breathe. The moment the parka was gone I felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off my body, literally.

But immediately another part of me, struggling to remain in control, freaked-out that my gun was gone. Not that the gun would do anything against a vampire, but maybe it would distract him long enough for me to make a run for it. Yeah, right. Make a run for it against a creature who could think his way through time and space.

I felt him staring at me and met his gaze.

A roguish smile slid across his face. “You’re quite right, dear doctor. A gun would do nothing against me. It wouldn’t even slow me down. I believe that none of the traditional methods for dispatching vampires would affect me anymore. Sometimes I actually find that distressing. Not to mention, boring. As I told you earlier today, I am older than you can imagine.”

What? As he’d told me earlier today? What’s he talking about? He’s a vampire. I didn’t have any vampire clients today. How could he …

The realization of where I’d heard that voice before radiated fear through my body. My heart beat double-time and my breathing went shallow.

“Yes. I see the light is dawning for you, so to speak. Lyren Hallow at your service.” He bowed his head. “I was your mysterious caller on the radio program this morning. The program where our dearly departed treated you with such disrespect. I’ll admit that I inadvertently enhanced some of his less civilized tendencies—I seem to have a rather primitive effect on everyone—but he took things too far. I simply had to make an example of his poor manners.”

I was stunned. My mouth had gone so dry I had to swallow a couple of times before I could speak. “You mean you killed him because of how he behaved on the radio this morning? Is that what you meant by saying it was for my benefit?”

He shrugged, his face friendly, as if we were discussing paint samples. “Why, yes, of course. Such poor breeding is inexcusable. But, even more important, the repugnant human had a habit of using the burning ends of cigarettes to torture the women he coerced into spending time with him. While I don’t usually concern myself with the tawdry affairs of mortals, this particular specimen was especially intriguing. His predilections reminded me of my own, so I’m sure you can appreciate the sadistic psychological pleasure I took in destroying him. Perhaps I’ll spend some time on your couch one day, and we can explore my motivations. But in any case, he was merely a death waiting to happen. I accommodated him. After all, I am a vampire and killing is what we do. Although, I’ll admit I do a lot more killing than most others. We all have our gifts.”

My brain couldn’t get past the fact that Carson’s murder had something to do with me. I knew I hadn’t done anything myself to cause his death—the fanged Grim Reaper had made it clear he had his own twisted reasons—but I was still swamped with feelings of sadness and confusion. And terror. What did the vampire have in store for me? Was I to be punished, too?

“No, my dear Dr. Knight,” he responded, obviously reading my thoughts. “You did nothing deserving of punishment. Indeed, I have other plans for you.”

“Plans?” I croaked. “What plans?”

He studied me for a few seconds, his smile widening. “Now is not the time to speak of that. You are tired and I have other matters to attend to.” He looked around at all the vampire-costume-clad bodies in puppy-piles throughout the room. “I must awaken my devotees, erase their memories, and send them home. I could leave them here to take the blame for the murder, but I will have need of them later. So, I must tie up the loose ends.”

I gazed around the room, still feeling oddly surreal and floaty. “Why did you kill Carson in front of all these people? If it was truly your desire to rid the world of a bad man, why not just visit him in his room and drink him dry? Why make it so public?”

He grinned, his handsome face appearing as sweet and innocent as a child’s. “Ah, Doctor. You’re applying your own, limited interpretation. Don’t misunderstand. There is no such mortal designation as bad in my mind. I have no interest in ridiculous human notions. And as far as drinking him dry in private, what fun would that be? As the saying goes, ‘been there and done that.’ And now I must excuse myself. I hope you won’t mind seeing yourself home?”

He reached over and stroked his hand across my face. The feeling was very familiar, and it was as if he threw a bucket of cold water on me. I suddenly came fully back to myself. Whatever he’d done to me receded, and the horror of standing next to an impaled body grabbed me by the throat. I jerked sideways a couple of steps, tripped over an unused stake, and fell on my ass.

Hallow smiled and vanished from the platform.

Even though the room was still hot and the air was thick, chills broke out on my arms. My sensing system was shooting off its version of flashing red lights and sirens and I struggled to my feet, fetched my parka, and slipped into it. I scanned the sea of sleeping wannabes and was torn between feeling concern for their welfare, and being creeped-out by their life choices.

I jumped down from the platform and ran to the open doors. It wasn’t until I reached the cool, fresh air outside that I took a deep breath and wondered what had happened to Maxie. Was she still in the building somewhere? Should I go back in and search?

As soon as I asked myself those questions, a now-familiar voice spoke in my mind. “Your friend is safe and well. She drove herself home, in a mild trance, of course. No need to concern yourself with her or the sleeping children.”

I looked around for the source of the voice. Hallow wasn’t there. At least not physically. Well, great. Maxie’d just taken off. Abandoned me. So, how was I supposed to get home?

“Surely you haven’t forgotten the new skills I’ve given you?”

I grabbed the sides of my head. Something about his voice caused the bones to vibrate and gave me the beginnings of a headache. I walked fast toward the obvious entrance to the park, hoping his voice would fade like a cell phone signal if I put distance between us. What new skills was he talking about?

“Come now, Doctor. How could you forget something so momentous, so otherworldly? Surely you recall your unexpected trip to your office earlier this evening?”

“Hey!” I yelled, pain radiating through my skull. “Will you get out of my head before it explodes?”

Silence.

Had I just scolded a homicidal vampire? Something was definitely up with my impulse control lately.

I stopped dead and grabbed onto the splintered wooden counter of the ticket booth at the gate. My knees almost gave out. The absence of Hallow’s reverberating voice in my mind sent a wave of relief through my body. I hadn’t realized the deep sound had been so invasive. So overwhelming. Devereux communicated telepathically with me all the time, but his voice never made my head hurt.

I was reminded of some research I’d read about using sound waves as a weapon—how the mere resonance could obliterate solid objects. I wondered how much sound pressure would have to be exerted to split open a skull? I wasn’t about to volunteer to find out. How could a disembodied voice produce sound waves anyway?

More occult bullshit.

Anger and discouragement wrestled for position in my emotional control center. I couldn’t count the times over the last five months I’d regretted my decision to involve myself with supernatural and metaphysical beings and philosophies that most people only fantasized—or had nightmares—about. I often had second thoughts about wading into the preternatural muck. Not only because it was often terrifying, but because there was no way to make sense of anything. No rule book. Never knowing what was lurking in the next shadow was a recipe for ulcers and insanity.

As I stood alone in a burned-out amusement park in the middle of the night, I definitely wished I could press the rewind button on the cosmic video camera, and go back to my simple, safe life. Okay, it was boring. But secure. Predictable.

But, would I really go back? Pity party aside, would I give up my new life if I had the chance? Give up Devereux? Right then I didn’t have a clear answer, and I had more immediate problems to deal with.

Carson had been murdered. My first instinct was to call the police. I reached into the pocket of the coat and fished out my phone, started to punch in 9-1-1, then stopped. What was I doing? If I did call them, what would I say? A sadistic vampire—yes, they really did exist—captured and staked a radio talk show host in front of an audience of vampire wannabes, a rag reporter, and a local psychologist? Then the bad vampire caused the audience to pass out, ordered his servants to snatch the reporter, and traveled through thought to capture the psychologist? Send the guys with the white coats, please. Talk about déjà vu. Reporting a murder I had no rational explanation for would only trap me into another legal ordeal, and I’d just begun to recover—professionally and personally—from the first situation five months earlier.

Too bad Lieutenant Bullock, the lead investigator on that serial murder case, and the only other local human aware of the vampires, was off training at Quantico. She would’ve known what to do to straighten out this mess.

Thinking of her reminded me I was on my own.

Well, what if I called in anonymously from a phone booth? I could just report the crime, give the location—supposing they knew where the old amusement park was located, because I certainly didn’t—and hang up. Yeah, I could do that.

I put the phone back in my pocket and stared at the vast sky. Barely perceptible light softened the eastern horizon, announcing the approaching dawn. All the little vampires—except the day-walking Hallow—would be snug in their coffins soon. The immortal horror show concluded for another night. Of course, the human monsters were still free to spread their own brand of ghastly chaos, impervious to the numbers on the clock.

As much as I hated to admit it, Devereux had been right. He hadn’t been crying wolf about Hallow. The sociopathic bloodsucker was dangerous. What did the lunatic mean about having other plans for me? I’d witnessed his idea of fun, and remembering the sound of the large spikes piercing Carson’s limbs made the bile rise in my throat. What could I possibly do to fend off such a monster?

The cautious portion of my psyche took center stage and began reciting the reasons I should go hide in Devereux’s penthouse. She was enthusiastically giving voice to my fears, and hadn’t even gotten halfway through her arguments, when the smirking, rebellious part who’d thought it would be fun to leave Devereux out of the information loop swaggered into the spotlight and pushed Caution aside and grabbed the metaphorical microphone. They yelled at each other in my inner rubber room, attracting the attention of another indecisive group of my sub-personalities, who stepped into the scene, observed the conflict, decided not to get involved, and left Caution and Rebel to duke it out.

As I watched Caution leap onto Rebel’s back and wrestle her down, I hoped she’d have the strength to retain control. Who would I be if I wasn’t her? Then it occurred to me to wonder which part of me was doing the watching?

Schizophrenia, anyone?

I—whatever I meant at that point—turned my thoughts back to Hallow. What if he’d lied about Maxie? What if he’d done something to her? As I thought that, I braced myself for a mental onslaught—more head-rumbling opinions from Hallow—but didn’t receive one. Had the murderer really stopped talking in my mind just because I’d asked him to? No. I didn’t believe that. Nothing about immortals was that simple. I was sure the situation would prove to have more horrifying layers than I could anticipate. Yet another aspect a human mind couldn’t comprehend.

I surveyed the empty landscape and wondered again how I’d get home. I could call a cab. Surely the dispatcher would know where this old park was located? That would certainly be the normal—rational—thing to do.

But then I thought about what Hallow had said about his little gift. Why not test out the traveling-through-thought thing? What if it wasn’t just a one-shot deal? It had worked before, although, granted, by accident. Was I refusing to try just because Hallow suggested I should? There was definitely that. Could any good possibly come from following the advice of a murdering lunatic? Maybe he was setting me up. My attempt to replicate my previous experience would no doubt amuse him. He’d probably get a kick out of watching me fail. Vampire or not, sociopaths shared some characteristics in common. Characteristics I was very familiar with.

Wait a minute. What if I got caught in some weird vortex of time and space? I didn’t know enough about how vampires manipulated energy to have any options for rescuing myself if I got stuck between dimensions. A particularly gruesome episode of Star Trek came to mind where, due to a transporter malfunction, some poor man screamed as his molecules were wrenched apart and scattered into the universe. Sometimes I wished I didn’t have such a fertile imagination. I was sure there were worse ways to slough off this mortal coil, although I couldn’t think of any at the moment.

Actually, I’d be more comfortable if there was some kind of contraption to step into like on the television show. Solid walls and a floor to stand on. Someone in charge of the process. Just intending to blink from one place to another seemed like leaping into a bottomless abyss and hoping for the best.

But, despite my rational fears about transcending consensus reality, my sensing system was eager to give it a go. My intuition chimed in, nodding its head, willing to sign off on the experiment. Or maybe that was Rebel’s voice. Hard to tell. It was getting so crowded in my psyche that I wasn’t sure which part of me was at the controls. But who was I to quibble about a tiny thing like my molecules scattering to the winds?

I closed my eyes, visualized my favorite chair in my living room, and scrunched my face into a serious pose of concentration. After a few seconds, when I didn’t feel the usual breeze against my face, I opened one eye to investigate. I was still frozen in the same spot, all the muscles in my body tightly contracted like I was braced for attack.

Well, shit. I was obviously doing it wrong. How had I managed it before? I’d just thought about the location of my purse and briefcase and found myself there. I forced myself to relax my shoulders, circled my head to release the tension, and shook my hands in front of me to restore the circulation.

Okay. All I needed to do was think about sitting on my oversize chair, putting my feet up on the ottoman, and drinking a glass of wine. Yeah, that felt good. I’d just smiled at the pleasant vision when my solar plexus began to itch, my hair blew back from my face, and I had the sense of being in an elevator again. Falling without a parachute for a nanosecond. The next thing I knew, I was flat on the floor next to my chair. I huffed out a breath at the rude landing, raised my head to look around, then sat up.

The living room light was on. I must have forgotten to turn it off when I left with Maxie. I slowly climbed to my feet, patted myself down to make sure—as before—that all of me had arrived in the same time zone and zip code, and smiled.

“Hot damn! I did it! At least there’s one good thing that came from all the vampire crap!” I promised myself I’d enjoy this mysterious ability for as long as it lasted.

Caution pursed her lips and gave me a disapproving scowl. Which I ignored.

I danced around in a circle, chuckling, threw off the heavy parka, and moved to the stairs leading up to my bedroom and bath. And froze. Was my shower running? Had I left it on? What the hell was the matter with me? I’d never done anything like that.

Stress hormones surged through my body and the indicator on my radar shot from zero to a thousand, letting me know in no uncertain terms that something was wrong. My fight-or-flight instinct shifted into high gear.

Remembering the gun in the pocket of the coat, I tiptoed over to where I’d thrown the bulky garment, retrieved the gun, and crept to the staircase. Holding the gun with a trembling hand, I climbed the stairs, cursing under my breath at every creaking sound my footsteps made. I paused halfway, noticing the light was on in the bathroom and the door was open.

I sneaked up the rest of the way, preparing to walk along the short hallway, and was startled by a loud noise. Since I often made that noise myself, I recognized the clatter of a bar of soap hitting the bottom of the shower. Somebody was in my damn shower! I paused, straining to remember if any visitors were expected from out of town, or if I’d given my house key to anyone recently. No one came to mind.

I lifted the gun, held it with both hands in a futile effort to stop the shaking, and stood in the bathroom doorway.

The water suddenly stopped and I waited through a few seconds of heavy silence. A hand whisked back the shower curtain, causing a loud ripping sound, and a wet, naked man grinned from inside.

“Kismet! Surprise!”

Chapter Nine

I automatically raised the gun with trembling hands and pointed it at the chest of the intruder.

He lifted his arms into the air and widened his smile. “Hey, don’t shoot me. I’m not immortal yet.”

His skin was lighter than I’d ever seen it, and his black hair had grown well below his shoulders, but as I slid my gaze down his lean frame, I recognized a familiar body part. We hadn’t seen each other for five months—and it had been a lot longer than that since I’d hung out with the portion of his anatomy in question—but there was no mistaking the unique endowment of my superficial, materialistic, narcissistic ex-boyfriend, Dr. Thomas Radcliffe.

I lowered the gun. Relief swamped me and I stared into mischievous dark brown eyes.

“Tom? What the hell are you doing here?”

My naked visitor flashed an even-more-blinding Hollywood smile. “Didn’t you get my message? I told you I want to talk to Devereux. Zoë tells me he’s the big vampire cheese.”

I struggled to keep a stern expression on my face, but couldn’t quite manage due to the fact that “Tom Junior,” as he used to call it, was twitching and bobbing like a dowsing rod. Almost as if it was trying to say hello in its own fleshy way. I couldn’t seem to shift my gaze. The kinesthetic memory was so strong that my hand almost reached out to pat the little guy’s head. To keep myself from doing something I was certain I’d regret—same old song, different verse—I grabbed a towel from the nearby rack and shoved it at Tom.

He smirked as he dried his hair, aware of his effect on me.

I cleared my throat and glared. “How the hell did you get into my house? I’m absolutely sure I locked the door when I left.”

He threw the towel on the floor and stepped out of the shower. Junior was displaying his best posture, apparently happy to see me. “Zoë brought me. It was amazing. She just thought us here all the way from Los Angeles. Hanging out with vampires is so awesome.” He chuckled. “Listen to me telling the big vampire cheese’s girlfriend about hanging around with vampires.” He looked me up and down. “What’s that all over your sweater? And your jeans? Have you been partaking in Cow Town’s favorite sport, mud wrestling?” He threw back his head and laughed. “I would’ve paid money to see that.”

I glanced down at the dried blood on my clothes. Tom’s obliviousness saved me from having to give any normal explanations. “Very funny.”

He closed the distance between us and pulled me into a wet hug, apparently not concerned about the “mud” on my shirt. “It’s great to see you, Kismet. I’ve missed you.”

I pushed against his chest with my free hand, forcing him to back up. Yeah, he missed me. That was code for “I need something from you.”

“Dial down the Don Juan routine, Doctor Hollywood. Even if I weren’t already involved with the big cheese, I wouldn’t play slap and tickle with you or Tom Junior. That’s ancient history. So, where’s Zoë? At The Crypt?”

Tom had met Zoë the night we’d gone to Devereux’s club, The Crypt. He’d shown up on my doorstep and invited himself along on my date with Alan Stevens, an FBI profiler working on the serial murder case that almost got me killed. Prior to that, I hadn’t seen Tom for a couple of years and was surprised he was interested in my vampire-wannabe research. That night had been his first exposure to the undead underworld. Obviously, something about the lifestyle appealed to him, because he and the attractive Zoë had taken off for California without even saying good-bye.

Not that I expected anything different. Tom and I shared a profession, and we’d spent a lot of years together as a couple. But Tom’s philosophy was “so many women, so little time,” and we’d parted—not completely amicably—almost three years earlier. It took me a while to heal from the disappointment, but now—aside from a little residual lust—I couldn’t remember what I ever saw in him. He was the poster boy for Narcissistic Personality Disorder. In his mind, the universe revolved around Tom Radcliffe.

He let his arms drop away from me and ran his hands through his long, wet hair. “Uh-huh, she’s using one of Devereux’s extra coffins. I hear he keeps a few vacant to accommodate out-of-towners.”

I nodded. “Yeah, it’s a regular bloodsucking Holiday Inn.”

Tom laughed and pointed to the bathroom door. “Hand me my clothes, will you? They’re hanging on the hook.”

I grabbed his designer jeans and trendy T-shirt. “Why did you need to take a shower? Or, more important, why did you need to take a shower here? Why didn’t you get a hotel room?”

And where’s your underwear?

He tugged on his jeans, zipped up slowly, and smiled. “Well, I came here instead of getting a room because Zoë said Devereux practically lives here, and I do intend to talk to him. I needed a shower because Zoë and I … well, we entertained ourselves, and I needed to freshen up.”

“Oh, yuck! Just exactly where did you entertain yourselves?” I had disgusting visions of DNA stains on my bedding or couch. Or on my carpet! I was going to mention the filmy, blood-colored blotches now decorating his wet chest from his contact with my ruined sweater, but he slid his green T-shirt on before I could form the words.

He frowned. “For your information, I spread a towel on your bed before we used it. Oh, that reminds me. I need to pop that towel into your washing machine. You do have one, don’t you?”

A low, rumbling voice whispered in my mind, “Dispose of this idiot.”

Without any conscious thought, my fingers tightened around the handle of the pistol I still held. I stared at Tom and, for a few seconds, seriously considered shooting him. Some evil part of my brain smiled as it imagined inflicting a scar that would mar the perfection of his face or a wound that would forever alter the lovely lines of his body. I’d just begun to fantasize about him falling to the floor in a spreading pool of his own blood, when he snapped his fingers in front of my face.

“Hey, Kismet. Are you in there?”

I startled, my consciousness snapping back into place like a stretched rubber band being released. Back from where, I didn’t know, but only a second before I could’ve sworn I’d heard familiar laughter.

“What?” I glanced down at the gun in my hand, noticing I clutched the handle so tightly all the color had left my skin, and the weapon was pointed at Tom.

He smirked. “I’m into playing cops and robbers as much as the next guy, but if you’re going to hold me at gunpoint, I can think of better rooms to do it in.” He cocked his head and frowned. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost, or your credit card was declined. What’s going on?”

I’m losing my mind.

I forced myself to lower the hand holding the gun. I raised my eyes to his, almost afraid my homicidal daydream would commandeer my brain again, but I didn’t experience any more violent urges. He stood, staring at me, the same self-absorbed, thoughtless man he’d always been. I might still harbor some resentment for the way he broke up with me, but we had so much shared history, I’d long since relegated him to the category of old friend. I even enjoyed his company sometimes. Even at my angriest, I’d never had such ferocious thoughts about Tom. Or anyone for that matter. I didn’t know how to answer his question because I had no idea what had just happened. There were two therapists in the room, but neither could help me.

“I’m just tired. Too much mud wrestling.”

That elicited a smile from him.

“I need to see this infamous towel.” I marched next door to my bedroom, flicked on the light, and studied the large purple towel covering my bed. Gross. It would definitely need the heavy-duty wash cycle. Repeatedly.

Tom crept up behind me, pressed himself against my body, and rested his chin on my shoulder. He whispered close to my ear, “See? Nothing on the bed. Everything on the towel. Neat and tidy. I’m nothing if not efficient.”

I smiled and shook my head. What an idiot. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to slug him or give him a knee to the balls. In the most friendly way, of course. He was lucky I was too tired to act on either option.

I turned to him and pointed at the towel. “Pick up your mess and come with me.”

He retrieved the towel, holding the corner with two fingers, and followed me downstairs to the washing machine. I was tempted to simply throw it away instead of going to the trouble of washing it, but it was one of the plush towels my parents had given me for my birthday last year and I hated to part with it.

I left him to deal with the remains of his entertainment, detoured over to where I’d thrown Maxie’s parka, and returned the gun to the pocket. Completely wiped out, I shuffled into the kitchen, where I sat at the table, staring off into space. I was too wired to sleep, but so exhausted I couldn’t imagine doing anything else.

Tom ambled into the room, leaned against a counter, and grinned. “You look like hell. And you smell funky—like smoke and … blood. Where were you tonight? Some wild vampire orgy? Wait—you were at some mud-wrestling vampire orgy.” He laughed at his pitiful remarks, as usual, thinking everything he said was stand-up comedy material.

It took him this long to scent the blood? All that recreational snorting must have fried his sense of smell.

He’d actually come pretty close to guessing where I’d been—the vampire orgy part, anyway—but not the way he assumed. Even if I’d been inclined to tell him anything meaningful, which I wasn’t, I couldn’t involve him in Hallow’s madness. Tom was a behavioral psychologist, which meant he believed “reality” was exactly what it appeared to be. Truths equaled quantifiable facts, and were written in stone. In my new world, that belief had proven to be a faulty assumption. I didn’t know how deeply Tom had explored the vampire realm, so since I didn’t have the energy or inclination to reeducate him, I opted for misdirection.

“Just out doing research for my vampire wannabe book.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Still working on that? I would’ve thought you’d be finished by now. Or you’d have progressed to a sexier topic. Wait until I tell you about the deal I’m putting together for a cable program. You’ll be so impressed. I’ll be the most famous shrink in the world.” He frowned. “I just need to take care of something first.”

The man had an ego the size of Jupiter, and it was bloating with age. “What are you talking about? What do you need to take care of? You said you want to see Devereux. Why?” It occurred to me that Tom might intend to ask Devereux for money, since the wealthy vampire was up to his fangs in it. Tom always had a deal cooking that required extra capital. But on second thought, that didn’t make sense because Tom had become quite rich in his own right over the last few years.

He sat across from me at the table, and I noticed again how light his skin was. I couldn’t remember ever seeing him without his trademark tan. During our time together, he’d frequently told me he didn’t believe the sun damaged his skin. He was sure that idea was a myth. I wisely chose not to mention the fact that his skin had begun to appear older than it should. All that sunbathing was turning him into a reptile. But one simply didn’t poke at such deeply held delusions. His regularly scheduled facials, skin peels, and cosmetic surgery procedures had become the focus of his life.

Tom’s parents had set the perfection bar higher than he could ever reach.

He stared at me for a few seconds, playing imaginary piano on the tabletop—something he always did when he was trying to choose the most influential words for his latest manipulation—then beamed a toothy smile. “I’ve decided to become a vampire.”

My head automatically began the up-and-down motion I used to stall for time, which also functioned as an entry ramp into the silence that would encourage clients to spill their guts. “I see.” I had the feeling I knew where this conversation was going.

He stopped pretending to tickle the ivories, scowled, and splatted his hands palms down on the table. “I see? That’s all you have to say? I share a life-changing decision with you and that’s all I get?” He leaned in and raised his eyebrows, waiting.

I cleared my throat, really not wanting to have this discussion. Going to bed sounded so much better. So much more normal. “Well, it isn’t as if I don’t hear that every day.”

The thick vein on his forehead that always throbbed when he was angry pulsed right on cue. “You’re comparing me to your pitiful wannabe clients? I’m being lumped in with those lost souls you counsel? You’re going to treat me like some fucked-up …”

I thrust my hand up in a stop gesture, and held it in front of his face. “Okay. Tell me.” I surrender. The faster I get this over with, the quicker I can crawl under my covers and pretend my excursion with Maxie was only a bad dream—or a vampire-created hallucination. Then I can figure out why I almost shot my ex-boyfriend. I’m too young for menopause.

He relaxed in his chair, maintaining eye contact. “I’m not sure where to begin. Meeting Zoë that night you took me to Devereux’s club changed everything.”

Here comes a long, tedious Tom tale.

“How did meeting Zoë change everything? You mean because she’s a vampire and you were certain no such things existed?”

“Yeah, her being a vampire was certainly the big news, but initially I had other things on my mind. At first, it was just the obvious. She’s a fabulous-looking woman with a great body and I’m a guy. After we danced for a while, she suggested we go to one of the small private rooms up on the second floor and get to know each other better. She was definitely playing my tune. I’m always up for a quick tumble with a gorgeous woman.” He winked.

Yeah, that’ll happen.

“Anyway, we got naked and she started talking about being a vampire. I figured she was nuts, but I humored her. It wasn’t like I was going to let something as lame as her vampire delusion interfere with my orgasm.” He waggled his eyebrows. “I guess I can be a little self-absorbed sometimes.”

“You think?” I laughed so long he raised his voice to regain my attention.

“Ahem. Okay, okay. She said she was going to show me she was a vampire, and she let her fangs descend. All this time she’d been staring into my eyes, making me feel like I’d had a few tokes of good Mexican, and just as I was about to have the best climax I’d ever had …” He stopped and patted my hand. “No offense meant, of course. Our sex life was great, too.”

I laughed again, snorting a time or two. He was so pitifully self-obsessed. “No offense taken. Go on with your story. I’m all ears.” I was so tired I couldn’t even work up any annoyance at his density.

He frowned. I could almost see the wheels in his brain turning as he tried to figure out what was so funny. “So, best climax, etcetera, and then she bites me. Chomps down on my neck with her sharp teeth. For a couple of seconds it hurt like hell, but then it felt—well, I’m sure you know how it felt, since you and Devereux …”

Multiple orgasmic body rushes, soul-melding transcendence, toe-curling ambrosia.

“Yes, I know how it felt. Then what?”

“Well, after she convinced me she was really a vampire, we sat and talked until dawn. She told me how she’d been turned, and how lonely she’d been until she joined Devereux’s coven. Evidently, he’s held in high regard by the vampire community. She says he’s strict but fair—something that isn’t common in their world. The vampire who ‘sired’ her is a wuss, so consequently, she isn’t as powerful as she would have been if someone like Devereux had brought her over. But, apparently if she drinks Devereux’s blood, she gets stronger. I guess that’s one of the things he does for his coven members.”

I sat up straighter in my chair. I’d never heard that. Devereux was very close-mouthed about his coven. He shared his blood with them? I guessed that made sense, although something about it made me feel uncomfortable. What bothered me about it? Was it the intimacy of it, or the fact that he hadn’t told me? I pushed those questions out of my brain and turned my attention back to Tom. Too much to think about.

“So, I still don’t understand how hanging out with Zoë has made you want to die. That’s what really happens, you know. It isn’t usually glamorous or romantic. You’d be dead. A corpse. A blood drinker …”

“Yeah, I get it.” He paused and studied me. “Is that really how you think of Devereux? As a corpse? Or are you just giving me your therapist spiel?”

I had to think for a few seconds. Devereux was unique in ways that had nothing to do with vampirism—all that magical mysticism and Druid ancestry. “No. I guess I don’t think of him that way, but it’s still the reality for most. And if I didn’t mention that particular set of truths to my clients, I’d be lying. From what little I know about the process, it isn’t as if a new vampire simply springs forth with powers and ancient knowledge. All that stuff comes with time. Sometimes decades—centuries. And unless a powerful vampire does the turning, a newbie could spend eternity as someone’s flunky. Does that sound appealing to you?”

He gave me his best nefarious grin. “Not in the least. That’s why I’m here to sign up with the most powerful vampire there is. If Devereux brings me over, I’ll be in the top percentage of vampires.”

“The top percentage of vampires?” I hooted out a laugh. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say, and you’ve given me lots to compare it to. If you think being a vampire is just another lifestyle choice, you’re a bigger ass than I thought. Is this some kind of competition to you? Some kind of undead award you’re after? Being a member of an exclusive club? What has Zoë been telling you? Why would you think Devereux would participate in such a thing?”

His face fell, as if he’d momentarily abandoned his performance. “I’m getting old, Kismet.”

I felt my eyebrows rise and my shoulders slump. “What?” I knew he was fixated on staying young, but he was only eight years older than me. Not old by any rational standard.

“I’m not even forty yet and I have wrinkles.” He shook his head. “My plastic surgeon said I’ve already had too many procedures for someone my age and that my skin is sun damaged. He refuses to operate on me and says if I go to another doctor, I’ll end up looking like one of those scary plastic-surgery-gone-wrong types who don’t even appear human anymore. My career is just starting to come together, and I live in la-la land, where we worship youth and beauty. Zoë says if I come over now, I’ll stay as I am forever. Maybe even gain a little youth in the process. I could at least be a star for a few years before they notice I’m not aging.”

I realized my mouth had been hanging open, so I closed it. “Wait a minute. What about the famous, good-ol’-boy television psychologist? The current media darling who was mentored into fame and fortune? He’s no spring chicken, plus he’s chubby and losing his hair. He hasn’t built his empire on his physical appearance. Why are you so paranoid? Have you considered that it might be a good thing to appear old and wise?”

He sprang out of the chair and paced around the kitchen, no longer making eye contact. “Old and wise won’t work for the project I just pitched to cable. It’s an edgy reality program for an adult audience. I’d be counseling people, but not in a talk show format.”

I watched him march back and forth across the room. “Well, if not a talk show, what would it be?”

He mumbled something under his breath.

“What did you say? I didn’t hear you.”

He paused in front of me, crossed his arms over his chest, and cleared his throat. “Everything’s tentative right now—my people are talking to their people—but I’d be Dr. Sex. I’d … actively … counsel people who have sexual problems. Sort of a glorified sexual surrogate. We’d have a tasteful—yet erotic—bedroom set and all the sessions would take place there.” He eased into the chair again. “It would be on one of the premium channels. Lots of full-body shots. So, you can see why I need to be young and attractive.”

I bit my lip to keep from laughing again. I got a sudden visual of Tom, at his most pompous, instructing people on how to efficiently shove part A into part B, and then demonstrating the correct way to accomplish the task. It sounded like porn to me.

“So, what’s the difference between that and a porn movie?”

He thrust his chin into the air. “Sex therapists are professionals. I’d have to get a license for that specialty. I can assure you there’s no license needed for porn!”

Oops. I’d hit a nerve. Apparently, he must’ve had some mixed emotions about the porn thing, too. We both knew that making one false move professionally could cause him to lose his psychology license.

“You came up with the idea for this program all by yourself?”

He reclaimed his chair and fanned his fingers out on the table, pretending to examine his manicured nails. “The idea was tossed around at a party I attended. You probably remember that I have a keen interest in all aspects of sex, right?” I nodded at the understatement of the year. “Well, some friends and I were experimenting, and a couple of them teasingly asked if I knew the best position to achieve a certain goal, and I just happened to have that knowledge, so I showed them. In fact, I demonstrated various techniques to several people. At the end of the evening, someone remarked that I should go into business as a sex therapist, because I was so good at it. And, not only that, but they’d videotaped the evening and when I watched the film, I had to agree that the camera loved me. I did seem to have a knack for sex therapy.”

Trying not to laugh by holding my lower lip between my teeth was starting to hurt. My jaw made a cracking sound when I opened my mouth. I struggled to keep a serious expression on my face. “I’m not clear on the actual therapy part of this plan. What else happens besides a lot of orgasms? Can you even do that stuff on television?”

“Yes, on special channels for adults.” He nodded enthusiastically. “I forgot to mention that during the session, while I’m describing the sex techniques, I’m also talking to them about the psychological reasons for their problems, and about ways to enhance emotional intimacy. When I demonstrate something myself, I share with them personal issues I’ve overcome in order to become the man I am today. During a mock session, one of the audience members even cried at the end. It was tremendously moving. So, can you see why I’m excited about this idea? I’d get to do two things I love—sex and therapy—as well as make money and be on television. It just doesn’t get any better than that.”

He stared at me expectantly.

I didn’t want to say “I see” again, so I just stared back at him and noticed his unnatural ashen appearance once more. “Why are you so pale? Are you sick? Is that really why you think you want to become one of the children of the night? Is this whole Dr. Sex story just a cover?”

He gave me a sheepish look. “No. I’m not sick. I really do want to be on television. I’m so white because Zoë’s been trying to turn me, and she just doesn’t have the juice.” He lowered his gaze. “She’s getting a little worried because, no matter how much blood we swap, the only thing that happens is that I get weaker. She’s afraid she’s just killing me instead of following the transformation ritual. She wasn’t totally clear on how to perform it. In fact, we’ve just been making it up as we go along.”

“There’s a transformation ritual?”

“Yeah. Zoë asked a bloodsucker she met in California for information, and apparently there are a couple of routes to becoming a vampire. The most painless one has lots of steps and involves both the sucker and the suckee holding a pure desire—whatever that is.”

“Pure desire? Devereux told me that the turning process was more complicated than what’s portrayed in movies and books, but he didn’t elaborate.” And Devereux’s dead mother had mentioned something about it being difficult to become a vampire. She said intention was needed. If I ever ran into—or through—her again, I’d be sure to ask what she meant, along with a couple hundred other questions.

Then I remembered something Tom had just said and grimaced. “Go back to the thing about swapping blood. You’re drinking Zoë’s blood?” Geez. All the chemicals in his peels, facials, and hair dye jobs must have seeped through his skin and started rotting his brain. He was crazier than most of my clients. I had no idea he’d gotten so desperate.

He narrowed his eyes and pressed his lips together tightly for a few seconds. “You hypocrite! You’re boinking a corpse. You let him drink your blood. Are you honestly expecting me to believe that you’ve never sampled his? That you’ve never been on the receiving end?”

Since my judgmental opinion was probably written all over my face, I couldn’t blame him for having such a reaction.

I had a quick memory flash of participating in a vampire-packed ritual myself where Devereux handed me a golden chalice filled with blood. He’d created the magical ceremony to protect me from the dark creature who’d targeted me. I remember taking a sip from the cup and finding the taste thick and unpleasant. At the time, I wasn’t sure if I really drank from the chalice or only imagined I did. Now I knew I’d done the deed. And it was an experience I didn’t plan to repeat.

“We’re not talking about me. I’m not the one going on a liquid diet. But, for your information, no. I haven’t sampled his.” That was true as far as I knew. The chalice had been filled with the blood of the vampires in the ritual circle. I didn’t remember seeing Devereux contribute to the potluck.

We locked eyes for a few seconds, both scowling. His brown eyes softened and he reached across the table and took my hands in his. “Will you help me, Kismet? Will you talk to Devereux for me? Put in a good word? Please?”

Wow. Tom had to be desperate if he was willing to admit he needed anyone’s help for anything.

Shit. I could imagine the conversation I’d have with Devereux. Devereux, my love. Would you please drain all the blood from my ex-boyfriend Tom so he can die and rise as a vampire to become the world-renowned Dr. Sex on cable TV? Yeah, that would be fun. Time for some artful avoidance.

I stood and patted Tom’s cheek. “Let me sleep on it.”

He smiled, “I could help you sleep on it.”

Laughing, I walked out of the kitchen, trudged up the stairs and into the bathroom. I locked the door, stripped off the bloody clothes, and took the world’s quickest shower. Still wet, I bolted into my bedroom, secured that door, peeled down the covers—which were still clean—and jumped into the bed.

I slept like the dead.

Chapter Ten

“Looks like you threw quite a party. I’m sure the master will be amused.”

My eyes flew open. Standing next to my bed was Luna, Devereux’s personal assistant and undead pit bull. It wasn’t full dark, but since she was vertical, it was safe to assume the sun had gone behind the mountains. I’d slept the entire day away.

She was dressed in her familiar black leather: skintight pants and a cleavage-enhancing bustier. Her eye makeup was sedate compared to her usual Cleopatra-inspired artistry. Only one color of eye shadow, rather than the multi-hued extravaganza she regularly painted on. But the bold design was still a sharp contrast to her very pale skin. Long, straight hair fell like a thick, black veil in an unintended salute to Morticia from The Addams Family. Her silver eyes reminded me of … the murdering psychopath from the night before. I took a breath and forced myself to banish that thought. It wasn’t safe to send out any unconscious invitations.

“What are you talking about? What party?” I sat up and something fell from my forehead down onto my breasts. I’d been in such a hurry to get into bed that I hadn’t taken the time to put on a nightgown. Or anything else.

Without thinking about my state of undress, I flicked on the bedside lamp, squinted down at the shiny blue thong displayed on my chest, and tried to remember why strange underwear would’ve been on my head. Unless I’d blacked out and one of my split personalities had invited someone for a sleepover, I had no answer to the mystery.

Luna bent down, lifted the thong with one finger, and dangled it in the air in front of my face. An evil smile spread across her lips. “I hope the sex was worth dying for, because the master is going to destroy him.”

I tugged a blanket over my exposed breasts and stared at the blue fabric. I snatched the unidentified object from her finger and gave it a close inspection. There, embroidered across the front in golden thread, were the initials TR. Well, at least I knew why Tom hadn’t left any underwear in the bathroom when he got dressed. He obviously still enjoyed whipping off his skimpy thong and throwing it into the air before getting down to business. Some things never changed. While I was glad to have solved the puzzle, I was disgusted by the fact that the tacky garment had somehow ended up on my head.

I tossed Tom’s underwear on the floor and met the smirking gaze of the Amazon vampire looming over me. “Tom and Zoë frolicked in my room while I was gone last night. That’s his thong. Not that I owe you any kind of explanation.”

She snorted. “I’ll be sure to tell the master. I’m certain he’ll be understanding. He’s so trusting of your sincerity.”

I wasn’t awake enough to deal with Luna. Actually, I was never awake enough to deal with the hostile she-devil. She’d loathed me even before we met, based on the fact that Devereux enjoyed my company. To Luna, humans were only useful as a food source. She couldn’t imagine any other reason to have one of us around. I’d never figured out if there was any jealousy in the mix—if she wanted Devereux for herself—or if it really was about her belief that humans were inferior liquid delivery systems.

The fact that Devereux’s assistant looked like a cross between a Playboy bunny and a supermodel didn’t make dealing with her any easier. We’d unwillingly spent time together a few months earlier when Devereux ordered her to protect me. She’d fought an insane vampire to save my life and wound up on the short end of the fang. Watching Luna struggle to control her bloodlust while her body healed the battle scars was the most terrifying experience I’ve ever had. She regressed to a primitive state, took control of my mind, and paralyzed my body. I was literally at her mercy. If it hadn’t been for the magic talisman I wore, she’d have drained me dry. I know that because she told me. And I believed her.

Devereux assured me he and Luna had never been intimate, and I trusted him, but every time I saw her outrageous body I wondered, why not?

I frowned, thinking about coffee. “So, why are you here? What do you want?”

She lifted her upper lip in an Elvis-like sneer to show me her fangs. She was one creepy bloodsucker.

“Never mind. I know what you want.” I snugged the blanket up a little higher. “And you know you aren’t going to get it. Devereux won’t let you suck on me. So, again, why are you here?”

“Lucky for you I fed before I arrived, otherwise I might be tempted to drink from you, heal the punctures, and erase your memory. You’re fortunate I’m loyal to the master. But never doubt that I’m still counting the minutes until he casts you aside. Then all your protection will end, and we’ll … rendezvous.

“He sent me to tell you he is still involved with the warring covens, so he won’t be available until after midnight. He wants you to join him at The Crypt then. He also commands that you wear the protective necklace he gave you.”

She snarled and vanished.

He commands?

Devereux had given me the magical silver pentagram—the one that kept Luna from my throat—when I’d been stalked by a mentally deranged, serial murdering vampire who caused my world to fall apart five months earlier. It hadn’t kept the monster away completely, but it discouraged several other hungry undead predators from turning me into a buffet. Wearing the necklace sounded like a great idea.

I’d only stopped wearing the beautiful pentagram because having the weight of it constantly against my skin became irritating. It was well made and substantial. I had to ask Devereux to remove the necklace, because he’d added some kind of extra wizardly voodoo that caused it to reappear around my neck immediately if I tried to remove it. Apparently, he was the only one who could hit the pause button on the spell. So, now the silver treasure hung from the corner of my mirror.

I flopped back into the bed and pulled the covers over my head.

Well, Kismet, what’s it going to be? Should you get up, or hide under the covers? Hmmm. Difficult decision. Let’s review the reasons to burrow in: a maniacal killer who has plans for you, a bloodsucking supermodel who yearns to drain you dry, an ex-boyfriend who wants to become the undead Dr. Sex, and an ancient lust object who arranges your life to suit himself.

As much as I wanted to put my bizarre world on hold, my body reminded me that no matter how crazy things got, I still had to pee. I sat up, threw my legs over the side of the bed, and stood. I shuffled to the closet, grabbed my fluffy pink robe, and scurried next door to the bathroom.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror over the sink and laughed. I’d gotten my hair wet in the shower before climbing into bed, and my thick, dark curls stuck out in all directions like a fright wig. My skin seemed whiter than usual, but that was probably due to the shock of witnessing a murder. And then being brain-slimed by the killer. It would’ve been unnatural to have no physical reactions to the insanity. I was surprised I was functional at all.

Craving caffeine, I headed down to the kitchen to load up my Mr. Coffee. It felt unnatural to wake up this late in the day. My whole system was out of whack. I stood staring at the pot while the aromatic elixir brewed.

I noticed my empty couch and its lack of occupancy. If Tom had spent the day there, he’d left no evidence behind. No clothes on the floor or take-out food containers on the table. Now that he had his own personal vampire transport service, I knew I hadn’t seen the last of him. Especially since he intended to use me to ingratiate himself with Devereux.

Reveling in the silence, I’d just grabbed the handle of the coffeepot to pour my first brain-stimulating dose of nirvana when there was a loud pounding on my front door.

The sound startled me and I almost dropped the pot. “What the hell now?”

The banging continued, and I stomped over to the door.

I flicked on the porch light, eyeballed the peephole, and saw white hair. Releasing the locks, I pulled the door open.

“Maxie!”

She leapt inside, closed and locked the door, pressed her body against it, and stared at me.

She looked like I felt. Her skin was pasty and there were dark circles under her tired blue eyes. She had severe bed hair and a pillow crease across her cheek.

I touched her arm. “Maxie, what happened to you? Where did those guys take you? Are you okay?”

“Yeah. No. Damned if I know. That’s why I’m here. I hoped you could tell me what the hell happened to me.”

“Come inside. I need coffee. Do you want some?”

“Does a werewolf shit in the woods?”

“I’ll take that as a yes.” We shuffled like zombies into the kitchen and I pulled out a chair at the table. “Sit down. How do you take your coffee? Do you want something to eat? I’ve got bagels.”

“Black for the coffee and no for the food. But don’t let me stop you.”

I filled two mugs, carried them to the table, and sat across from her. We both drank silently for a few seconds. It was as if we both understood the importance of the sacred coffee ritual. Neither of us wanted to disturb the other’s ecstatic moment. But, finally, she put her mug down, glanced at me, and burst out laughing.

“Have you seen your hair?”

I smiled, because I had. “Have you seen yours?”

“Yeah.” She nodded. “I didn’t take a shower or brush my hair or anything. I didn’t know what else to do besides come here.” Her eyes went vacant. “I only have sketchy memories of anything after the two satanic wannabes grabbed me from the mezzanine. I’m missing a lot of details. A portion of the videotape in my brain was edited. I just woke up about an hour ago in my apartment, still dressed in the clothes I wore last night, and I’m not sure how I got there.” She stared down into her coffee. “Shit, Kismet. How the hell did they just appear like that? How did they get me down to my car, because I have vague recollections of driving? Why would I just take off and leave you there? Jesus. I was so terrified when I woke up and thought about what might have happened to you. Especially after I guilted you into going with me.” She turned frightened eyes to me. “What happened?”

Without thinking, I almost blurted out the truth. I was right on the verge of unburdening myself about the existence of vampires, homicidal rituals, and the reality of one psychotic, murdering bloodsucker in particular. I’d actually gone so far as to form the first word with my lips when I remembered who I was sitting with, and, more important, what she did for a living.

I held Maxie’s gaze, adopted my compassionate therapist expression, and hoped Victoria had been exaggerating about my face’s inability to bluff.

Maxie had told me she’d never found any evidence for the existence of the paranormal. She also said she was worried about her job. It didn’t take a brain surgeon to figure out what she’d do with any information I shared. Even if she couldn’t prove anything I said, it wouldn’t matter. I’d be the story. Just another chapter in the crazed adventures of a formerly respected local psychologist who’d gone ’round the preternatural bend. Given the rag she worked for, proof wouldn’t be an issue. I couldn’t put myself or my clients in jeopardy by indulging loose lips.

I reached across the table and took her hand. “What do you remember?”

She studied my face for a moment, extricated her hand from mine, and lifted her coffee mug. She frowned and broke eye contact, staring down at the table. I got a quick sense that Maxie was hiding something, which was weird because I was the one trying to avoid telling any impossible tales.

This sudden intuitive flash about Maxie made me realize I hadn’t had any hits about her before. Not even when we first met. I replayed our time together, trying to recall any instances where my psychic radar had given me insights about her, and drew a blank. I couldn’t think of any other time in my life when I’d been unable to sense someone’s emotions or read between the lines. Either my empathic and clairsentient abilities were on the fritz, or Maxie shielded better than anyone I’d ever met.

She raised her gaze to mine. “I remember us lying on our bellies on the balcony, looking down at the chubby guy being killed on the stage below. Or, pretending to be killed, whatever. Although the guy did seem pretty convincing. I’d just started snapping photos again when I was snatched off the floor by a couple of creeps in black robes. There’s a page missing in my memory book at that point. I think I surfaced later, long enough to observe myself driving. How the hell could I observe myself driving? What does that even mean? Did you see them take me?” She pointed to herself.

“Yes, I did. They must have sneaked up behind us, because I didn’t hear them coming. There had to be a staircase up to the balcony from the main floor. Maybe they’d been there, watching us the whole time.”

She didn’t appear convinced. “I don’t know. I think I would’ve heard a couple of wannabes creeping up behind me. I’ve got a black belt in paranoia, and I pride myself on being able to sense the freaks before they get close enough to hassle me. But even if there was a staircase, that doesn’t explain why I don’t remember anything.”

I sighed. “Yeah, that’s true.” It was official: I sucked at lying. Dancing around the truth was already making me feel like shit. Technically, I had no actual proof about why her memory was impaired, but I’d seen evidence of a certain bloodsucking sociopath’s mind-control abilities, and strongly suspected he’d erased Maxie’s mental tapes. But did I really have any choice? Which was worse? Holding back information that Maxie probably wouldn’t believe anyway, or exposing myself and my clients to another media blitz of ridicule and scorn? No contest. I’d say whatever was necessary to point her in a different direction. Maybe I could eventually convince myself that I’d protected her from horrors she really didn’t need to know about.

“Do you think you might have been drugged?”

Her eyebrows shot up her forehead. “Drugged? How the hell could I have gotten drugged? I didn’t eat or drink anything. But, come to think of it, I did feel pretty hung over when I woke up a little while ago.”

“It’s relatively easy to administer a sedative using a syringe. You might not even feel the needle. That would explain the memory loss.”

She stared at me with her mouth open. Her voice rose in pitch. “Holy shit. You mean those bogus little perverts might have taken me for some disgusting sexual reason? You’re saying they might have done something to me? That they …”

I raised both palms in the air. “Stop! Wait! That’s not what I’m saying.” Way to go, Kismet. Make everything a thousand times worse. You are the worst liar on the face of the earth. “You said you woke up wearing your clothes. If they’d done anything to you, they probably wouldn’t have left everything on, right?”

She frowned. “Yeah, maybe.”

I lowered my hands, folding them on the table, just like a regular, non-lying person would do. “You don’t feel like you’ve been violated, right?” I’d better be careful. The last thing I want to do is plant the seeds of a false memory. I’m willing to lie, but I’m not willing to hurt her. Hallow said she drove herself home and I’m going to make myself believe that.

“No.” She shrugged. “Not physically. But if they didn’t do anything to me, why the hell would they drug me? And why didn’t they take both of us?”

My brain spun. She was right. Why wouldn’t they have taken me, too? Unless I wanted to tell her about my meeting with the blood-covered genie vampire, I had to come up with another layer of lies. It couldn’t be good that my comfort level for creating blatant fabrications was increasing. I’d need to roll my imaginary pant legs up pretty soon. I took a breath and waded back in.

“I did hear one of them say the word reporter when they lifted you up.”

“Reporter? How the hell would they know I was a reporter?”

I reached out and touched her white curtain of hair. “Distinctive, wouldn’t you say? You mentioned you’ve been covering these events for a while. It makes sense that they’d know who you are and how you look. Maybe they wanted you gone before they did whatever else they were going to do at their sick little performance. They could’ve seen you taking pictures.”

She stared at me. “What could they have been planning that would be worth drugging me? What could a bunch of low-life losers be doing to warrant such a cover-up?”

Finally, something I could be truthful about. “I don’t have a clue. You know more about their activities than I do.”

“Did you see anything after they took me?”

I shook my head, wondering if my nose was growing. “I stood there, stunned, for a couple of minutes, not knowing what to do. The crowd downstairs poured out the front doors and I left the way we came. By the time I got down the fire escape, all the wannabes had gone. I wandered around a while, searching for any sign of you, then I called a cab. Luckily, the cab company knew where the condemned amusement park was.”

Her eyebrows rose. “You called a cab?”

“Well, yeah. What other choice did I have? I went to the other side of the park where you’d left your car, just to see if you were waiting there for me, but you weren’t. The car was gone. So, I could either put one foot in front of the other, or call a cab. Since I had no idea where I was, walking home in the middle of the night wasn’t an option.”

Great. Throw in a little guilt to make her feel even worse.

She sighed and slouched back in her chair. “I told you I usually manage to get myself into trouble. I’m really sorry I dragged you into that mess. You must have freaked when you couldn’t find me. I promise never to nag you into doing anything you don’t want to ever again.” She locked eyes with me, her lips pursed. “Will you give me another chance, friend? Can we go have those margaritas and listen to that jazz sometime? Or did I scare you off?”

Shit. I don’t feel like much of a friend right now—more like something scraped from underneath a toenail.

I gazed at her exhausted face, found my compassion and smiled. “I’d love to do the margs and jazz sometime. I listen to some pretty strange stuff in my office every day. It isn’t so easy to scare me off.”

“That’s great.” She grinned and rose slowly from the chair, as if her muscles were sore. “I’m going to take off now. I’ve got to come up with some kind of story for the newspaper.” She snorted. “I’ll just make something up. Nobody will know the difference. And I’m sure you have plans with that gorgeous, rich blond guy you hang out with. I hope you’ll trust me enough at some point to introduce us. I promise not to ask any obnoxious reporter-type questions. If his face looks half as good up close as it does in a camera lens, I might have to give you a run for your money.”

“We’ll see.” I laughed. “Devereux’s a pretty busy guy. I never know when he’s going to show up, but if the opportunity presents itself, I’ll introduce you.”

She hobbled to the front door. “Thanks. You’re being a good sport about the whole abandoning-you thing. I won’t forget it. I’ll be in touch. See ya.”

She left, closing the door behind her. I hurried over and locked it.

I really felt terrible about lying to Maxie. I knew it was for a good cause, but I didn’t care for the ease with which the fictions rolled off my tongue. I’d always worked hard to be an ethical person. What did it mean that I could set those standards aside? What was I becoming?

I returned to the kitchen, refilled my coffee mug, and grabbed a bagel from the counter. Sitting at the table, I thought about all the madness that had taken place during the previous twenty-four hours. Like a slap to the head, I remembered I hadn’t called the police about Carson’s body at the amusement park. I must have brain damage. I jumped up, found the phone, and checked the time. At least sixteen hours had passed since I transported myself home. Maybe someone else had notified the authorities.

Or, maybe there was a rotting media-personality corpse in the fun house.

I sat at my desk and turned on the computer. If the body had been found, there would be local news stories. I searched the local newspapers’ Web sites and came up empty. Googling Carson brought up lots of hits, but they were all about his radio antics. I even scanned the obituaries without finding a familiar name.

Since it didn’t appear anyone had been informed about Carson, I decided to drive over to the convenience store down the street and use the pay phone to make an anonymous call. No matter what my opinion was about the rude radio host, I couldn’t just forget his body was at the amusement park. Surely he must have family, or friends, or someone who cared about what happened to him. I moved a couple of steps from the desk and once again slammed into the chest of the silver-eyed lunatic, who’d popped into my personal space, grinning, silent as death.

I gasped and reflexively tried to back up. He grabbed my upper arms, holding me with unyielding fingers. It was a good thing I’d recently emptied my bladder, or I would have replicated the peeing-on-the-carpet scene from The Exorcist. The vampire’s energy felt dark and dangerous, which pretty much described his appearance, as well. He’d replaced the genie pants with tight jeans and a red T-shirt tucked in at his trim waistline. His waist-length, dark hair flowed down his muscular chest. The fiend was even more gorgeous than I remembered.

Tilting his head from side to side, he studied me. “Dr. Knight—or may I call you Kismet, since we’ve become such good friends?” His deep voice caused my ears to buzz and goose bumps to rise on my skin. He released my arms, stepped away, then strolled in a circle around me. “Obviously you weren’t expecting company. What on earth is that appalling pink thing you’re wearing? And I must say that whoever did your hair should be gutted.” He laughed, the sound both pleasant and terrifying.

I licked my lips so I could speak. “What do you want?”

He smiled, exposing impressive fangs. “I want so many things, my sweet Kismet. And I intend to have all of them. But you were doing so much mental fussing about the remains of our dearly departed, that I felt duty bound to come and inform you the matter has been dealt with. There is no reason to involve human police. I might have need of that location again, so I’d prefer it to be undisturbed.”

He inched in closer, riveted his gaze on mine, and my knees buckled. I lost control of my muscles and bones. He slid an arm around my waist and caught me before I collapsed. My heart sped up, beating so frantically I feared it would burst out of my chest, my breathing went shallow, and my limbs felt heavy. Holding me with one arm, he untied my robe, and slid the fabric off each shoulder, leaving my naked body exposed.

I wanted to scream, fight, or do anything except stand there, frozen, but my brain was off-line. Cotton candy filled the places in my skull that were formerly occupied by my cerebral cortex, firing neurons and brain chemicals.

He leaned in, his soft hair streaming across my body, and kissed me. The touch was electric. Literally. As if I’d come in contact with a live wire. Currents of energy flowed along my skin, pulsating in the area between my legs. I moaned. I didn’t know where his other hand was. It seemed to be everywhere at once. I’d never had an orgasm while paralyzed before—I wouldn’t have thought it possible—but somehow it was happening. He eased the pressure of his kiss, flicked his tongue along my lower lip, shifted his mouth down to my neck, and bit me. The feeling of his fangs penetrating my vein was indefinable. If I’d experimented with hallucinogens, I might have had something to compare the sensations to, but since I hadn’t, I simply surrendered into the ecstatic bliss vibrating through my body. It was as if my neck had become a hyper-potent erogenous zone. My body convulsed with the most powerful orgasm I’d ever experienced. The rational part of me made futile attempts to gain control. Whimpers erupted from my lips, and I wondered who was making all the noise. He drew me in tight against him while he fed. I’m not sure I would’ve moved even if I could’ve.

Then everything went dark.

Chapter Eleven

Silently arguing with myself about whether or not waking was worth the effort, I swam against the tide, forced myself to become fully conscious, and opened my eyes. For the second time, Luna’s face peered down at me. She didn’t speak, but her expression was solemn and serious, and for a moment, I thought I saw fear in her eyes.

“Luna, what …”

She vanished.

I blinked a few times to clear the fog from my vision. What the hell was going on? Why did I feel so strange? Had Luna, the vampire Kali, really been here, or had I imagined it? I looked down at myself to discover I was sitting naked in my oversize chair, my pink robe discarded on the floor. I rubbed my eyes, trying to orient myself. I didn’t remember sitting in the chair. Why would I do that? I had to go upstairs and get dressed for my midnight meeting with Devereux at The Crypt. I slanted my eyes to the clock.

“Shit. It’s already midnight. What the hell is wrong with me?”

I stood slowly, making sure my legs were solid enough to navigate the stairs, and shuffled in that direction. I sucked in a few deep breaths and more of my fragmented reality coalesced. It occurred to me that my shaky state might be caused by low blood sugar due to lack of food, so I diverted to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator, and grabbed the orange juice container. Since rummaging for a glass seemed like too much work, I just untwisted the cap and drank directly from the carton. Something I’d never done before. The natural fructose had an immediate stabilizing effect and I felt better. I threw together a peanut butter sandwich, then sat at the table and devoured it with enthusiasm. It had been almost twenty-four hours since I’d eaten, and my last meal had consisted of half a container of Chinese food. No wonder I felt so surreal. Considering that, nodding off wasn’t such a strange thing.

As I sat there, something nagged at my brain—distracting me like a little kid tugging at the hem of my mental skirt. What had I been doing before I fell asleep? Wasn’t I going to call someone about something? Yes! Carson’s body. But wait. Why was I going to do that? His body had been taken care of, hadn’t it? I couldn’t seem to recall why I thought I needed to do anything.

I shook my head, noticed I’d managed to dribble orange juice down the front of my nude body, and laughed, flicking the drops away with my fingers. “You’re losing it, Kismet. Get off your ass and get dressed. The master has commanded your presence!”

Thinking about Devereux sobered me and reminded me that I hadn’t seen him since before the insanity at the fun house. What should I tell him about my bizarre encounter with Hallow? Shit, wait a minute. I wouldn’t have to tell him anything because he’d just pluck it out of my brain. And, as soon as he read my thoughts and scanned my memories, he’d insist on locking me away. I couldn’t blame him for his instincts, but I needed to hold onto as much self-control as possible.

Nor did I want to be sucked into Hallow’s evil universe. He’d publicly killed Carson in a maniacal frenzy, and I had no doubt inflicting torture and pain was one of his favorite recreational activities. If it was true that he drained the life force from all the women he collected, I wasn’t about to sign up for a demonstration. No matter how amazing a lover he supposedly was.

Maybe it would be better for me to stay home, do some client paperwork, and then talk to Devereux about moving into his penthouse for a while. Yes. That was the answer. Caution. Sensible, mature caution. I needed to behave responsibly. Like a thoughtful professional. I was totally out of my depth with the undead assassin and nothing but misery would come from making myself available to him, even inadvertently.

No matter how intriguing I found the undead, there was no reason to get more involved in the vampire horror show than I already was. Choosing to be careful had nothing to do with giving up my independence. It was all about securing my survival. I wasn’t too proud to admit I was in over my head. I’d been incredibly naïve to think I could deal with a monster like Hallow. But in my defense, I actually had learned a lot from our brief interaction. The vampire version of psychosis was beyond anything the psychological establishment understood, and I now had a front-row seat for the case study of the century.

A bloodsucking Charles Manson.

It was frustrating to have nobody to discuss my experiences with. My professional self was fascinated by the behavioral aspects of Hallow’s madness, but the personal me wanted to hide under the bed. If I ever had a client in the same incredible situation as I found myself, what would I say? That was a no-brainer. I’d tell her to take the first plane out of Denver. I wouldn’t be heading to the airport, but I could remove myself physically from the freak show.

Fortunately, Devereux wasn’t part of what I wanted to leave behind.

With the issue firmly settled in my mind, I brushed the bread crumbs off my breasts, fetched my pink robe from the living room floor, and slipped it on. I tied the belt, walked to my desk to begin the paperwork, and froze. My scalp tingled and my eyes blurred.

“Fuck that! I’m going to The Crypt to have some fun.” Fuck that? What?

I knew the words had come out of my mouth, but I hadn’t intended to say them. Hadn’t even felt the potential thought lurking in my mind. But now, suddenly, it was clear. Of course. Why the hell should I stay home? I didn’t need to think about any vampire’s opinions or actions. I was an adult, professional woman who could make her own decisions.

Grinning, I peeled off the robe, turned, and strode up the stairs.

*

The Crypt was a gothic wonderland. Devereux had transformed an old, multi-level church into a playground for the children of darkness. The huge building itself was magnificent, with its ornate towers, spires, and archways. Grotesque gargoyles leered down from corners, loomed over doorways, and peeked out from hidden architectural surprises. The extensive stained glass alone was worth the visit. The original, religious-themed panels had been replaced by paranormal and supernatural renderings. Eerie gravestone-laden cemeteries were a pervasive theme. That and scads of blood.

The club was open every day from dusk to dawn and it was always busy, but the Saturday night crowds gave new meaning to the word packed. I’d left my car down the block in the underground parking for my office and jogged toward the building, eager to join the festivities. As I approached the entrance, the usual smell of marijuana and other smokable substances wafted into my nose, and the intense, pulsating rhythm from the heavy-metal band performing inside vibrated the bottoms of my feet.

A cloud of pot smoke enticed my nostrils. I inhaled, smiled, and angled over to the group standing under a streetlight on the sidewalk, toking away. It had been a long time since I’d gotten high and I couldn’t think of a better way to start the night.

I tapped a seriously stoned, skinny, long-haired, twenty-something guy on the shoulder, and he swiveled his head toward me, his eyelids at half-mast. He blinked a few times, lifted his eyebrows in an obvious attempt to focus his eyes, licked his lips, and spoke. “Uh, what?”

Giving him my brightest smile, I pointed at the joint. “Could I have a taste of that?”

He stared at my face, the joint poised in the air partway between us. “Wow. Cool makeup. You look like a movie star.” I didn’t know about the movie star resemblance, but I had been a bit more heavy-handed than usual. Sue me. I had the urge to be dramatic. What the hell? If you hung around with vampires, it was acceptable to let one’s Inner Drama Queen out once in a while.

A young, shaved-headed fellow wobbling next to him jerked his body in my direction when he heard his friend’s words and shuffled over to see for himself.

I reached out and lifted the joint from the skinny guy’s fingers, fit it between my lips without giving one thought to hygiene issues, and took a toke. I inhaled the warm smoke into my throat and lungs and held it for exactly two seconds before the acrid substance burst out of my body in a series of hacking, gagging, fifty-year-smoker-type coughs.

My two companions literally leaned backward, as if my coughing had created a strong enough wind to bend the top portions of their bodies, and they said, simultaneously, “Whoa, dude.”

Some of the tiny embers from the end of the cigarette fluttered down onto the front of my red, sparkly shirt, and Shaved-Head Guy gallantly attempted to brush them away.

Probably fearing I’d lose what was left of the joint in my full-body spasm, Skinny Guy reclaimed the pot and pitched in his other hand to help his friend extinguish my chest.

They both froze, mid-brush, leaned in, and stared at my breasts.

Another duet, “Oh, wow, man.”

Skinny Guy said, “You don’t have a bra on, and you can see through that shirt. Awesome. Great tits.”

I peeled off the hands that were hermetically sealed to my mammary glands, brushed away anything else that didn’t belong on my shirt, and smiled.

“Yeah, isn’t the blouse gorgeous? There’s a matching bra that goes with it, but I just didn’t want to be constrained tonight. Besides, in the dim light you have to look twice to notice the shirt is transparent. But thanks so much for the hit and for keeping me from setting myself on fire. I’m going to go inside now. It was nice meeting you.” I swiveled toward the club entrance.

“Wait! Maybe we could hang out a while? Drink some wine? Fuck? You know.”

I cocked my head, fluttered my cosmetically elongated eyelashes, and smiled. “What a lovely offer, gentlemen. Unfortunately, I already have plans. But I do appreciate the thought.”

Continuing in the direction of the huge, wooden double doors, I shifted my eyes down to my shirt. It didn’t seem any worse for the pot embers experience. And it was absolutely cool looking. All fresh-blood-colored and glittery. It went great with my short leather skirt and favorite, stiletto-heeled black boots. I’d be Psychologist Ho tonight.

I reached for the door handle and paused, studying my chest again. Psychologist Ho? Why would I think such a stupid thing? Why was I dressed like this? When did I decide to go out instead of doing paperwork? My stomach tightened with fear. Had my brain skipped a page? A chapter? I knew what a blackout was, and there were several mental and physical illnesses that could account for one. Shit. Maybe I had a brain tumor. There could be something seriously wrong with me. What if I hadn’t nodded off in the living room earlier after all? What if it was something much more dire?

Looking around, I recognized my location because I’d visited so many times before. But I didn’t remember driving myself there, and I certainly couldn’t recall dressing myself like a street hooker. Well, maybe a call girl, since I had bought the clothes and knew they were expensive. I’d intended to model them for Devereux when we were alone, rather than for hundreds of strangers at his club.

I pivoted to head back to my car and felt an inner switch flip from on to off. The muscles in my limbs seized. I stood like a statue, not even sure I was breathing. Terrified, I heard a familiar, low voice in my mind: “It’s time for some fun, sweet Kismet. Go into the club and explore your wild nature. Leave your inhibitions behind. Entertain me. Make me proud. Give Devereux my best. We will meet again soon.”

Mild electric current coursed through my body, and my limbs regained function. A fuzzy, almost intoxicated feeling settled over my brain, and I couldn’t stop smiling.

“Go into the club and have some fun!” I shouted out loud, just in time for Victoria, Devereux’s witchy office manager, to step up next to me.

“Kismet?” She gave me an eyeball scan, eyebrows raised. Her gaze locked on my chest and she frowned. “Does Devereux know you’re here? Are you aware that you’re wearing a see-through blouse with nothing on underneath?” She stepped back. “And an extremely short skirt? That’s not your usual fashion statement.”

“Victoria! How wonderful to see you. Did you come to have a little fun, too?”

She leaned in and sniffed. “Have you been drinking?”

I hugged her, then shook my head. “Not yet. But the night is young.”

Her nose wrinkled and she sniffed again. “Pot?”

“I’ll never tell.”

She grabbed my arm as I started toward the entrance. “Kismet, wait. Something’s wrong. You feel different to me. Not yourself. Your aura is strange—unusual, murky colors. It’s like there’s something extra. Something dark.”

“Don’t be silly, my friend.” I patted her hand. “I’m the same ordinary Kismet I’ve always been. Or, at least as ordinary as somebody whose parents named her after an old Broadway musical can be. Come on. Let’s go stir up some trouble.”

I tugged on the handle of the heavy, wooden door and stepped into a wall of sound. The whine of a high-pitched lead guitar screamed over the throbbing rhythm section as the players cavorted frantically on a stage at the far end of the room. The jarring aural explosion assaulted my ears and took my breath away.

The club was decorated like a goth’s wet dream, and it had everything a wannabe could desire: scenes from Dracula’s castle, bodies rising from haunted graveyards, and enough black to make Ozzy Osbourne bite the head off of something. The ever-present fog machine pumped out a slithering layer of white smoke, adding an eerie ambience to the shadowy interior, which was lit by modern versions of ancient torches.

The huge main room was filled with bodies—some alive, some otherwise—many dancing to the thunderous beat of the musicians. One of the many great things about The Crypt was all the cozy little nooks and crannies scattered along the walls, not to mention the ornate balconies of various sizes, some small enough to fit only one table. There were lots of places for romantic rendezvous, sexual assignations, and under-the-table drug deals. It was easy to find a private space for pretty much anything you wanted.

Standing at his post just inside the entrance was Devereux’s doorman, er, door vamp. The first time I saw Ankh, his ghoulish, creepy appearance made my skin crawl. He was very tall, cadaverously bluish-white with badly discolored teeth and fangs. His obsidian eyes were oddly sunken into his face and underscored with large, dark circles, making it appear as if he wore a perpetual Halloween mask. His head was mostly bald except for a thick, dark braid that burst forth from the top of his skull, reminiscent of the style often worn in movies about famous Egyptian pharaohs. His lanky frame was shrouded in a long, black robe. I’d asked Devereux why he stationed such a distasteful-looking specimen at the entrance to his business, and he’d said Ankh had the gentlest, most loving temperament of any vampire he’d ever met. Turns out the large fellow provided excellent customer service. That’s what I got for judging a vamp by his cover.

Ankh bowed from the waist. “Good evening, Doctor. The master said you were expected.” I nodded. He turned to Victoria and gave the same bow. “And Victoria, a pleasure as always.”

“Hello, Ankh.” Victoria smiled. “It’s lovely to see you. You’ve got quite a crowd here tonight. Do you think we’ll have any luck finding a place to sit?”

He nodded. “The master reserved a table for Dr. Knight. I’ll just call someone to escort you.” He raised an arm into the air, signaling an invisible helper.

I grasped Victoria’s hand and pulled her behind me as I headed for the throng. “That’s okay, Ankh. We’ll just dive in and take our chances. Thanks.”

Victoria gasped and tried to free her hand from my grip, but couldn’t. I enjoyed the powerful feeling of towing her through the crowd. My surprising, new physical strength was exciting.

I navigated us to the long, sarcophagus-shaped bar ensconced along one wall of the spacious room. All the stools were occupied, and I’d just started thinking about the most fun way to clear off a couple so Victoria and I could sit, when a woman with neon pink hair smiled in my direction, exposing tiny fangs. She slid off her stool, pulled her raven-haired companion from her perch, and pointed at the empty seats. She shouted over the music. “Please. Take our stools. Tell the master we were happy to help you out. My name is Dark Widow and this is Wynd. Tell him we’re at his service.” They giggled and darted off into the crowd.

Devereux always managed to surround himself with female devotees who were willing to do anything just to be in his vicinity. I guess I couldn’t blame him for taking what was offered. No doubt, he wanted me to become his groupie, too. Well, the master was in for a big disappointment. But if his handmaidens wanted to kiss some master ass by sucking up to his significant other, that was fine with me.

Victoria had been silent during our trip through the club. She’d even stopped resisting and trying to break free. She watched the stool swap, her lips pursed. I climbed up onto my seat, not bothering to tug the short skirt down, and patted her chair. She situated herself, a very serious expression on her face. She leaned in, speaking directly into my ear because of the noise. “Kismet. Has anything unusual happened? Have you had contact with anyone … dangerous?”

Not wanting to spend any more time talking about such a boring subject, I chose to ignore her questions. Instead, I pinched the fabric of Victoria’s shimmering black and gold goddess dress between my finger and thumb. “Holy shit, I didn’t notice before. That’s an incredible dress you’re wearing. Are you meeting some mysterious stranger here at the club tonight?”

She frowned, no doubt understanding my distracting maneuver. “Yes, as a matter of fact I am meeting someone. But now I think I ought to stay with you. Something’s not right.”

“No way, my witchy friend. I’m not letting you play mother hen with me when you could be kicking up your heels with Mr. Right. Or Mr. Right Now.” I laughed, and signaled the bartender. “I want to hear all the details tomorrow.”

“Really, Kismet.” Victoria sighed, meeting my gaze. “I don’t want to be a wet blanket, but you’re not yourself. I mean, literally. Your aura feels completely different to me. As if you’re actually someone else. Have you been in touch with Hallow? Has he done something to you?”

I shook my head and grinned. “Not that I know of, but anything can happen.”

“What can I get for you?

I turned toward the smooth voice and smiled. My evening had just gotten a lot more interesting. “Wow. You look just like …”

“Yeah,” he said. “I know. Johnny Depp. But trust me, I’m much older.” He smiled, the tips of fangs glistening in the overhead light.

I leaned forward, bringing my knees up onto the stool so I could get a better view. “Hmmm. What can you get for me? Let me think.” I slid my hand on top of his and tapped my fingernail on his cool skin. “When’s your next break?”

“Kismet,” Victoria interrupted. “I don’t think Devereux would like you distracting his employees. You wouldn’t want to get Nigel in trouble, would you?” She wrapped her fingers around my arm, as if she worried I’d fall.

I kept my gaze on the eye candy in front of me. “Would you like to get into some trouble, Nigel? We could just sneak away for a few minutes and discuss the issue.”

He laughed. “Trouble, I could deal with. But if I laid one finger on Devereux’s woman, he’d rip my heart out of my chest before I even thought about unzipping my pants. I think that’s a little too much danger for this vampire. I’m a mellow bloodsucker. Besides, I’m happy here. I don’t want to mess things up. So. What else can I get you, besides me?”

I pouted and he laughed again. I sighed, thinking that—thanks to my unexpected muscle—I could probably drag him from behind the bar, find a cozy hideaway and indulge myself for a few minutes. But they were right. Maybe he wasn’t the best candidate. But, damn, he was gorgeous.

“Okay.” I smiled. “If I can’t have you, I guess I’ll have a couple of shots of tequila.” I turned to Victoria. “What do you want?”

“I’d like a glass of red wine, please, Nigel.”

“Coming right up.” He trotted off to fetch the drinks. The view was arousing.

“Victoria?”

I swiveled my head to check out the owner of the deep, sexy voice. A tall, distinguished man wearing a dark suit, red shirt, and silver tie stood behind me. My ass was still swaying in the air from my attempt to crawl across the bar, so I plopped it down onto my heels.

“Winston.” Victoria’s face lit up. “It’s so good to see you. Let me introduce my friend, Dr. Kismet Knight.”

He turned to me, bowed his head, and smiled. Fangs. His dark eyes twinkled. “I have heard of you, Dr. Knight. It’s lovely to meet you in person.”

I sat properly on my stool and gave him a friendly smile. Anyone who could animate Victoria’s face like that was aces in my book. His shoulder-length, salt-and-pepper hair made him appear to be somewhere between forty and fifty. I hadn’t met a vampire that old before. Not that forty-something was old, but most vampires were brought over sooner. I wondered what his story was.

Nigel brought our drinks, winked at me, and bolted away. He must have seen the gleam I’m sure I had in my eyes.

I slammed the tequila shots, one after the other. “Wow. Those were tasty. I think I’ll get a couple more. You two go on and find a romantic corner.” I saw Victoria’s smile slide into a frown and patted her arm. “Seriously. I’m just letting off some steam. I’ll go find the lord and master shortly, but before that, I want to dance! It’s been ages since I let my Inner Wild Woman out.”

Victoria gave Winston a pained look, as if she were trying to telepathically communicate something she didn’t want to share with me. “I think we should invite Kismet to sit with us while she waits for Devereux to arrive, don’t you, Winston?”

“Certainly.” He smiled, oozing charm. “What man wouldn’t be pleased to have a beautiful woman on each arm?” He extended both elbows, either waiting for us to grab on, or preparing to flop his arms in a chicken imitation. I laughed. He cocked his head, a confused expression flowing across his handsome features.

“I’m sorry. I have a weird sense of humor. Seriously. I don’t want to go and sit with you until my owner comes to fetch me. I want to have some fun. So, run along.”

They both stared at me, so I added emphasis. “Really.”

Winston bowed, put his arm around Victoria, and guided her across the room. She glanced back once, her face an unhappy mask.

I climbed back up on my knees, plopped my chest on the bar, and hollered, “Nigel! More alcohol, please!”

He ambled over. “Do you want another tequila shot?”

“Hey, no fair reading minds.”

He smiled as he poured the potent liquid into my glass. “It doesn’t take a mind reader to know that you’ll probably find the trouble you’re seeking. I heard that a certain ancient vampire hunter is in town and he’s taken a fancy to you. If you’d heed a word of advice, I think you should be more careful than usual. Something evil is percolating, if you know what I mean. If even half the legends about Hallow are true, he’s a deranged vampire. You’d do well to stay out of his path.”

I reached over and stroked his pale cheek, giving him my brightest smile. “Are you sure you don’t want to duck out for a few minutes?”

Nigel gently removed my hand from his face. “Dr. Knight. Because I know how crazy Devereux is about you, I wish you’d take my warning seriously. Hallow has come to kill someone. If the rumors are right, it might be someone close to Devereux. I’d suspect it was you if you were a vampire, but the situation is very ominous. Why don’t I send someone downstairs to find Devereux for you?” He stared into my eyes, making a valiant effort to entrance me. “You really don’t want to dance tonight. You want to be a good little human and stay out of trouble.”

I laughed and he backed up, surprised. “That was awesome, Nigel. Ineffective, but awesome. I’m not that easy to buzz. But I do appreciate your concern. I’ll tell Devereux what a darling you are.”

I downed the shot, jumped off the stool, and waved good-bye to Nigel over my shoulder.

The band was playing an upbeat, heavy-rock number and I stood on the edge of the dance floor, jiggling in place. My stiletto heels gave me the height I needed to see over the heads of the crowd, which made it much easier to scan the area for potential dance partners. Lyrics from an old song my father loved—something about a stranger across a crowded room—popped into my mind as I laid eyes on the dark-haired cover boy strolling in my direction.

My face didn’t feel big enough to hold the smile that spread my lips. Oh, yeah. Things were definitely looking up.

Chapter Twelve

“Hey, pretty lady. I was just standing over there, thinking I’d like to find someone soft and curvy to dance with, and there you were. We must’ve been destined to meet, wouldn’t you say?” He spoke with a subtle Western twang.

I just couldn’t stop smiling. The sweet young thing probably wasn’t even twenty-one. I wondered how he’d gotten past Ankh. The band had paused long enough for the musicians to suck on various beer bottles before launching into the next tune, so I was able to hear my new companion without any need for him to yell.

“My, my. Aren’t you adorable?” I trailed a fingernail down the front of his shirt. “What’s your name, handsome?”

In my stilettos, I was almost six feet tall, but my sumptuous companion didn’t seem intimidated by my Wonder Woman stance. He wore cowboy boots with a heel that elevated him a couple of inches over me. His slender, toned body was showcased perfectly in the jeans and black T-shirt he wore. The yummy stranger ran his fingers through a mass of thick, dark, shoulder-length hair. Blue eyes gazed soulfully from beneath thick lashes. I was certain there had to be a Stetson on the front seat of his truck. He grinned. Fangless. “I’m Trevor, Trey to my friends.” He offered his hand for me to shake.

What a delicious morsel. I clasped his warm hand and held on, pulling him closer. “Well, Trey. I don’t know if you’ve got a thing for older women because of unresolved mother issues, or if you just want to play with fire, but I’m ready.”

The drummer counted time, raising his drumsticks over his head, and the first chords of a classic Led Zeppelin tune split the air.

I tugged Trey onto the dance floor. He registered surprise, but quickly boogied into the spirit of things. We elbowed our way through the fray, moving to the powerful rhythm. He was a natural. Watching his slim hips undulate was a treat for the eyes. And the libido.

We rocked to the driving beat, and by the time the song—extended by a series of long instrumental solos—ended, the temperature in the club had spiked into the tropical range. We grabbed onto each other, laughing. I slid my hands down his shoulders, appreciating the fine muscle tone. He leaned back and grinned, shifting his gaze down to my breasts. The look on his face made it clear he believed he’d scored and his orgasmic dreams were all about to come true.

I hadn’t decided yet if I wanted to slip away with the luscious lad or not, but I was enjoying the feel of his hard body next to mine. He bent forward and kissed me. He smelled like fresh, young male, and I had a quick fantasy about licking my way down his muscled frame.

The band began playing a slow song, and Trey pulled me in, his obvious erection pressed against my stomach. He tilted his head, aiming his lips in my direction, when an arm snaked around my waist from behind, pulling me backward and lifting me a couple of inches off the floor.

“Hey! What the …”

Thanks to his distinctive medallion, I quickly recognized the feel of the chest my back was pinned against. Trey’s eyes went glassy and his mouth slowly sagged open. A velvet voice cut through the music.

“Thank you for entertaining my fiancée, my friend. I was delayed in arriving and it was most kind of you to make sure she enjoyed herself. Here.” Devereux shifted me to his hip, as if I were an unruly toddler, and handed Trey several business-card-size pieces of paper. “These will provide complimentary drinks for you and a guest for the rest of the night. Go now.”

Trey shook his head vigorously, gave a blank stare, and shuffled off the dance floor.

“You can put me down now, Mr. Party Pooper.”

He released me. “Pooper?”

I pivoted, prepared to give him hell for ruining my high school fantasy, and smiled instead. My hormones said, “Yippee!” What a gorgeous hunk of manhood. A platinum-haired, high-fashion leather god. My hands caressed his chest, sliding along the soft fabric of his silver, silk T-shirt. “Never mind about pooper. Dance with me.”

He studied my face, his expression serious. “I cannot read you. Something is very wrong.”

“Oh, come on, blondie.” I reached up and clasped my hands behind his neck, molding my body to his. “Stop whining and dance.”

He wrapped me in his arms and began swaying to the music. After a few seconds, I felt a tingling along my scalp and leaned back far enough to meet his eyes. “Are you doing something? My head feels funny.”

He gazed at me with such intensity my knees went soft and he had to tighten his hold to keep me on my feet. “I am using all my power to scan your memories and your thoughts, and it is as if they are enshrouded in an impenetrable haze. I can sense vague pictures, but nothing makes any sense. I have never experienced this before. Do you know why I cannot penetrate your mind?”

I blinked a few times, trying to dissipate the woozy feeling, and laughed. “I’d rather talk about you penetrating something else. Here I am, all dressed up just for you, and you’re talking about mind reading.” I threaded my fingers through the long, soft strands of his hair. “What’s it going to take to get you in a romantic mood?”

The music stopped and Devereux frowned. “Come.” He gently released my arms from around his neck, grabbed my hand, and tugged me through the crowd. We hurried to the door leading down to the lower level of the club. He nodded at John the vampire addict, whose job it was to keep humans away from the secret portions of the building. John opened the heavy door and we stepped inside. Instead of climbing down the steep stairs, Devereux encircled my waist with his arm and thought us into his private bedroom.

The large room was actually more like a combination studio, ritual space, and sleeping area than an actual bedroom. I had asked him if he really slept there instead of in a coffin, and he’d just smiled without answering. Funny how he was so close-mouthed about anything to do with his own life, but insisted that my brain be an open book.

Everything was pretty much as it had been the last time I’d visited. Devereux was an accomplished artist and his paintings filled the walls. A corner of the room was devoted to art supplies, empty canvases, and easels holding works-in-progress. He’d hung the portrait he painted of me—supposedly eight hundred years earlier—in a prominent place, with special lighting above and below. It was displayed alongside the portrait of his mother—the dead one who’d showed up in the flesh at a ritual to welcome me to the family.

Long tables cluttered with bottles, ornate boxes, candles, and New Age paraphernalia shared the space between the art supplies and the bed. A beautiful, large, amethyst ball balanced on a golden pedestal in readiness for future casting. Apparently, Devereux was a well-known seer. He’d told me the strange bottles contained herbs and other ingredients for his magic spells and potions. I thought he was kidding, and that his hocus-pocus was a silly hobby, but he disavowed me of that notion. In fact, he’d done things for which I had no rational explanation. Not that I had a rational explanation for the vampire thing, either.

He flicked his fingers, igniting several candles, and stepped back, staring at me with a sour expression on his face. “I must find a solution to this problem.”

“What problem?”

He ignored me. “If my vampire powers are not sufficient to the task, then I will create a magical resolution.” He started to move away toward a door leading to an outer office. “I must consult my books for an appropriate spell.”

I sprinted in front of him, cutting him off. “Wait a minute, love buns. I didn’t come down here to sit alone while you indulge your woo-woo research. I have my own agenda. A woman has needs, you know.” I batted my eyelashes and gave what I hoped was a naughty smile. “Let’s go sit on the bed and talk a while.”

He shot me another dose of his laser vampiric orbs, making my knees buckle. I grabbed the sides of my head. “Ow, dammit, knock it off! You’re giving me a headache. If my skull explodes, I’m holding you personally responsible.”

He lifted me into his arms. “You should not be able to resist such powerful mental probes. Hallow must be visiting your dreams in order to create such blockage. I cast a very strong protective spell on your home after I left yesterday, so I know that he could not accost you there. And, since I told you not to leave, you should have been safe.” He walked over to the bed and deposited me on the multi-colored duvet. He sat on the edge and removed his boots before crawling up beside me.

I smiled even bigger and scooted over, giving him room to sit next to me. I smoothed my hand along his leather-clad leg, heading north. “That’s more like it. Less talking, more fun.”

He stared at me, one eyebrow raised. “Victoria and Nigel are correct. You are, indeed, behaving like a hormonal adolescent. Somehow Hallow has managed to control you. I must find a way to counteract his influence. I fear for your safety. This new personality you are exhibiting is mindless and dangerous. Just like the one who contaminated you.”

What new personality? Contaminated me? Hormonal adolescent?

My fingers reached the zipper of his pants and I’d just started making him much more comfortable, when he grabbed my hand, lifting it away from his crotch. “No. We have important matters to discuss. Personal pleasure can wait. Tell me what you remember of the last twenty-four hours.”

I stuck my lower lip out in an exaggerated pout, but got no response from my undead judge and jury. “I don’t remember anything.” And then, having said that, I realized the last couple of days were rather fuzzy. I had the sense that I should remember something important, but I just couldn’t bring whatever it was into consciousness. I could easily recall the clients I’d seen on Friday, but after that, everything was gone.

Devereux shook my arm. “Kismet? Are you listening to me?”

I started to tell him that I’d been trying to remember something that might be helpful, but different words came out of my mouth. “No. You’ve finally bored me into a coma.” I scrambled onto my knees and climbed on top of him, pushing him flat on the mattress. As I straddled his hips, my short skirt rode up even higher, collecting around my waist, giving clear evidence about my au natural situation. I peeled off my transparent shirt and threw it on the floor. “Personal pleasure can’t wait.”

I untucked his T-shirt from his pants, and shoved the fabric out of the way as I bent to lick his nipples. He wound his fingers into my hair and yanked my head up. “Where is your protective necklace? I instructed Luna to tell you to wear it. Did she fail to convey my message? She will be punished if that was the case.”

He released my hair and I sat up. “You have the most annoying one-track mind. Yes. The she-fiend told me, but I guess I forgot. Or maybe I decided I didn’t want to wear the damn thing. It is up to me, you know. Now, be a good little vampire and let me have my way with you.” I’d never heard him threaten Luna before. Maybe there was something going on that I didn’t know about. But if it meant Evil Vampira would be out of the picture, that definitely worked for me.

Before he could start the next lecture, I opened the front of his pants, crawled to the foot of the bed, and tugged forcefully on the leather until he lifted his ass enough for the material to slide freely. He made a completely un-master-vampire squeaky sound, which I attributed to his surprise at my strength. Or maybe he often made those girly noises, and I hadn’t been paying attention.

I held his leather pants in the air, grinning, appreciating the rigid hard-on stretching across his abdomen.

He sat up, a wicked smile spreading his lips. “So, you wish to play rough, yes? I believe I can accommodate you.”

Faster than my eyes could track, he grabbed my arms and dragged me up his body. Still holding on, he wrapped his legs tightly around my hips, effectively restraining me. It was my turn to make a noise, but mine was one of pleasure. Seemed I liked being trapped.

I wiggled against his thick erection. “Lay it on me, Dracula.”

He growled. “As you wish.”

He rolled us over, landing on top of me, his platinum hair covering my face for a couple of seconds before he jerked his head from side to side, flipping the lustrous strands behind him. He’d obviously had a lot of practice with that move, because the hair cooperated. I wondered how many thousands of women he’d had sex with in his long life, and smiled as I considered the educational possibilities.

It occurred to me that things might be more interesting if I put up a bit of a struggle, so I twisted my body and was able to free an arm. A shocked expression flashed across his features before he narrowed his eyes, reclaimed the escaped limb, and pulled both my arms tight over my head, securing them in one of his hands.

“Feel free to fight and struggle, my little psychologist. It is the maniac’s influence causing this aggression in you, but I can assure you that I am not without experience in this arena. Be very careful what you ask for, my love, for you might receive it.”

I stared up into twin pools of aqua quicksand and batted my eyelashes. “I’m counting on it.”

So quick I barely registered the movement, he entwined his legs with mine, forcing them apart. I could feel his erection lying heavy against me, and I struggled to lift my hips high enough to put out the welcome mat. He ignored my invitation. Instead, he fisted his free hand in my hair, locking my head in place. Watching me with his mesmerizing eyes, he raised his upper lip, showing me his fully extended fangs.

Little moans erupted from my mouth, as my body trembled. He smiled and lowered his lips to mine. But instead of the passionate kiss I’d expected, he caught my lip between his teeth and fangs and bit down gently. He groaned as the blood flowed. The coppery liquid slid across my tongue and down my throat, driving me wild with need. “Please,” I groaned. I wanted him to touch me—to fill me—but he didn’t.

He lifted his head, his mouth smeared with my blood, and licked his way down to my breast. He began sucking roughly on my nipple, and the sensation was somehow directly connected to the hot, tingling area between my legs. “Oh, yeah. That’s what I want.“ He paused for a second, then sliced his fangs into the tender skin around my nipple and resumed sucking. I screamed. The feeling was horribly exquisite. I struggled to break free. Not because I wanted him to stop, but because I wanted to take matters into my own hands.

Even with my newly enhanced strength, I couldn’t budge him. He drew the blood from the fang holes on either side of my nipple and waves of ecstasy slammed my body. I continued to scream until no more sound came out. My throat was raw and my mouth felt so dry, all I could do was whimper.

Finally drinking his fill, he lifted his head, locking eyes with mine. A circle of red surrounded the blue-green of his irises and the colors appeared to swirl. He licked his lips slowly, his tongue darting out to catch the crimson drops lining his chin.

Jesus. He looked astounding. All that shining blond hair and dazzling eyes. Just seeing him with my blood covering half his face made me crazy. My breath came in rapid pants and I continued to attempt to twist out of his grip, with no success. He smiled, raised his hips to alter his angle, and thrust his erection deep inside me in one smooth motion. If I hadn’t been so wet it might have hurt, but under the circumstances, it felt perfect. Still holding my wrists captive in one hand, he used his other to grab my hair again. Holding my head immobile, he kissed me as if he were feasting at my mouth, pulling the life force from my body. All swollen lips and probing tongue. It was amazing.

He pounded himself into me with fierce determination, both of us making animal sounds as we pressed our lips together even tighter.

I felt an orgasm building and matched his rhythm with my hips. The ferocity of his thrusts caused a mixture of pleasure and pain. I felt his penis contracting inside me as he raised his mouth and screamed words in the strange, lyrical language he sometimes spoke. The power of his release pushed me over the edge, and I made strangled croaking noises, which was all my throat was capable of.

His pale skin appeared flushed, maybe from all the blood he’d taken from me, and his heart beat fast and loud. An almost-goofy grin slid across his perfect face. “Would you like more?”

Yes! But … maybe not right now.

The area between my legs was tender and raw. I’d had sex with Devereux more times than I could count, but his equipment had never felt quite as large before. Was it possible for a vampire to transform aspects of his physical appearance?

“I think I’d better rest a while.” I grinned up at him. “You made your point. You are the Boink Master.”

He released my wrists and rolled next to me, lying on his back. I examined, then rubbed, the red skin on my arms where he’d held me, before shifting my gaze to the nipple he’d gnawed on. The skin around it was bruised and swollen, and the tiny fang holes still oozed. There’d be a rainbow of colors by morning. I turned my head. “Geez, blondie. You really did a number on my body. I think I like this side of you. I’ll bet you have lots of sexual tricks to show me.”

He gave a lazy smile and rolled onto his side, facing me. He propped himself up with an elbow and rested his head against his palm. “I am always happy to find ever-more-creative ways to make love to you, but I wonder how wild you will wish our coupling to be after you are freed from the monster’s influence. I plan to do whatever I must to remove you from his power. Of course, I was happy with our sexual relationship before your personality changed, so you need not worry about my expectations.”

I laughed. “Your expectations? Do you believe I’ll ever be one of your handmaidens?”

He returned to lying on his back, his fingers laced behind his head. “No, of course not. But I am hoping you will respect the fact that I have been around much longer than you, and I usually know what is best for you.”

“What? Like some undead daddy?” I sat up and glared at him. “You are one arrogant son of a bitch. You think you know what’s best for me?”

He angled his head toward me. “Yes, I do. I am very old and you will have to admit that I was right to protect your home and to order you to remain there until our appointment here at midnight. My actions kept you safe from Hallow’s madness. I wish to compliment you for your willingness to trust my judgment.”

“So, you’re saying that you just tell me what to do and then trust that I’ll follow your instructions?”

“Yes. I am very powerful. I offer protection. How could it be otherwise?”

“And you think I want to be protected?”

He frowned. “Regardless of whether or not you wish to be protected, I intend to make it so.”

I couldn’t remember a large chunk of my recent past, but something about Devereux’s assertion that he’d ordered me to remain at home and I’d followed his commands just didn’t feel quite right. He seemed so confident that he could take my actions for granted. I didn’t know why that struck me as amusing, but it did.

He rolled back on top of me and smiled, flicking his long hair out of the way. “Let us not argue. All will be well soon enough. Hallow will be taken care of, your personality will return to its charming normality, and we will continue to forge our future.” He kissed me sweetly.

I enjoyed the kiss, then after he pulled away, I gazed up at him and smiled. “So, let me just make sure I’m clear on the game plan, gorgeous. Because you’re the undead Methuselah, and one of the most powerful, Tony Soprano bloodsuckers on the planet, you get to decide what I will and won’t do with my life? You’ll make my choices for me?”

“I do not know this singer Tony, but I will certainly give you the benefit of my expanded knowledge and experience. I will take very good care of you. You will never want for anything.”

Except freedom.

“Uh-huh. And what is the benefit to you for having me as your subjugated female? What’s the payoff for keeping your mate under your thumb?”

He seemed genuinely surprised by the questions. “Subjugated? Under my thumb? How could you think such a thing? You would be revered and cherished. Your life would be enhanced. But, the benefit to me of having my mate by my side is too complex a topic to discuss in your unnatural state of mind.”

“Hmmm. I see. Too complex. Well, what about when my physical body ages, rots, and dies? What’s the game plan then? Will you have me mummified and displayed in your penthouse?”

“There is a ritual.” His expression became serious. “You will be able to share some of my gifts. We will speak of it another time.”

“Does it involve me drinking your blood? Are you talking about turning me into a bloodsucker?”

He frowned hard. “I have told you it is not easy to become a vampire. It must be freely chosen. Now, no more talk of this tonight.” He rubbed his boner against me. “Are you too tender from our previous lovemaking, or shall we have an encore?”

I grinned. “I’m ready if you are, maestro, but this time I’m on top.” I rolled onto him, straddled his hips, then impaled myself on his erection. I clenched my vaginal muscles, gripped him as tightly as I could, and got a rhythm going. He planted his hands on my waist, holding me in place while he pumped his hips. He stared at me with those hypnotic aqua eyes, as his tongue played with the tips of his fangs.

I gave him my best innocent smile. “Do you want my blood, my dark prince?”

He growled and pulled my upper body down to his. His soft, warm lips plundered mine, our tongues dancing. After a few seconds, he kissed his way to my neck and bit. We both moaned as what felt like a shared orgasm built between us and exploded.

When the aftershocks quieted, I sat up and gazed down at him.

“Drinking blood must be good. Why is it that you won’t let me drink yours?”

He shifted his eyes away. “There is no benefit to you in drinking my blood. You are not a vampire.”

“He is lying,” floated through my mind in a familiar, deep voice. “Break the glass on the nearby table and cut him. Drink. See for yourself.”

Really? Well, why not?

I slanted a glance at the table and saw a small vase sitting there. I grabbed it, tossed the lone flower and its water onto the floor, and smashed the glass against the table edge. A large piece broke away, leaving a sharp corner. Without hesitation or thought, I drew the jagged edge of the vase along Devereux’s stomach and watched the blood blossom from the cut. I caught a fleeting glance of his shocked face before I bent, licked the blood with my tongue, then sucked hard on the wound.

Devereux grabbed a handful of hair and jerked my head up. Anger and fear fought for dominance in his face. “What have you done? The demon has captured your mind. Even I do not know for certain how my ancient blood will affect you.

“It could kill you.”

Chapter Thirteen

Devereux bolted into a sitting position, and I watched the broken vase sail through the air after he knocked the splintered glass from my grip. He released my hair, snarling, and recoiled as if he’d been clutching Medusa’s snakes.

I swiped the back of my hand across my mouth, smearing his blood along my cheek.

“I don’t know about it killing me, but it sure tastes like shit.” I stuck my tongue out. “How can you drink that crap all the time? Do me a favor and stake me right away if I start to turn into a vampire. I’d rather drink puréed dog turds.”

Devereux’s scowl clued me in to the fact that he was no longer in a playful mood. That was okay, because I’d started feeling weird. Suddenly, everything seemed too bright, my lips tingled, and my throat contracted, making it difficult to swallow. I could see Devereux’s mouth moving, but the sound dissolved into the abyss stretching between us before it could reach my ears. Even without the volume, it was easy to read his anger.

I pushed up onto my elbows and mumbled. My numb lips weren’t cooperating. “I think I’ve had enough fun for one night,” I muttered. “I’m going to go home … uh-oh.” My head flopped down on Devereux’s thigh. The room spun and my stomach turned cartwheels.

I must have nodded off for a few minutes, because the next thing I knew, I was loosely wrapped in the bedspread, lying in the center of the colorful pentagram etched into the marble-tile floor of Devereux’s room. Chanting bodies encircled me, their voices rumbling in a soft, monotone hum. Lit candles cast soft light and deep shadows. A strong aroma wafted from incense burners scattered around the space, reminding me of a Christmas Mass I visited as a child.

I recognized Luna, who stood next to a Johnny Depp look-alike, but the rest of the participants were strangers. Scanning the expressions on their faces alerted me that whatever the purpose for their gathering, it wasn’t good.

Devereux knelt next to me and looped something around my neck. I shifted my gaze down to see what it was. My protective necklace. He must have teleported to my house to get it.

“What’s going on?” I tried to sit up. “Why are you all standing around me?”

Devereux pressed me down to the floor with his hand on my shoulder. “No, my love. Do not move yet. My blood had a seriously debilitating effect. You have been unconscious. We have discovered the situation is much worse than I feared. Drinking from me has somehow deepened Hallow’s influence over you. We have been attempting to remove some of the psychic tendrils he thrust into your aura. The madman is more powerful than I ever imagined. I have called every master vampire, healer, and wizard available to assist. They are still arriving. We will work through the night. I will not let him have you.”

“Have me? What happened? Why do I feel so terrible? I drank your blood?” My voice sounded feeble.

He frowned. “What is the last thing you remember?”

I tried to concentrate through the cotton candy in my head. “I was at home, getting ready to do some paperwork. I’d decided to spend a quiet evening there. How did I get to The Crypt?” I glanced down again. “Where are my clothes?”

Devereux gazed at me with such tenderness that it frightened me. Almost as if he pitied me or was avoiding telling me an unpleasant fact I needed to know.

A feeling of panic overwhelmed me, and I tried to wiggle out from under his restraining hand. “Why are you looking at me like that? Tell me what happened. Am I dying?”

He gave a gentle smile and stroked his hand along my hair. “No. You are not dying. I will not let anything bad happen to you. But this is a serious situation and it is best if you return to sleep for a few more hours.”

What did he mean, a few more hours? Was he saying I’d already been out that long? I opened my mouth to argue, and met his eyes. The beautiful blue-green swirled in a hypnotic pattern and I drifted away.

I’m in a hazy, surreal, sunset-tinted landscape, standing in a white, multi-columned structure high on a mountaintop. A fragrant breeze blows through the open building, causing my white filmy gown to mold itself to my body. I stare out at the expansive horizon, mesmerized by the ethereal, magical view, breathing in the rarified air. Feeling light—free.

Sensing a presence, I shift my gaze away from the stunning scenery, and turn to the handsome figure lounging against a column.

“Ah, there you are, Doctor. It took me a while to break through all your savior’s spells and incantations. I must tell you, this adventure is turning out to be even more exciting than I expected. I had no idea Devereux had become so powerful. What a treat for me to defeat such a vampire. It’s a shame he isn’t the one I’ve come to harvest.”

“Hallow? Where am I?”

He ambles toward me, smiling, his long hair fanning out in the wind. “Mount Olympus, of course. The home of the gods. Or at least one god.”

“You’re a god?”

His smile spreads wider. “Unavoidably.”

“Why am I here?”

He saunters in a circle. “I’m preparing you to be my next lýtle.”

Wary, I turn to follow his motion. “Your what?”

“ Lýtle. It’s an Old English word. It translates as female slave, but I’ve given it much richer meaning over the centuries.”

I shake my head. “This can’t really be happening. I’m not going to be anybody’s slave. This is a delusion. A dream, right?”

He stops moving and stands in front of me. “Let’s just say it’s a dream dimension. The actual explanation would raise too many questions, and I must return you to your body before you become too attached to this reality. It isn’t your time to transition yet, but I couldn’t resist claiming you again, just to confound the magicians. And speaking of your knight in shining armor, I have masked your memories of our time together. He will not be able to sense them unless you think of them first.”

He steps close, pulls me against his body, and stares at me with his shimmering silver eyes. “I am curious about my unexpected interest in you. I hadn’t anticipated I’d find you intriguing. It seems I desire more than your blood and obedience. I’m curious about my odd reactions. It isn’t often anything surprises me.”

“Don’t you already have a harem of women who do whatever you want? Why would you want someone who would rather die than willingly submit to you?”

He laughs. “That is no doubt one cause for the fascination. It will be exciting to break you.”

He cocks his head and lowers his mouth to my neck. I feel the sharp points of his fangs slice through my skin and I groan, my knees going soft. He wraps me more tightly in his arms and I feel the pressure of his lips sucking blood from my vein. A full-body orgasm radiates through me and I writhe, gasping. He raises his mouth from the punctures and brings his lips to mine. His lips are soft and warm. They taste of my own blood, and that excites me. My heart pounds madly, my breath comes in rapid pants.

He releases me, and I stumble, grabbing onto a column to steady myself. A depraved smile quirks his lips. “I’m afraid I’m spoiling you for anyone else, my dear doctor. Fantasy sex is definitely in our future. Long and slow. But, alas, not today. Go back now. Return to your body. And remember my touch. Yearn for it.”

Feeling like I’d dived into deep water, then fought my way back to the surface, I opened my eyes. It only took a few seconds to recognize I was wearing a bright red, satin nightgown and lying on the huge bed in Devereux’s room. Soft light glowed from candles hovering in the air. I would have assumed I was still dreaming—or insane—if I hadn’t seen a similar impossibility months before at one of the vampire coven’s rituals.

Remnants of the odd dream flickered across my inner movie screen. In my mind’s eye I could still see the achingly beautiful colors flowing, one into another, along the celestial canvas. My body remembered the feel of the soft air against my skin. My eyes memorized the brilliant white of the marble columns. And my soul yearned for … what? Hallow? How could I yearn for him? No. That wasn’t possible. Even the thought of feeling desire for the beautiful demon filled me with shame. What had the murdering psychopath done to me?

Raised voices floated into my awareness, jarring me out of my reverie. Familiar voices. I lifted onto my elbows and watched Dr. Sex pace back and forth in front of Victoria, who sat in the large, throne-like chair Devereux claimed was almost as old as he was.

Since the room was apparently vampire-free, that meant the sun was up. I had no idea how long I’d been sleeping, or what day it was. I had a full schedule of clients for Monday, and I was worried I’d abandoned them.

“It wouldn’t have hurt him to listen to me for a few minutes. This is very important. I’m certain if he lets me explain my situation, we can come to a mutually beneficial outcome. I’m not used to being dismissed that way,” Tom ranted.

Victoria tried to whisper, but her anger made the volume louder than she probably intended. “You’re lucky he even let you stay here while Zoë sleeps. If I hadn’t convinced Devereux that, despite your complete and utter self-absorption, you are Kismet’s friend, you’d have had your memory altered and been on your way back to Los Angeles. Count yourself lucky that I was here to speak for your pitiful self.”

Tom flicked his hair behind his shoulder, and adopted his most pompous tone. “I’m not self-absorbed. I’m focused. There’s a difference.” He paused, planting his fists on his hips. “And why the hell can’t I get out of this dungeon? All the vampires are dead to the world—even the one everybody is afraid of. Why are there guards on the doors? What good are human guards going to be, anyway?”

Victoria stood and faced him. “Has anyone ever told you that you have an annoying habit of talking when you have no knowledge to back up your words? You ramble endlessly. Pointlessly. It’s very irritating.” She stepped closer into his much-cherished personal space.

“The guards are on the doors for Kismet’s protection, you idiot. The grotesque vampire in question doesn’t follow any rules, including being unable to function during the daylight hours. There is no limit to what he can do. He can crawl into her mind and make her behave in ways she ordinarily wouldn’t. She could try to leave. From what I’ve seen, she might even attempt to overpower us. We’re here to protect her.” She poked her finger into his chest and he swatted her hand away.

“Of course, the idea of doing something for someone else is probably a foreign concept to you, but if you want to go through with your absurd plan, you should probably pay attention to what Devereux says. No matter who turns you, you’ll still start out at the bottom of the undead totem pole. You’ll be somebody’s flunky for at least a little while. I suspect that will be a humbling blow to your astronomical ego.” She shook her finger in his face. “I barely know you and I’ve already been tempted several times to turn you into various barnyard animals. I don’t understand how Kismet tolerates you. Or Zoë.”

Tom’s voice rose in pitch. “You don’t know me well enough to speak to me that way. You’re just a receptionist or clerk, aren’t you? Where do you get off …”

Their argument was getting old. It was time to press the pause button. “Hey! You two are going to wake the dead.”

Both their heads swiveled toward me, and Victoria scurried to my bedside.

“Kismet!” She wrapped her fingers around one of my hands. “Thank the Goddess you’re awake! We were all so frightened. Nobody knew what the lunatic had done to you. How do you feel?”

Tom angled tentatively in my direction, peeking around Victoria, stealing little glances at my face.

“What lunatic? I feel fine. I don’t understand why I’m in Devereux’s bed instead of my own.” Tom still hadn’t moved any closer to me. “What are you doing, Tom? You’re acting even more bizarre than usual. Why are you hiding?”

He sidled next to Victoria, frowning. “I just wanted to make sure you weren’t going to attack anyone else like you did Devereux.”

“What?” I glared at him. “I didn’t attack anyone, especially not Devereux. Victoria, what’s he talking about?”

She turned her head and cast a frosty gaze at Tom. “As usual, he’s just yapping to hear the sound of his own voice.”

“She did attack him! Are you going to lie to her?”

I sighed. Their imitation sibling rivalry was making my head hurt. I fell back onto the pillow. “Okay, stop. Please. Victoria, just tell me. I don’t remember anything since I was in my living room, preparing to work at my desk. Did I have some kind of breakdown? Did someone spike my coffee? Did Devereux bring me here? What day is it?”

She paused, a conflicted expression on her face. “It’s Sunday, late afternoon. You’re probably afraid you missed your client appointments. Don’t worry, you didn’t. Everything’s fine. Besides, even if you had, I would’ve contacted all of them to reschedule.”

I patted her hand and smiled, relief washing over me. “Thank you for being such a good friend. So, what about the rest of my questions?”

“I don’t know how much I should tell you.” She frowned. “I don’t want to upset you or make things worse. All I know is what Devereux told me.”

I raised my eyebrows. “Well?”

She nodded. “Do you remember Devereux saying that Hallow had already begun influencing you? That you weren’t … yourself?”

“Yes. I remember he said that, but it didn’t make any sense. Are you saying that’s what happened? Hallow has been controlling me?”

“My theory is he began entrancing you when he called the radio show, and Devereux agrees with me.” A thoughtful expression crossed her face. She pursed her lips and faced Tom. “Dr. Radcliffe? Would you mind telling the guards at the door that we need human food and drink down here? Ask one of them to go upstairs with you and bring supplies.”

He raised his nose into the air. “You don’t give the orders around here. Why don’t you go?”

Victoria shifted her eyes in my direction, then to Tom. I received her silent message. “Come on, Tom. Help me out here. I really am thirsty.” I gave him my best puppy dog look.

“Yeah, sure. Don’t think I’m buying that story for one minute. I know you want to talk about me when I’m gone, but I’m used to that. I often inspire jealousy.” He stomped off toward the door.

The expression on Victoria’s face gave me a good idea about what she intended to say, so I beat her to it. “Yes. I know. He’s an ass. An insufferable egomaniac. But we’ve known each other for so long, believe it or not, he’s my oldest friend. Actually, he’s the closest thing to a brother I have—well, okay, maybe a third cousin twice removed who’d sell me to white slavers for a shot of Botox—but let’s both pretend he’s not the biggest dickhead in the universe for now.”

She shook her head. “Come on, Kismet. Level with me. How could you have lived with someone like Tom? I know he’s handsome, but didn’t he drive you insane?”

I thought for a moment. “Yes. He really did.” I grinned. “But I met him when I was in grad school, and I was young, insecure, and shy. He was already the wunderkind—the golden boy of the psychology department. I was shocked and flattered by his attention. He was so popular; I mostly just trailed around after him, allowing his life to become mine. It took me a while to realize how empty the relationship was. It wasn’t his pomposity that broke us up. It was his infidelity. He just couldn’t resist a pair of perky breasts.” I laughed. “After we broke up and I stopped pretending not to see the obvious, I actually started to enjoy him. Mostly. He’s much worse when other people are around than when it’s just the two of us. Maybe he doesn’t think I rate the full obnoxious act. Sometimes he can actually be fun to spend time with. But if you ever tell him I said that, I’ll lock you in a room with him!”

We both laughed, then became serious again. “So, what did you want to tell me?”

She scooted a chair to the edge of the bed and sat. “We both know that Devereux—delightful soul that he is—has a tendency to be a little arrogant. It never occurs to him that his view of something might not be universal. He’s convinced that Hallow’s only communications with you have come through your dreams.”

I nodded, recalling the mountaintop scene. “Hallow has been in my dreams.”

She folded her hands on her lap, nodding. “I can’t read your mind as Devereux does, but I have various psychic abilities, and my strongest gift is the same as yours: clairsentience. I simply know things. And sometimes I’m clairvoyant. That’s how I’m aware you’ve had more contact with Hallow than merely through dreams. I saw you on a stage somewhere with him, both of you covered with blood. Then I saw him again in your townhouse. I watched him bite you.” She hesitated, frowning. “That part was very sexual. Despite what Devereux might believe, Hallow seems to have unlimited access to you, no matter how many magic spells and vampire enchantments are involved. Do you remember any of what I described?”

I stared at her. The stage was probably at the amusement park. I definitely remembered that. How could I forget witnessing a murder? But I drew a blank about him being in my house.

“Yes.” I nodded, licking my very-dry lips. Anxiety twisted my stomach and I couldn’t make eye contact with Victoria. “I do remember being in an abandoned building with Hallow. He killed the radio host who’d been so obnoxious that morning. He made me look at the body. He said he’d done it for me.” I raised my gaze to hers. “But I have no memory of him being in my home. Are you sure you saw that? Maybe you were just afraid it might happen and you imagined it?”

“I wish it was my imagination, but unfortunately I’m sure. Do you remember coming to The Crypt last night and being rather … rowdy?”

“What do you mean?” I touched her arm. “Are you saying I came to the club under my own power? Why don’t I remember? Did you come with me?”

“No. I met you on the front stairs. You definitely weren’t your usual self.”

“What did I do? Pick a bar fight? Take off all my clothes?” I cringed and briefly covered my eyes with my hands. “No, wait, I’m not sure I want to know. Just tell me that I didn’t do anything to humiliate myself personally or professionally.”

She shrugged. “No fights. No nudity. You were simply … uninhibited. You did a fair bit of flirting. But there was no harm done. All of Devereux’s employees are aware of Hallow’s presence, and his effect on you.” She paused. “And I need to confess something. Nigel and I were so worried about you that we went to find Devereux and, well, I’m afraid I’m the one who said you were behaving like a hormonal adolescent. He told me he mentioned it to you, although I know you don’t remember anything that happened while you were at the club. But still.” She lowered her gaze and shook her head. “I’m so sorry. I just wanted Devereux to understand that the demon’s influence had caused you to regress to a younger, more primitive part of your consciousness, rather than have him think your normal personality had made those decisions. Do you forgive me?”

I pulled a corner of the blanket up and flipped it over my head, trying to hide from my imagined misbehavior. “Of course I forgive you.” I mumbled through the cloth. “I’m sure the label was accurate. I’m just confused. I don’t know whether to be embarrassed that everyone knows what’s happening to me except me, or happy that I didn’t do any irreparable damage.”

She tugged the blanket away from my face, and squeezed my hand. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about.” A slow smile slid across her lips. “You did seem to be enjoying yourself. You’ve got quite a way with men. You were just about to add another boy toy to your collection when Devereux showed up and brought you down here. Then, from what I heard, things got a little … out of hand.”

My heart started to beat faster. A feeling of dread trickled through my body. “Is that what Tom was talking about? Did I actually attack Devereux?”

She shook her head. “I don’t think so. Devereux didn’t tell me everything, but at some point in your … intimacies … you broke a glass vase, cut his skin, and drank his blood. That’s why you were unconscious.”

I sat up like my upper body was spring-loaded. “Holy shit. Did I hurt him?”

“No. He probably healed immediately. But you were knocked out, and Devereux doesn’t know what other effects his blood will have on you. But he did discover that, for some bizarre reason, his blood deepened Hallow’s control over you. Devereux said he could sense an even more powerful presence in your energy field. Maybe it’s because both of them are old and—who knows?—maybe old blood, is old blood.”

I stared at her, frowning, silent for a few seconds. “Is Hallow controlling me now? I don’t feel anything different. I’ve been aware of everything since I woke up a little while ago. Is he just taking a break from making me do inappropriate things?”

She shrugged. “Devereux and the others worked all night to remove as much of Hallow’s influence as possible. Your protection necklace has been strengthened and enhanced. As before, you won’t be able to remove it. It should be harder for Hallow to enter your mind while you’re awake. Unfortunately, I doubt if anyone could restrict him from your dreams. He seems to be a force unlike any other. But, for now, you’re mostly back to being the Kismet you’re familiar with.”

Suddenly anxious, I chewed on my bottom lip. “But why would I want to drink Devereux’s blood? In my right mind, I’d never do such a thing. Maybe that’s the problem. Perhaps Hallow is driving me mad. What if I reach a point where there’s no going back?”

Since neither of us had an answer to that question, we just stared at each other.

A commotion near the entrance drew my attention. Ankh, the cadaverous door vamp, held a struggling Tom aloft by the back of his shirt. “He was trying to crawl out the storage room window. I thought I’d check with you before I disposed of him.”

“Thank you, Ankh.” I laughed. “You can just leave him here.”

“Yes, indeed.” A velvet voice floated through the air a second before a golden-robe-clad Devereux manifested at the foot of my bed. “He wanted my attention. He now has it.”

Chapter Fourteen

Ankh lowered Tom slowly to his feet, then bowed to Devereux. “Will there be anything else, Master?”

Devereux smiled at the tall vampire. “No thank you, Ankh. You may return to your post.”

With a tiny pop sound, Ankh vanished.

Ignoring Tom, Devereux nodded at Victoria, gliding over to sit beside me on the bed. He gazed into my eyes a few seconds before speaking. “I am glad you are awake. How are you feeling?”

I blinked a couple of times, waiting for his gaze to trigger the familiar fuzzy sensation in my brain, but it didn’t come. I still felt normal—whatever that was. “I feel fine.”

He smiled. “I am not attempting to alter your consciousness. I was merely scanning to see if your thoughts are still encumbered.” He nodded and reached out to stroke his hand along my cheek. “Your mind remains obstructed, but I am certain I will find a way to clear away the impediments.”

His calm confidence had returned. I wondered how he’d take the news that Hallow had, indeed, gotten through his spells and enchantments. I wasn’t looking forward to that inevitable conversation, so I kept the topic out of my mind as much as possible.

My gaze fell to his ornate golden robe and I grinned.

Devereux usually dressed in high-fashion contemporary clothes. Or his bare skin. I hadn’t ever seen him decked out in such wizardry or Grand Poobah-type raiment. There were no moons or stars on the fabric, but the neckline boasted enough gemstones to finance a small country. He was as gorgeous as ever, but it was certainly a different look for him.

Did he really sleep in such a fussy getup?

He matched my grin. “My robe amuses you?”

I opened my mouth to answer and was distracted by an intrusive, repetitive sound. We all turned toward the noise. Tom had crossed his arms over his chest and was impatiently tapping his foot against the marble tile floor. “I thought you said I had your attention. It would be common courtesy for you to speak with me for a few moments. I have a serious issue to discuss.”

Devereux lifted my hand and kissed the palm. “Excuse me, my love. I must attend to an annoying detail.”

So fast my eyes registered only a blur, Devereux grabbed Tom by the front of his shirt, hefted the shocked man into the air, and locked eyes with him. Tom collapsed into a Dr. Sex rag doll. Devereux growled, his voice low. “You forget yourself, Dr. Radcliffe. You are in my world now and you have no power here. You have been allowed to remain only because you are Kismet’s friend.”

Devereux closed his eyes for a few seconds and Zoë appeared next to him. He acknowledged her arrival and refocused on Tom, speaking very slowly, anger dripping from his words. “Doctor, I have a low tolerance for nonsense, and you are fast becoming a nuisance. My staff tells me you have been frequenting my club every night, asking questions and causing difficulties. Zoë has been ordered to inform you that I no longer transform humans and, even if I did, your ridiculous reason for wanting to join the ranks of the undead would not sway me to your cause. I have also forbidden her from attempting to bring you over herself.”

I was stunned by the rage in Devereux’s voice. I’d completely missed his animosity toward Tom. I wondered what else I’d been oblivious to over the past couple of days. What the hell had happened?

Not sure what I intended to do, but compelled to do something, I leapt out of bed and hurried over to Devereux. I pressed my body against him and slid my arms around his waist, hugging him from behind. I caught Zoë’s frightened eyes. “Devereux, please. Let him go. Don’t hurt him. He’s behaving badly because he’s afraid for his future. He’s not thinking clearly. Please. I’m sure he’ll apologize for whatever he did to upset you.”

We all stood, frozen in our weird tableau for what seemed like eons, but it was really only seconds, then Devereux patted my arm. Releasing the breath I’d been holding, I felt my contracted muscles relax. I surrendered my grip on his midsection and stepped sideways. He lowered the boneless Tom to the floor. His enticing voice whispered, “Sleep,” and Tom closed his eyes, pulled his knees up to his chest like a baby, and followed the instruction.

Devereux turned to Zoë, a sharp edge to his voice. “Take him to Kismet’s townhouse and do not let him out of your sight. I am willing to be tolerant this time, but do not try my patience. He is not to visit my club or show himself in any way. Is that clear?” Zoë nodded, her lips pressed tightly together, her pale skin even whiter than usual. “Do you understand the danger to Dr. Radcliffe if you continue your attempt to transform him? You will not succeed. He will simply die.” She stared at the floor, her shoulders slumped. “Go now.”

Zoë slanted a quick and grateful glance at me, gave a slight nod, then bent to lift Tom into her arms. She mouthed “thank you” before they vanished.

I stepped in front of Devereux. “Are you going to tell me what that was about? And why you told Zoë to take Tom to my house?” I’d never seen him behave so aggressively. Maybe I wasn’t the only one splintering under the heightened stress.

Devereux shifted his gaze to Victoria, who’d waited silently during the impromptu drama. “Victoria, please make sure everything Kismet requires is brought to my penthouse. I will leave all the details in your capable hands.”

Victoria rose, smiled at me, then exited the room.

I poked Devereux in the chest with one finger. “Have I suddenly become invisible, or are you just ignoring me?”

“Come.” He grabbed my hand and tugged me over to the bed, where we both sat. “I am happy to tell you anything you wish to know.” He paused before speaking again. “Your friend has overstepped his bounds and I had to take action—for his sake as much as anyone else’s. I regret that you were distressed by our … disagreement. I had Zoë take Tom to your townhouse because it is a safe haven for him. He will sleep for hours. And, regarding my penthouse, I hope you now see the benefit of living there temporarily. Even though I can cast protective spells at your townhouse again, it is easier for me to take you to a fortified space. You will be even safer there.”

I wasn’t going to argue with him about stashing me away in his building. I didn’t remember large portions of my recent past, and accepting his plan just seemed prudent for everyone. After my discussion with Victoria, it was probable that Devereux was the only one who thought I’d be safe anywhere.

“It is good to have you back. I have missed you.” He lifted me onto his lap, smiling. I felt his warm breath on my face as he enveloped me in his arms and kissed my cheek with his soft lips.

I knew what he meant, but being curious about my other personality, I decided to fish for more information. “What do you mean? I never left. I was here all the time.”

He raised an eyebrow, apparently aware of my tactic. “Why not simply ask what you wish to know?”

I enjoyed studying his face for a few seconds, then brushed aside a few long, blond strands of his silky hair, tucking them behind one of his perfectly shaped ears. “Just tell me if I did anything to embarrass myself or anyone else in any way. Victoria said I was uninhibited. I suspect that’s an understatement. How bad was I?”

“You were not bad at all. Merely not yourself. Or, at least, not the self you normally show the world. You were very influenced by the one who tainted you. He has little regard for others. He is often crude and sadistic—a sexual predator—and you exhibited mild aspects of his tendencies. But, according to my staff, you behaved as if you were youthfully intoxicated. Nothing more.”

“That’s what Victoria said, too.” I blew out the breath I’d been holding, ridiculously relieved. “It’s very upsetting to lose chunks of memory. I feel as if I’ve crashed, and my personal black box is still missing.”

“I do not understand.” He tilted his head, and frowned. “Your personal black box? Did you misplace a black box?”

“I’m sorry.” I chuckled. “That’s an airplane reference. Since you have no need for conventional transport, you’ve probably never heard about the recording devices used on aircraft. Nevermind. It’s not important. Just a metaphor.” I kissed his chin. “So, what’s the plan? We’re going to your penthouse, right? I have clients tomorrow morning.”

He grinned, his beautiful eyes twinkling. “What is the rush?” He lifted me off his lap and tossed me onto the center of the bed. In a heartbeat, I was pinned under his body. I opened my mouth to complain about his weight, and got a mouthful of hair. I sputtered, pushing at the strands with my tongue, all the while listening to him laugh. As quickly as the sweet-smelling mane had covered my face, it was gone again. He executed a masterful flick of his head, which managed to fling his platinum veil behind him.

“Hey, are you trying to suffocate me?”

He braced his arms and feet to lift his body, lessening the pressure on my chest. “I am sorry, my love.” His velvet voice still held traces of his laughter. “That was not very romantic, was it? In the future, I will remember to tie my hair back before jumping on you.”

I inhaled the delicious scent of his skin and sighed in satisfaction. “I guess I’ll forgive you this time.” I wrapped my arms around his neck, pulled his body against mine, and tenderly kissed his warm lips.

He deepened the kiss and moaned softly.

We explored each other’s mouths, tongues joyfully caressing, as we reignited the romantic flame between us. As much as I craved Devereux sexually, I was blissfully content to press my lips to his and revel in the feel of him. For the moment, all I needed was the closeness. The touching.

Finally coming up for air, he rolled onto his side, and balanced his head on his palm, watching me, his face serious. “Kissing you is always as amazing as the first time. You cannot know how incredible it feels for me to share your life force. To lose myself in you. It is as if you were created especially for me. I am very grateful that the ritual restored you to me.”

“Well, I don’t know where I was, but I’m glad to be back, too.” I trailed a finger along his lower lip. “You certainly know how to raise my heart rate.” I laughed. “I never could resist a guy in a sparkly dress.”

He smiled. “That is the second time you have mentioned my robe. Why does it make you laugh? I wear it merely for convenience.”

Visions of a rhinestone-studded Liberace swept into my mind. My parents had taken me through the museum in Las Vegas dedicated to the flashy pianist when I was a child. I never forgot the outrageous capes and robes displayed there. I wondered if he and Devereux had the same tailor.

I toyed with the gemstones circling Devereux’s neckline, still smiling. “I guess it’s because I’m used to your tight leather, and the robe makes you look like a monk in drag.”

“Is that a bad thing?” He frowned. “What is a monkin-drag? What language is that? I am fluent in many of them, but I am not familiar with that word.”

I hooted out a laugh. Sometimes his lack of knowledge about contemporary slang created comical situations. “It’s English. Three words, not one. Monk. In. Drag.”

He appeared completely confused. “Drag? What is drag?”

“It’s just a joke. Being in drag means dressing flamboyantly like the opposite sex.”

His lips pressed into a tight line, and he raised his chin. “Are you saying my very expensive, custom-designed robe makes me look like a woman?” One eyebrow arched. He lifted the hem of the robe, gathering the fabric in his hand until it exposed his lower body. He nodded at the thick erection straining upward. “Is this the body of a woman?”

I could have soothed his indignation and doused the fire with some calming words, but the expression on his face was so perfectly outraged. So theatrically appalled. The lord and master had been insulted. I couldn’t stop smiling. I shook my head. “No. That is definitely not the body of a woman. But the fancy robe makes you look like you’re acting out the drag queen role in the vampire version of The Birdcage.”

I really didn’t want to upset him, but he had asked me why I kept smiling at his robe. If we couldn’t be honest with each other, what did that say about the longevity of our relationship? A sense of humor was crucial. Although, apparently, I could’ve been more tactful.

“What? Drag queen? Birdcage? I do not understand. No one has ever expressed such an opinion about my attire.”

I didn’t think his chin could lift any higher and still be attached to his neck. He flung the bottom of the robe down, covering himself. His eyebrows shot up. He was obviously waiting for me to apologize. Or grovel. Instead, I opted for logic.

Reaching out, I stroked my hand down his arm. “Devereux. We have to be truthful with each other. You said you want a twenty-first-century relationship with me. That means we communicate. We have differences of opinion. We can tease each other in a loving way.” He lowered his chin just enough to acknowledge he was considering what I said. “My comments about your robe were not meant to be insulting. I was being playful. You have to admit all that sparkly gold with the gemstones is rather … unusual. It just took me by surprise.” I thought a little flattery wouldn’t hurt. “I love your body in all that sophisticated leather. It’s so … you.”

He stared at me, his eyes narrowing. “Are you attempting to sweetly manipulate me, my love?”

“Maybe.” I leaned in and kissed his lips. “Is it working?”

He flashed a brilliant smile. “It would appear so. I understand what you mean about communication. So, in the spirit of compromise, I am willing to overlook your amusement about my wardrobe—in fact, I will wear other robes that are even more majestic—and you can acclimate. And, to be fair, I promise to be nude as often as possible. I would not want my gender to be in question for you in any way.”

I slid my hand over the bulge under the gold fabric and batted my eyelashes. “You know you’re all male. You’ve definitely got the alpha thing down. After all, you’re the big cheese vampire.”

“That is true.” He nodded, smiling. “And I can assure you that you have only just begun to understand how my alpha thing can benefit you.” He peeled one of the spaghetti straps of my red satin nightgown down my shoulder with the tip of a finger.

The touch sent a pleasant shiver down my arm. “Oh, yes. I like the way your mind works.” I was glad his good humor had returned.

Effortlessly, he stood, pulled the robe over his head, and tossed it on the floor next to the bed. He caught my eyes, noticed I was enjoying a slow scan of the lean muscles of his pale frame, and waited for a few seconds to allow me to complete the review. His platinum hair tumbled over his shoulders and down his chest, creating a shining veil of silk. Some men looked silly with long hair, but Devereux’s suited him perfectly. He always managed to look like the “after” photo in a shampoo commercial. He did have a vast array of soaps, shampoos, and gels in his bathroom—and they were clearly responsible for a portion of his excellent hygiene—but I’d become convinced the perfect state of his body and his wonderful aroma were by-products of his mystical transformation from mortal to undead. He’d told me once that his aroma was another vampire enticement—that humans were attracted to his fragrance and unable to keep themselves from responding. I could personally vouch for that.

He went down on his knees next to me, flicked a couple of fingers at the levitating candles, and extinguished a few, creating even softer light and deeper shadows. My attention was drawn to a drop of moisture glistening on the head of his erection.

As if drawn by a magnet, my finger slid over that pearl-drop and massaged the liquid into the surrounding skin, as I gazed up into his eyes. He groaned.

I rose to my knees facing him, lifted the gown over my head, and tossed it next to the Liberace costume on the floor. The protective pentagram necklace lay between my breasts.

We leaned toward each other, our lips meeting. The kiss started out sweet, then became more intense with every passing second, as our mouths moved together, our tongues caressing and thrusting. We embraced, pressing our bodies tightly against one another, both of us moaning. The feeling of his thickness pulsing against me was making me crazy with need, so I pulled Devereux to me as I let myself fall backward into the fluffy duvet. Still feasting at his mouth, I immediately wrapped my legs around his hips and ground myself into him.

He broke the kiss, licked my lower lip with his warm tongue, and gazed into my eyes. “The last time we were in bed together, we had sex. It was wonderful, if enthusiastic. But this time I wish to make love. Slowly. Deeply.” He’d whispered the last two words, the timbre of his voice caressing my ears.

“Well,” I murmured, “if you insist.”

It’s a tough job, but somebody’s gotta do it.

Since not all of me had been present for the last encounter, and I didn’t have any memories of my alter ego’s sexual performance, I wouldn’t have anything to compare our lovemaking to. But I was sure I wouldn’t be disappointed.

He was as good as his word. We touched and stroked each other’s bodies, using our hands and our mouths. He licked his way from my nipples down to the wet, hot ache between my legs. His tongue slowly laved my clitoris, torturing me with ecstasy, bringing me to orgasm unexpectedly. I screamed, frantically bucked my hips as he held me in place.

By the time he slid himself inside me, I was ready to explode again. Devereux seemed to have an astounding ability to remain hard for an unusually long time, his thrusts maintaining the deep, fast rhythm we both loved. Each time he shifted his angle ever so slightly, my body spasmed with pleasure. I gave new meaning to the words multiple orgasms.

Sated, he finally rolled over, which surprised me because we usually ended our lovemaking sessions with a blood donation. I heard him chuckling softly. I turned toward him, not sure if laughter was the most appropriate aftersex response. “What’s so funny?”

He lifted a hand in the air and let it drop heavily onto his abdomen. He laughed louder. “I simply feel good. As if every muscle in my body, every fiber of my being, is content, peaceful, and satisfied. If I slept like a human male, I would be blissfully snoring right now.”

Vampires don’t snore. Check. That makes sense. Breathing is required for snoring. No breathing while dead. Another fact to add to the list.

I frowned. “What’s funny about that? I’m sure you’ve been content, peaceful, and satisfied thousands of times before. I can only imagine how many devotees you’ve had at your disposal. I still don’t understand why that would make you laugh.”

He rolled over onto me and pressed his lips to mine for a quick kiss. “You, of all people, should understand, Dr. Knight. It requires a great deal of trust to feel emotionally safe enough to release all of one’s defenses and protections around another individual. I have never done it. Until now. It is a heady, addicting—unfamiliar—sensation. I have, indeed, had more sexual experiences than I can remember, but quantity has nothing to do with intimacy. I am in unknown territory with you.”

“Why didn’t you take any blood from me?” I stroked his hair. “You always do. I was ready to have a few more of those brain-numbing orgasms.”

“There is always tomorrow.” He smiled wide. “I can promise you an endless supply. You were so depleted—both physically and emotionally—that I did not wish to stress your resources any further. You need time to build up your blood again.” He kissed me. “Come. It is time to travel to the penthouse. You require sleep before seeing your clients in the morning.”

“Yes, I suppose you’re right. Should I get dressed first?”

“There is no need. The penthouse is empty, awaiting our arrival.”

He slid off the bed, scooped me into his arms, and I felt the familiar sensation of air blowing against my face. We materialized in Devereux’s sumptuous living room to find Luna standing in front of the wall of windows, staring out at the lights of the Denver skyline. She turned and gasped as we entered.

“I told you to stay away from me!” Devereux bellowed.

Chapter Fifteen

“But you must listen to me. Don’t let her ruin everything. If you would simply allow me to explain …”

“Have you forgotten to whom you are speaking?” he growled. “There is nothing that I must do. Get out of my sight and do not return until you have regained control of yourself.”

“Master, please …”

“Be gone!”

Eyes wide, Luna nodded and vanished.

Whoa. What the hell?

What was going on between Devereux and Luna? He’d always treated her respectfully—spoken highly of her, despite the fact that she made my life miserable. I’d often joked that I wouldn’t mind if she relocated to Transylvania or had a personal encounter with a sharp stake. He’d always insisted I didn’t understand her. I thought I understood the snarly bloodsucker perfectly. She was in desperate need of the vampire equivalent of electroshock therapy and some heavy-duty mood-stabilizing medications—not that any of those interventions would actually be effective with the mysterious animating systems of the undead. But since the relationship between them had always been friendly before, I knew something was terribly wrong.

Devereux’s expression was as angry as I’d ever seen it, and his grip on my body had tightened uncomfortably. Obviously distracted, he stared off into the distance, his mind elsewhere, unaware that his strong hands were pressing indentations into my flesh. I wiggled in his arms, finally catching his attention, causing him to remember he had a passenger. He gazed down, released the tension in his muscles, mumbled “Many apologies, my love,” then lowered my feet to the pristine wood floor. “Luna’s presence was an unpleasant surprise.”

It felt weird to be standing nude in the middle of Devereux’s luxurious penthouse, but I wasn’t about to say anything that might give him an excuse to change the subject. I wanted to know what had happened. “I don’t understand. Why are you so angry at Luna? What did she do?”

He gave a slow blink, then met my eyes, his posture rigid, mouth tight. “It is a long story. One I am not at liberty to share at the moment.”

I’m sure my face registered shocked surprise. “Not at liberty? You mean you’re not going to tell me?” My stomach tightened, sending alarm signals to my brain. I couldn’t remember any time since I’d known him he’d refused to tell me something about Luna. In fact, he usually seemed to enjoy discussing his minions. Whatever the secret was, it was bad.

He visibly relaxed, smiled, and floated two fingers to my breast, capturing my nipple. Pinching the tender nub, he chuckled as I twisted away.

“Hey!” I covered my breasts with my hands in case he intended to poke or prod them again in his pitifully transparent attempt to hijack my focus off the subject of Luna.

He smirked and held his hands up, feigning innocence. “Do not trouble yourself about Luna. As you have often mentioned, she is not your favorite … individual. Just enjoy her absence.” He bowed from the waist, then straightened, offering me an elbow. “Let me show you to your room.”

Step into my parlor, said the spider to the fly …

I studied his face, seeking signs of an ulterior motive, and found a mischievous angel staring back at me. One of his hardest-to-resist aspects.

I took his arm and he guided us through the absurdly large area.

Since the penthouse belonged to Devereux, of course it was stunning. But, unlike his personal area beneath The Crypt, which was filled with his artwork, magical potions, books, and mystical symbols, this huge space was sparsely furnished and had an un-lived-in look. It was perfect enough to be featured in an interior design magazine, but it felt sterile. Empty. The black leather couches and chairs created a lifeless façade of sophisticated elegance, rather like a never-visited funeral parlor or the dentist’s waiting room from purgatory. Large, abstract, silver sculptures—beautiful but soulless—sprouted from the polished wooden floors in seemingly random patterns throughout the rooms.

The window glass was invisibly tinted, shielding the interior from outside view, while leaving the panoramic vista unobstructed from the inside.

He led me into a large bedroom.

“Wow.” The last time I’d seen it, the design had been lovely but generic—everything white—but now the room appeared to have been designed with my tastes in mind. Blue was the predominant color and varying, complimentary shades could be found in every detail.

A flick of his fingers illuminated the room. He sailed his hand through the air, indicating the lovely furnishings. “I hope you like the decor. My staff worked very hard to create a welcoming sanctuary. I wish for you to be comfortable while you are here. My home is your home.”

I stepped around so I stood in front of him and raised my eyebrows. “Do you sleep up here?”

He blinked and lowered his chin, gazing down at me from beneath those dark eyelashes. The corners of his lips curled into a gentle smile. “As you will notice,” he glided toward the walk-in closet, “much of your clothing and accessories were brought from your townhouse, and various new items have been added. Please feel free to request anything additional you need.”

Very slick. He was getting absolutely too skilled at ignoring me. “Why do you always avoid answering that question? Is it possible you don’t trust me with your physical safety while you’re dead to the world?”

“No.” He turned to me, face serious. “Keeping the location of my daytime chamber unknown is simply a deeply rooted habit. Not disclosing that information to any living soul has kept me safe for centuries. I trust you implicitly, and after we are bonded, I will share my most intimate secrets. You are not the only one who must adjust to new conditions.”

His comments effectively slammed the coffin lid on the discussion. I didn’t want to talk about the bonding issue again and the fact that he brought it up probably meant he knew exactly what he was doing. I was too tired to try to figure out the next pothole on the vampire-boyfriend highway. Devereux had been right earlier when he said I needed sleep. Fatigue had begun to feel like a constant companion. If I didn’t zone out a few hours before seeing my clients, I’d be worthless.

I glanced up at his serious face and smiled. “Okay. I won’t ask you about your hiding place. It’s more fun to imagine you lying in a red-silk-lined coffin anyway. More Bela Lagosi-like. I want to take a quick shower before I go to bed. Would you care to join me?”

A mischievous glint sparkled in his eyes and he lifted my hand, kissing the palm with his soft lips. “It would be an honor, but I must regretfully decline. I have many business details to complete before the dawn arrives, and time is short. If you desire anything, simply lift any of the telephones in the penthouse and someone will satisfy your needs. I will come to you tomorrow evening when I rise. Sleep well, my love.” He leaned in, pressed his warm lips to mine, and vanished.

I chuckled as I thought about picking up the phone to have someone satisfy my needs. Just how far did Devereux’s hospitality stretch?

*

Waking in Devereux’s extravagant penthouse was a delicious experience. The potent aroma of fresh coffee caressed my nostrils, drawing me like the java junkie I was, toward the dining room. The table was spread with all my breakfast favorites. I could definitely get used to Poobah-style room service.

When I finished luxuriating in the spacious, dual-stream shower, I wrapped myself in a thick, terry-cloth robe and perused the contents of the huge closet. My eyes skimmed the familiar garments that had been transplanted from my own, humble abode, before locking on a fashion masterpiece. Hanging on a separate, portable rack, the silky, sky-blue, ankle-length dress waved hello and winked at me. Whoever selected it had read my mind. No doubt, literally. Silver threads in Celtic patterns adorning the neckline and along the sleeves, glittered softly in the light. Next to the gorgeous dress was a matching duster.

The outfit was fancier than I usually wore to work, but I couldn’t resist slipping the soft material over my head. Naturally, it fit perfectly—a slim column, encasing my body with elegant style. I didn’t have to search far to locate the matching shoes. The master certainly had taste. I spun in front of the three-sided mirror a few times, enjoying the sensation of the smooth material against my skin.

After indulging myself, I completed my morning tasks, grabbed my briefcase, and headed toward the hallway.

Feeling like I was strolling along a Paris runway, I strode to the elevator and rode the mirror-walled box to my office a couple of floors below. I’d always enjoyed my morning conversations with Victoria in the lobby, and it seemed odd to miss the familiar routine. Arriving at my waiting room entrance, I held out my key card, preparing to swipe it through the electronic lock, and found my door open a crack.

My stomach tightened. The last time I’d found my office door open, bloody carnage waited inside. Of course, that was at my old building, where the security was non-existent and underpaid cleaning personnel often left the doors unlocked. Devereux’s properties had state-of-the-art alarm systems, hidden surveillance cameras, and human and undead guards, depending on the location of the sun. In the five months I’d used the space, there’d been no problems. Maybe Victoria had opened my door for some reason.

Using one finger, I pushed the door gently. Sitting on one of the cream-colored leather couches in the client waiting area, her feet propped on the magazine table, was Maxie. She grinned when she saw me, threw her copy of Psychology Today onto the pile, and stood.

“Hey, Doc! It’s good ta see ya. Wow. Snazzy outfit. I didn’t know you were the Psychologist to the Stars. I’m impressed. If I’da known, I woulda dressed for the occasion.” She pointed to the faded black T-shirt and baggy jeans she wore. Her white hair was gathered into a braid that brushed the backs of her knees.

I was relieved to find neither a corpse nor the police waiting for me, but how the hell had Maxie gotten into my private office? “Maxie? What are you doing here? How did you get in? The door requires a key card for entry.”

“Yeah. I expected to find a receptionist or someone down in the lobby, but nobody was there.” She waggled her eyebrows. “You’d better complain to the owner. I could have been anybody. I waited around for a while, because I’d been in the building before and seen a New Age type sitting behind the desk, so I figured maybe she went out for coffee. But she was a no-show. Since your name is on the directory, it was easy to find your office. I went upstairs, knocked on the door, and noticed the key card lock. When you didn’t answer, I went back downstairs and rummaged through the reception desk to see if there was a master key.” She grinned wide. “There was. So I returned, let myself into your waiting room, and … waited.” She held out the card in question. “I imagine you want this?”

I took it, making a mental note to ask Devereux to change the lock codes. The breaking-and-entering adventure of a couple of nights ago was fresh in my mind, and I knew Maxie wasn’t above snatching more than one copy of the master key card so she could keep one. And where was Victoria? She’d never leave the lobby unattended, especially not with all the vampire weirdness afoot.

“Not that I’m unhappy to see you, but I have a client in a few minutes. Is there something you wanted to talk to me about?”

Maxie plopped down onto the couch again, her expression serious. “Yeah. I need to tell you something I heard. About Devereux.” She stared at me, obviously waiting for my reaction.

I tensed. “What about Devereux?” What could Maxie possibly know about him? It simply wasn’t possible that she’d uncovered anything dangerous, but if she had …

She jumped up and stood in front of me. “It’s too long to go into right now. Can you get away for a while at lunch?” She moved to the door, appearing agitated.

“What’s this about, Maxie? You seem nervous.”

She rested her hand on the doorknob. “Too much caffeine.”

“Come on. Friends don’t lie to friends. What’s going on?”

Her gaze slid to the floor. “I’m the bearer of bad tidings. It wigs me out.”

Bad tidings for whom? For Devereux? Mentally reviewing my schedule for the day, I argued with myself. It wasn’t unusual for me to meet clients outside the office. Being in the fresh air often calmed them. Maxie wasn’t a client, so that wasn’t a concern, but she was acting odd—anxious—and I didn’t think moving our discussion to a public location was a good idea. I opened my mouth to suggest we reconvene here at noon, but that’s not what came out.

“I can take a half hour around noon. Do you want to meet here? Or at the café down the street?”

What? Why did I say that?

“Let’s do the café.” She nodded. “I know where you mean. I don’t think we should talk here in his building.” She frowned. “I’ll see you then. Have a good time listening to the loons.”

She left and closed the door behind her.

We shouldn’t talk in Devereux’s building? What did that mean? Was she being a paranoid drama queen or did she know something? Whatever she had to say, I knew I wasn’t going to like it. But, even more important, what the hell was wrong with me?

*

“… and there he was, tapping on my window, brazen as you please.”

I slanted my eyes surreptitiously toward the clock. “What happened then?”

Shirley scooted to the edge of her chair, excited, a manic edge to her aura. She always saved the most outrageous portion of her tale for the last ten minutes of our sessions. Lowering her voice, she leaned toward me. “I opened the window. He smiled like the devil himself and climbed into my bedroom. Before I had a chance to think, I was unbuttoning my nightgown. The lustful demon must have taken over my mind, because I’d never have shamed myself without his satanic control.” She thrust herself back against the couch cushions and wrapped her arms around herself. A visible shudder quaked through her body.

“How did you shame yourself, Shirley?” I used my most soothing therapy voice.

Her chin quivered as she tried in vain to resist the memory. “I let him have his way with me,” she whispered, sobbing in earnest now. She swiped the back of her hand under her runny nose, spreading slime along her cheek. Jutting her chin into the air, her voice becoming louder, she rocked back and forth. “I didn’t try to stop him. I didn’t fight him. It was all my fault. He told me so himself. I’m a bad girl. A very, very bad girl. I must be punished.” Tears streamed down her face.

Recognizing the glassy-eyed stare indicating a self-induced regression, I angled my chair close to hers, plucked a couple of tissues from the nearby box, and gently patted her arm.

“Everything’s okay, Shirley. You’re a wonderful girl. You didn’t do anything wrong. Here, let me wipe those tears away.” I took the opportunity to clean her nose as well as her face, and curled her fingers around the remaining tissue. “You’re safe now, Shirley. No one can hurt you. No one can make you do anything you don’t want to do.”

She turned vacant eyes to me. “He was a monster, you know. A bloodsucking demon waiting to sneak into my room. I can’t sleep because he’ll come again. He always comes.”

I nodded and spoke softly. “He can’t come anymore. He’s dead, Shirley. Your father is long-dead. He can’t hurt you ever again. Do you believe me?”

She nodded, scraping her lower lip with her teeth. “What about the aliens? Are they going to abduct me again?”

“No. The aliens won’t return, either. But you’ve got to promise you’ll take your medication every day. It helps to keep the monsters and aliens away. Will you promise?”

An innocent expression flowed across her sixty-five-year-old face, and she smiled sweetly, appearing childlike. “I promise, Dr. Knight. You take such good care of me.”

I met her eyes, letting her see the compassion in mine. “It’s my pleasure. I’d like your permission to call your daughter later today to talk about your medications. Is that okay with you?”

Tilting her head, she thought for a moment, then smiled again. “That’s fine. My daughter is such a good girl. No vampires or aliens will ever hurt her, will they, Dr. Knight?”

“No. She’s safe and well.”

She eased the tip of her tongue along her dry lips, and I slid my gaze toward the water cooler. “Would you like some water before you go?”

She stood and flexed her hands, which had been contracted so tightly the veins popped out. “No, thank you. I’ll see you next week.”

I rose and walked her to the door. “Shirley. You can call me if you have a bad night before our next appointment. I’m always here for you.”

She smiled and left.

I went to my desk, jotted some notes in her file, thinking about Shirley’s delusions and her horror-filled childhood. As was often the case, her psyche compensated for the painful trauma by creating metaphorical fantasies—frightening non-ordinary males who invaded her life and assaulted her body. Beings who overpowered and victimized her.

Vampires had nothing on sadistic bastards like Shirley’s father.

*

The café was busy with a line snaking out the front door. I started by being polite—asking the people blocking the doorway to please excuse me. When that didn’t work, I began pushing my way through and managed to get inside the actual restaurant with only a tender arm to show for my exertion. I searched the area for Maxie, who was so much taller than most of the other people milling around in the restaurant that she was easy to spot. I headed in her direction and met her coming toward me.

Instead of greeting me and taking me to our table, she grabbed my arm, pulling me behind her, as she plowed through the swarms of people back toward the entrance. She bulldozed a path and stopped once we’d reached the sidewalk in front of the café.

“Hey, Doc. Good ta see ya. You’re lookin’ righteous today. Love the blue outfit.” She shook her head and pointed over her shoulder. “This place is a madhouse. No place to sit. There’s some kind of meeting going on—Adult Children of Fucked-Up Alcoholics, Vegetarians, Alien-Abducted Cross-Dressers or something. Let’s head out. I know a place where we can have a private conversation.”

That’s the second time she’s mentioned my clothing. She’s definitely acting strange.

I glanced at my watch, sensing increasing nervous energy radiating from Maxie. “Where’s this place? I have a client in forty-five minutes. Maybe we should just stop at a deli, grab a sandwich, and talk in the park.” I shaded my eyes from the sun and scanned the horizon. “It would be great to sit outside for a while. The weather’s perfect.”

She tugged on my arm again as she motored down the sidewalk. “Naw. I need a beer and the dive we’re going to is filled with low-life scum, which is appropriate for our topic of conversation.”

What? Low-life scum appropriate for our topic? What the hell did that mean? Was there even a dive bar in this trendy part of town? I’d never had any reason to know the answer to that question and I was even less interested in finding out now. I tried to wrench my arm out of her grip with no success. For a moment, her fingers seemed to be made of iron. “Maxie. I don’t want to go to some crappy bar. I’ll wind up smelling like cigarette smoke. Some of my clients are allergic to it.”

“Nope.” She mimicked smoking a cigarette. “No cig smoke. Haven’t you been paying attention? Almost the entire state of Colorado is smoke-free now. It’s illegal to light up anything in public. Although I can’t promise you won’t emerge wearing Eau de Low-Life.” She laughed at her own joke and took a right turn into what appeared to be an alley, navigating us rapidly down the surprisingly clean passage.

I summoned all my strength and jerked my arm out of her grip, coming to an abrupt stop. “Maxie, cut it out. No shit. I really don’t want to go to a bar. I need to go back to my office. What the hell is wrong with you?”

She turned to me, obviously angry, staring off in the distance for a few seconds while she struggled to calm herself. “Okay. Have it your way, Doc. I thought you might need a drink after I tell you my news. I’m clumsy with this friend stuff, but I just wanted to be supportive. I meet a lot of my sources in that bar, so I’m a familiar face and they leave me to my business. Plus it isn’t likely we’d run into any of Devereux’s flunkies in that kind of shit-hole.”

The alley was in the shade and the lack of the sun’s warmth caused me to shiver. Of course, the chills also could’ve been triggered by the creepy, somewhat sinister ambience of our off-the-beaten-path location. My solar plexus tightened and a headache, previously poking my eyeballs with a screwdriver, picked up a jackhammer, spread out, and got serious. I was feeling more annoyed by the second. Being surrounded by so many domineering people was getting very old. Did I have a sign on my back that said, “Nice person, take advantage”? My voice held a layer of frost. “Well, what’s the big announcement? I can’t imagine you could have heard anything about Devereux. He’s a very private man.”

She raised her chin and crossed her arms over her chest. “I wonder how well you really know him. Rich guys have a tendency to think they own the world—that they can do whatever they please. And mostly, they can. I just happened to be at The Crypt, interviewing a vampire wannabe who hangs out there, and I overheard a couple of goth types talking about a dangerous guy who’d come to town. Sounded like they were talking about a hit man. Anyway, one said he’d heard Devereux hired the killer. Seems there’s some bad blood between the gorgeous rich guy and one of his managers—a woman named Luna—and Devereux hired the thug to erase his problem. They said it wouldn’t be the first time he had someone killed.” She paused, studying my face. “I’ll bet you didn’t know any of that stuff about your private man.”

My stomach clenched with anger. I pressed my lips together and matched Maxie’s arms-across-her-chest stance. Why the hell did she feel the need to repeat ridiculous rumors about Devereux? Was she trying to upset me? Was she jealous that I had an in-town romance? She kept mentioning his money—did she fantasize about snagging a wealthy fish?

But right behind the anger was distress, as I allowed the possibility that her assertions were accurate to wash over me. The mention of trouble between Devereux and Luna made my head hurt. He had been treating her harshly as of late. I’d noticed it several times. He couldn’t possibly have hired Hallow to kill Luna, could he? No. I refused to believe Devereux could hide something so important from me. But strangeness was definitely afoot. Did he want me to stay away from Hallow so I wouldn’t stumble onto the truth? Was that why he went nuts every time he discovered the psychopath in my thoughts? I shivered. If Devereux could lie to me like that, then I didn’t know him at all.

My face must have reflected the emotional roller coaster I just rode, because a self-satisfied smile spread Maxie’s lips.

“Well, well.” Her arms relaxed to her sides. “I see my little news flash didn’t come as a complete surprise to you.” She paused, frowning. “Hey, I know it’s not my place to be asking a psychologist questions like this, but if Devereux is doing anything to you physically, I hope you’d trust me enough to tell me.”

I experienced a moment of confusion before her meaning sank in. With the realization, my eyes opened wide, brows lifting. “Doing anything physical? Are you talking about violence?” I shook my head. “Devereux would never do anything to hurt me. In fact, he’s …” Once again, I almost spilled my guts to Maxie—disclosing the bizarre universe I lived in and its undead inhabitants. Either she was one helluva good reporter, or my boundaries were ruptured.

She leaned in, her eyes riveted on mine, smelling a story. “He’s what?”

I heaved a sigh, overwhelmed by the information Maxie had supplied and my emotional reactions. “He’s very gentle and loving. Overprotective, in fact.”

Unless I’m deluding myself.

“I don’t have to tell you that isolating and dominating the woman is part of the cycle of abuse.” She pursed her lips, shaking her head at something she must have seen on my face. “Don’t get more pissed off, but that’s not the only time I’ve heard something negative about Devereux. It’s common knowledge that he’s a powerful figure. Dangerous mobster eye candy. So far, nobody’s been able to come up with any firm evidence to link him to organized crime. But it’s only a matter of time.”

Organized crime? Holy shit, is she tuned to the wrong channel.

I smiled. “Devereux isn’t a mobster.”

Maxie smirked and raised one eyebrow. “And you know this because … ? Wait, I know. Because he told you. The standard line. Damn. So even a psychologist can be taken in by a great face and a hot body.”

I was tempted to defend Devereux—and myself—but there was no point. Since I couldn’t disclose the truth to Maxie, the explanation she’d come up with was as good as any. “You can think what you like. He isn’t abusing me, and I’ve seen nothing to lead me to believe he’s involved in organized crime.” I paused, adding some razor blades to my tone. “Not that it’s any of your business, but right now, we’re simply enjoying each other’s company. We’ve made no commitments for the future.”

At least I haven’t.

An emotion resembling sadness shadowed her eyes. “Okay. I get it. It’s none of my business, but I care about you. Don’t shoot the messenger, here. I’m just trying to be a friend. Yeah, I’m doing a fucking bad job of it, but I’m trying. I told you about Devereux because I don’t want you to get hurt.”

I’d been holding myself so tightly that the circulation in my arms had gotten cut off. I shook my hands to restart the flow. I studied Maxie, trying to determine if she was playing me for future journalistic reasons, or if she really cared. I was usually good at reading people—at sensing whether someone was telling the truth or not. But Maxie had been a challenge from the moment I’d met her.

She was either the best actress in the world, or I’d put my foot in it. Since I hadn’t made the best decisions lately, I decided to give her the benefit of the doubt. “I appreciate that. I’m not mad. I want some time to process everything.” I checked my watch again. “I’ve really got to go. Next time, no mystery. If you have something to tell me, just blurt it out as you usually do.” I turned to leave.

“Hey, Ethel,” Maxie hollered. “Are we still friends?”

“Yeah, Lucy,” I yelled over my shoulder. “We’re still … something.”

Chapter Sixteen

“… And I’m wearing a black silk teddy underneath this gorgeous dress. Would you like to see?”

The visual was so potent, I had to pretend to cough into my hand to cover the smile that quirked my lips. “No, thank you, Kenneth. It’s great that you gave yourself permission to act on your desire to cross-dress. That’s a huge breakthrough.”

He looked up at me coquettishly from beneath theatrical-grade false eyelashes and gave a shy smile. “Are you sure? I know we’ve only talked about my fantasies up until today, but I brought all my clothing and supplies with me—just in case I had the nerve to become Dolly, my alter ego—and, at the last minute, I dashed into the bathroom down the hall and changed.” He laughed. “And I mean really changed.”

It was easy to smile at the mild-mannered bank executive who now sat before me dressed as Dolly Parton, and not merely because of his costume. He’d only shared his secret a few weeks earlier, and since he got such pleasure out of his solitary pursuit, I was glad he’d come out of the cubicle. He simply enjoyed going through the ritual of applying makeup, putting on his huge blond wig, and stuffing his two hundred pounds into a form-fitting, sequined, low-cut outfit. We hadn’t yet discussed where his interest might lead.

“How does it feel to be Dolly?”

His face lit up. “It feels amazing. But I’m not wearing all the props today. When I’m home alone, I paste on long, red fingernails and I use them as guitar picks to play my acoustic. Just like she does.” He slid his hands under the drooping fake breasts and lifted them with a sigh. “I need to find a much better bra. Dolly is very well-endowed and most undergarments simply aren’t up to the task.”

“I’m sure you’ll find what you need. Maybe Victoria’s Secret would be a good place to try.”

Does Victoria’s Secret lingerie come in husky?

I eased my gaze to the clock on the wall. “But we’re out of time for today.” We both stood and he extended his hand for me to shake, as he always did. “I really appreciate you letting Dolly come today. It meant the world to me.”

I wouldn’t have missed it for anything. A little lighthearted relief in the midst of bloodsucking madness. I should be paying you.

“The session was powerful, Kenneth. I’m very proud of you.” I noticed he wasn’t carrying anything, and wondered where his “regular” clothes were. “Did you leave your business suit in the restroom?” I smiled. “Your employees at the bank probably aren’t quite ready to meet Dolly yet.”

He chuckled. “Yes. All my stuff’s in the bathroom.” He pressed one hand to his bulbous breasts, fanned himself with the other, and spoke with a high-pitched Southern accent. “Gosh, golly, I hope it’s all still there!”

I walked him to the door, smiling. “See you next week.” He wobbled down the hallway on his size-twelve stiletto heels.

A two-hundred-pound Dolly Parton with a moustache and goatee definitely qualified as the highlight of my day so far. But the sun hadn’t set yet, so who knew what the vampire portion of the program might offer?

*

Haunting harp notes floated from invisible speakers in the elegant elevator as I rode downstairs to the lobby. After updating Kenneth’s case file, I’d wandered restlessly around my office, unable to settle—fretting about Victoria. It wasn’t like her to abandon her luxurious domain. True, I’d only known her since moving into Devereux’s building, and in my line of work I was used to uncovering hidden aspects of people’s personalities, but I trusted my sense about her. Even if I disregarded my intuition, according to the vampire grapevine, her dedication and sense of responsibility were legendary. She’d said she was fiercely loyal to her friends, and I knew she counted Devereux among that number, so she simply wouldn’t leave his building unattended.

Something bad must have happened. I couldn’t shake the feeling that she was in danger.

Victoria’s large, beautiful, hand-carved desk sat like a forlorn, abandoned ship in a sea of imported marble. Thanks to the nocturnal requirements of most of the building’s tenants, the lobby was often semi-deserted, but Victoria’s absence exaggerated the emptiness. Her work station was the nerve center of the realm. Devereux counted on the clever witch to keep his mysterious universe functioning while he sequestered himself away during the daylight hours. He’d mentioned once that discovering Victoria was an even bigger workaholic than himself was an unexpected bonus. She thrived on juggling multiple projects, and had even shown up for work once covered with fur from a spell gone bad.

My heels clicked on the polished floor as I approached her vacant desk. I paused for a moment, staring through the floor-to-ceiling glass framing two sides of the lobby, appreciating the soft light reflecting off the peaks of the distant mountains as the sun retreated. A rush of heat suffused my body and everything slowed. Victoria had once explained an experience she called stepping behind the veil—entering a time out of time. She said her coven often created sacred space for spell casting, and there was a distinct sensory trace left behind by the ritual. For the first time, I understood what she’d been talking about. Not even one car drove through my line of sight on the busy road. As I centered myself in that odd stillness, my heart began to race and my stomach tightened with anxiety.

Fear.

The very air in the lobby seemed saturated with it.

Had Victoria left an energy echo for my benefit?

I circled the desk, studying the clutter of papers covering its usually pristine surface. Her favorite mug—which read, “My other car is a broom”—sat half-empty on a napkin, next to a partially eaten muffin, and all of the drawers were open to varying degrees. Someone had obviously been rummaging for something. I had a sudden recollection of Maxie saying she’d gone through Victoria’s desk, searching for a key card. Had she caused this mess? Was she that thoughtless? The distasteful possibility sat heavy in my chest. I really liked Maxie, but could a reporter ever be trustworthy?

Without thinking, I sat in Victoria’s chair and immediately sank into her energy. It surrounded me like warm water and I closed my eyes, dropping into the powerful vibe. Strobe-light visuals flashed through my mind like fragments of an LSD trip. None of the pictures made sense, but even though I couldn’t focus on the content, I was certain the scenes were about Victoria. The imagery was chaotic—surreal. Darkly occult. Whether I was picking up her old memories, or receiving information about her current whereabouts, I had no idea. But regardless, it felt ominous.

We needed to find Victoria.

Maxie was right about my tendency to drift away with my eyes open, because by the time I blinked to rouse myself, the sun had gone completely behind the mountains and the orange-pink light show had morphed into red-purple.

The coming of the night meant gearing up for the arrival of my first sanguinary client of the evening. Since they transported themselves directly into my office, I usually tried to be present to greet them. I shook my head to clear the cobwebs and scooted the chair back to rise. As I grabbed the edge of the desk, my gaze locked on a long hair stretched along the scattered white papers.

I lifted it, letting it dangle down in front of my face. “Damn! I could make a hair sweater out of all the strands I shed in a single day.” Then I looked closer. My hair was long—even curly it hung halfway down my back. This hair was a similar color to mine, but much longer. And straight. I held it by both ends. If it wasn’t mine, it wasn’t Victoria’s—her mane was golden—and it wasn’t the snow-white of Maxie’s, then whose was it?

A memory of Hallow leaning against a white column in my dream floated into my awareness. His hair had been blowing in the breeze. His very long, dark hair.

No. I tensed. The murdering psychopath couldn’t have gotten into the building. Hadn’t Devereux said it was magically protected? I couldn’t allow myself to believe Hallow had anything to do with Victoria being missing-in-action, because if he was involved, the possibilities were too horrible to imagine.

I glanced at the ever-darkening sky, wrapped the long hair around my finger, and hurried to the elevator. I pressed the button for my floor and closed my eyes, concentrating on sensing whether Devereux had risen yet. Damn him for not telling me where he spent his days. He knew I had clients this evening, so he wouldn’t stop by right away. How was I supposed to tell him about Victoria?

“What about Victoria?”

I sagged with relief at Devereux’s velvet voice in my mind, and almost threw myself on him when he appeared in the elevator, wearing his normal dark leather and a light green silk shirt. I wrapped my arms around his waist, crushing my cheek against his chest for a few seconds, breathing in his spicy fragrance. He held me close. It felt wonderful to touch him. I hadn’t realized how frightened I was for Victoria and how much I needed loving, physical contact. “She’s gone. Something awful has happened. I can feel it.”

Rallying from my mini-panic attack, I remembered what I’d found, released my grip on him, and backed up a step. I held out my finger, and unwound the dark strand. “Here. This was on her desk. Her morning tea and muffin were only half-finished, and everything was a mess. Someone had rifled through her papers.”

Face serious, he lifted the hair from my hand and studied it, silent. Then he rubbed it between his thumb and first finger. “There is no life force present. This hair did not come from a mortal.”

“It’s Hallow’s hair. I’m certain.”

His eyes narrowed as he raised them to mine. Strong negative emotion radiated from him. He spoke slowly, his voice low. “And how is it you are certain of this?”

Psychic abilities weren’t necessary for me to sense he was working hard to control his anger, and I considered taking another step back, but decided to hold my ground. Devereux was probably going to blow a fang because I hadn’t told him about the dream where Hallow declared himself a god. But none of that mattered now. All that was important was finding Victoria. Alive and well.

My lips had gone dry and I had to lick them before I could speak. I didn’t think any explanation would satisfy him, but I pressed on. “It seems logical, because when I found the long hair, I remembered dreaming about him after you held the ritual for me in your room beneath The Crypt. In the dream his long hair fanned out in the wind, and it’s too coincidental to find such a hair on Victoria’s desk when she’s gone missing.”

He appeared deceptively calm but his energy had sharp claws. “And why did you not inform me of this dream? We spent hours together last night. You had ample opportunity to share this information with me.” He paused, his features tightening. “Is it because you enjoy your time with him?” He tilted his head, studying me.

Startled by his intuitive question, I cleared my throat to give myself a few seconds to regroup. “No! Of course not.” I gazed into his beautiful turquoise eyes, and recognized pain—and disappointment—there. “I just didn’t want to talk about Hallow anymore. I didn’t want you to get upset again—like you are now.”

The elevator had long since stopped at my floor, the doors gaping. Devereux turned, stepped out into the hallway, and extended a hand to me, frowning. “Come. See to your client. He is in your office. I will take care of everything else and we will continue this discussion later.”

I opened my mouth to ask another question and he vanished.

I walked slowly to my office door, my stomach churning. I’d forgotten to tell him about Maxie using the key card to get into my office and her theory about him hiring a “hit man.” He’d been so upset, maybe I simply hadn’t had the courage to raise more issues.

But was he right about Hallow? Was it true? Did I enjoy my time with the madman? I couldn’t deny that studying such an ancient vampire was intriguing. When would I get such an opportunity again? But was that all? Were my motives only professional? For some reason, even thinking about Hallow caused my nipples to harden. Victoria said she’d seen us together at my house, and that it was sexual. Had I been with Hallow and didn’t remember? Was that why my heart pounded at the thought of him? Was it a simple attraction to a handsome male, or was this beyond my control? Devereux said Hallow made women desire him like addicts craved heroin. Was the madman still manipulating me? It was terrifying to think that he might be able to control me again. Had he planted thoughts of himself in my psyche? How much freedom of choice did I really have? Who was in charge of me? I shook my head at the strangeness of those questions.

*

I passed through the waiting room and into my office, plastering a pleasant smile on my face. Every light in the room was blazing. A small, thin man sat huddled at the far end of the couch. He had the same haircut he’d originally gotten in elementary school in the 1940s—parted on the side, hair slicked down with Brylcreem—and, even though he appeared to be in his thirties, he’d never developed socially and psychologically beyond late adolescence. He was afraid of everything. Or, at least he believed he was. He reminded me of the death-obsessed, young male character in that quirky, old film Harold and Maude.

“I’m so sorry to have kept you waiting, Jerome. I’m glad you made yourself comfortable.” I closed the door and sat in my chair. I swept my personal problems off my mental table and focused on my client. The grad school professors who’d trained us to cultivate a dispassionate professional mask would be so proud of me now—even if they’d never envisioned this particular clientele. But was I proud of me? I used to be so pleased at my ability to emotionally disengage. Now I found myself distressed by that same skill. I was certainly changing, but was that a good thing?

“Is the hypnosis helping your fear of the dark? Are you still keeping a light on in your coffin while you sleep?”

Jerome visibly shuddered. His large brown eyes stared, unblinking, from his pale face. “The hypnosis isn’t helping yet. I keep telling myself that I’m not afraid of the dark, but myself isn’t listening. So, to answer your question, yes. I am keeping a light on. In fact, I saw a portable lamp on television that runs on batteries, so I sent away for several. They’re working great. Since my coffin is the extra-large size, I can pretty much stay in there all the time. Except for when I need to get blood, of course.”

“Yes.” I nodded. “I suppose you could stay in your coffin all the time, but that wouldn’t help your agoraphobia. But let’s talk about how you acquire blood. Are you still ordering pizzas and feeding on the delivery people?” His expression told me what I needed to know. I couldn’t figure out why the pizza restaurants didn’t notice their drivers always returned in a dazed state from one certain delivery address. Jerome must be better at entrancing humans than he let on.

He lowered his gaze to the floor and mumbled. “Yes. I know I promised I wouldn’t do that anymore, but I get so hungry. I don’t kill anybody, honest, but I can’t go out, Dr. Knight. I try to make myself, but my legs won’t work. Even though I live in a perfectly good basement apartment in one of the master’s buildings, most days I can’t even make myself get out of my coffin. I think my depression is getting worse.”

“But you’ve told me you’re capable of transporting yourself through thought. Why don’t you simply do that? Is it easier to hide?”

He frowned, pouting.

Poor Jerome. We revisited the same emotional territory every session. Psychotropic medications simply didn’t work on the undead, so all I could offer were behavioral techniques—which hadn’t been very helpful so far. “Do you want to get better, Jerome? Are you happy with the way your life—er, your existence—is?”

He sat silent for several seconds, then raised sad eyes to mine. “You know I never wanted to be a vampire. I’m simply not equipped for this kind of life. I was always a morning person. My stepfather only bit me to get rid of me. He thought I wouldn’t survive the transition.” He swiveled his head toward the window. “I wish I hadn’t. I’m miserable.”

Shit. Where’s Maude when I need her?

Since none of my usual interventions were useful, I felt justified in grasping at straws. “Jerome, is there anything that would make you happy? Something you could get excited about? Life without a purpose—for mortals or vampires—can feel empty. Is there anything that you have passion for? Anyone?”

He turned to me, an odd expression on his face. “I’ll tell you if you won’t get mad.” He pursed his lips. “You aren’t going to like it.” His voice sounded even younger than usual and he seemed to physically shrink into the cushions of the couch.

“Tell me,” I said gently. He was treating me like his mother again, which was normal in therapy, but I needed to figure out what had triggered the transference.

“I am passionate about figuring out a way to end this terrible existence.”

I nodded. “Well, if you’re feeling miserable, I can understand wanting to relieve the pain.” I paused. “Have you figured it out yet?”

Does he have a plan to off himself? Is it even suicide if the person is already dead? How could I stop him, anyway? There’s no 9-1-1 to call. No undead suicide hotline. I’m not trained for this!

He seemed suddenly agitated, shifting his gaze back and forth between the carpet and my face. “I think so.”

The air became thick. My stomach tightened, and goose bumps prickled my arms.

Holy shit. What’s going on now?

“What are you doing, Jerome?”

He stood and moved with vampire speed, looming over me, effectively trapping me in the chair. I tried to slide off the seat and onto the floor, but he jammed one of his legs between my knees. “You probably don’t know what Devereux said he’d do to anybody who hurt you. He was quite graphic about providing a quick and non-negotiable death. I’m sorry to involve you in this, because you’ve been very nice. I’ve enjoyed our time together, but it’s the only way. I just can’t take anymore.” Dark red replaced the brown of his eyes, and his fangs descended. “And, to be totally truthful, I’ve had a few passionate fantasies about you, too.”

Fear tackled me. My heart pounded; sweat broke out under my arms. “Stop, Jerome! Don’t do this. I can help you. Things really can get better, please!” I pushed ineffectually against his chest, feeling his breath on my neck. Just as his teeth scraped my skin, he was suddenly gone—lifted away from me.

“I hate to interrupt this tender moment, but that had to be one of the biggest piles of melodramatic bullshit I’ve ever heard.” Hallow laughed, holding the struggling Jerome in the air by the back of his shirt. “I suppose I could be a good sport and turn this pitiful specimen over to Devereux for disposal, but I’m just not a team player. Killing is so rewarding. I never waste an opportunity to revel in the thrill of the slaughter.” He nodded toward Jerome, who was making high-pitched keening sounds as he flailed his arms and legs. “This whining sot is a blemish on vampires everywhere. He’s not even fit food. And besides, Devereux’s off following the trail of crumbs I scattered for his benefit. If I recall, he’s never gotten into the spirit of the hunt. Always taking the joy out of everything with his lofty philosophies. What good is it to be a vampire if you’re not going to be the meanest predator on the block? I like to set a bloody example.”

Hallow grabbed a fistful of Jerome’s hair and jerked my attacker’s head to the side with such force—and so quickly—it was ripped away from his body, making a wet, bone-crunching, sickening sound. Blood arced in all directions. I gasped as the thick, red fluid hit me in the face.

I screamed, frantically wiping at the blood dripping down my nose.

Hallow watched me for a few seconds, then gave an evil grin. “I always have such fun when I’m with you. It’s a pity we can’t leave today, but I have responsibilities to take care of. I’m sure you understand.” He glanced down at his hands, chuckling, as if he was surprised to find himself holding two parts of a ravaged vampire. He threw Jerome’s body on the floor and raised my former client’s severed head aloft, staring up at it. “Do you want this as a souvenir? After all, the unfortunate boy was just about to commit suicide by draining the therapist.”

He angled Jerome’s bloody head over his open mouth, drinking the dripping liquid. Crimson streams spread down his face, through his hair, and onto his shirt, saturating the dark fabric. He enthusiastically licked his lips, fangs glinting menacingly from between them.

The horror of what Hallow had done upended my brain and I sat, numb, staring. A ragged portion of Jerome’s spine protruded from the torn skin and I felt my head spin. Knowing I was in shock and dangerously close to throwing up, I lowered my head between my knees and tried to breathe. I heard something hit the floor with a squishy crunch as the gleeful monster laughed. I shifted my gaze just in time to watch Jerome’s head roll against the toes of my shoes. I groaned.

“I keep forgetting what sissies humans are. One unexpected beheading and you’re reaching for your barf bags. Let’s get you some air. I prefer your natural, sweet-smelling aroma.”

He lifted me from the chair, balanced my limp, nauseated body in his arms, and transported us to the rooftop patio. Along with everything else about Devereux’s building, it was both lovely and utilitarian. Motion-sensing lights illuminated the space, which wasn’t really necessary since the moon hung low in the clear sky, only a couple of days past being full.

I’d just opened my mouth to demand he release me, when he did exactly that. My feet found the floor and I steadied myself, staring at the bloodied monster who stepped in front of me.

“Blood agrees with you, Kismet.” He grinned. “It brings out the blue of your eyes and the ivory of your skin tone. Of course, your beautiful dress is damaged beyond repair.” His silver eyes glistened. “I hope it didn’t have any special significance for you.” He stroked his hand down my breast over the silky, ruined material. It didn’t take a huge mental leap to understand Hallow knew the garment had been a gift from Devereux. Disgusted, I recoiled from his touch, jerking a step back. “Get your hands off me, you murdering bastard,” I croaked through the fear contracting my throat. My voice came out thin and high-pitched. Hallow’s energy felt suffocating.

His grin expanding, he grabbed my upper arm, hauling me closer. “I don’t think I will. As much as I enjoy your keen mind—and you know I’m looking forward to exploring your abilities—it’s probably time to shift to the next level of my plan.”

I tried, without success, to free my arm from his grip. “You’re not exploring anything about me, you homicidal psychopath. I’m not participating in any of your sick plans. You’re a delusional monster.”

His eyes wide, he shook his head, adopting an expression of innocence. “Is this my thanks for keeping the irritating boy from tearing your throat out? Name calling? My dear doctor, I would’ve expected much more gratitude and subservience. Oh, well. It’s clear I have my work cut out for me.” His eyes narrowed. “You will make a marvelous lýtle.” He leaned in. “And perhaps more.”

I kept struggling, but his fingers were steel. The crazed maniac stared at me with his cold, silver eyes, and I felt my awareness fragment. His hypnotic orbs locked on mine, pulling like a magnet, enticing me into his dark aura. My knees buckled. Only his grip on my arm kept me from falling. One part of me remained conscious of the fact that I was on the roof of Devereux’s building, held prisoner by a killer. But another part—the one with the hard nipples and damp crotch—eagerly dived into the mercurial lure of his gaze, unable to concentrate on anything but the need to feel his hands on me. I was sentient enough to understand my level of danger, but unable—or unwilling—to turn away.

He held me tight against him, fisted his free hand in my hair, and tugged my head back, exposing my neck. The smell of blood was strong.

“Soon, your only purpose will be to serve me. You will do so willingly—craving me above life itself,” he whispered, his mouth against my ear, the words sending rushes of pleasure down my body.

Almost painfully aroused, I groaned, surrendering the use of whatever bones still remained. The sane part of my brain frantically screamed, “No! I don’t want this! Stop!” But the inmates had taken over the asylum.

Want this.

His soft tongue licked down my neck before he plunged his fangs into the rich vein pulsing there. I screamed with the beginnings of a powerful—almost overwhelming—orgasm that rumbled through my entire body and bombarded me with chaotic emotions. As the pleasure intensified, my muscles spasmed, shaking me violently, as if I were having a seizure.

I never wanted it to end.

Loud voices startled me from my orgasmic dream. I opened my eyes—which I hadn’t realized I’d closed—to find several vampires in a circle around us. I tried to focus my eyes and hadn’t even had time to wonder if Devereux was there, when he leaped on Hallow, grabbing him from behind.

I collapsed onto the floor.

Chapter Seventeen

I lay boneless on the ground. Orgasmic aftershocks reverberated through me while my brain smoked a mental cigarette.

A series of clamorous noises finally penetrated the fog in my head. I turned my gaze toward what sounded like rabid wolves fighting over a deer carcass, and goggled at the sight of Devereux and Hallow locked in immortal combat.

Their mouths were stretched in lethal snarls, long, sharp fangs exposed; silky hair flying.

In the face of so much preternatural insanity, all I could think about was how beautiful they both were.

I rolled onto my side and raised myself into a sitting position. Even that small movement was harder than it should have been. It was as though my muscles had forgotten their programming, or the bridge between the thought and the action had been washed away in the unnatural, hormonal flood.

The lustful part of me—or the hormonal adolescent, as Victoria called her—still quivering in the afterglow, wanted to leap into the fray, seize Hallow, and force him to pierce my neck again with his paroxysm-inducing fangs. She was annoyed that her good time had been interrupted.

But the logical part—my Inner Psychologist—was scowling, arms crossed.

A temporary impasse. My psyche was at war with itself again, and I wasn’t sure which part of me would prove to be the victor.

No telling what would have happened if I hadn’t gotten distracted. One of the vampires in the circle—a male I hadn’t seen before—reached out to help me up. I stared at the pale hand for a few seconds before grabbing onto it. I didn’t hesitate only because he was a stranger, or because I was busy having a lust-instigated psychotic break, but also because I wasn’t sure my legs would hold me if I managed to become vertical. His hand was unpleasantly cool and I released it as quickly as I politely could, giving him a nod of acknowledgment. I had a momentary thought about how it no longer seemed unusual or frightening to me to be surrounded by vampires. That couldn’t be good.

I backed against the railing and gawked at the spectacle.

Inhuman growls, snarls, and hisses erupted from the fighters, the bizarre sounds causing a temporary itching sensation on my skin—like hundreds of tiny bugs crawling on the surface. The unpleasant sensation wasn’t too much of a surprise, since I’d witnessed copious evidence of the ability of a vampire voice to elicit pleasure or pain.

Watching them was very exciting for one part of me and terrifying for another. Devereux and Hallow tore at each other’s throats, carving bloody gashes that immediately healed, only to be ripped open again. God-like zombies. One second they wrestled on the ground, then the next they levitated in the air, before smashing one another savagely into the nearest wall. I’d never seen anything as viciously, primitively violent. Their shirts were shredded and discarded.

In the midst of the carnage, Hallow laughed, which obviously incited Devereux. With renewed vigor, he wrestled his opponent to the ground, displaying impressive skills and power. A flash of confusion shadowed Hallow’s face at Devereux’s surprising abilities. Watching the two of them, muscles straining and rippling across sculpted shoulders and chests, was confusing. One part of me found it arousing, but my more rational aspect—the one who couldn’t imagine life without Devereux—was terrified that the ancient monster might prevail. I gasped in fear.

My inadvertent sound must have distracted Devereux, causing him to shift his gaze to me and to lift his hands from Hallow’s neck, where he’d been gouging at the flesh of the madman’s throat. In that instant, Hallow vanished, reappearing next to me. That was odd. Couldn’t Hallow transport himself while Devereux focused on him? Was it Devereux’s physical touch keeping Hallow from blinking from one place to another? Or was it Devereux’s attention?

Hallow shook his head, blood spraying from his long hair like water shaken off a wet dog, and spoke in a booming voice, “What marvelous entertainment you’ve provided, Devereux. I can’t remember when I’ve had such a rousing time. I look forward to our next rendezvous, but I have much to complete before ending my work here.” He grabbed my hair and pulled my face to his, pressing his lips forcefully to mine before releasing me just as abruptly. Lust donned her party dress and grabbed her coat, ready to check into Hotel Hallow, while the other—cautious—part held a metaphorical bucket of cold water at the ready.

Devereux sprang to his feet and growled, recapturing my gaze, chanting in the strange language he used when working magic, as he stalked like a dangerous predator toward us. Hallow bowed from the waist and laughed again, pointing at me. “I will leave her in your care for a while longer.” He raised an eyebrow. “If she’s willing to stay. But don’t get too comfortable. She’s mine now.” He disappeared.

Enveloped in a strange fugue, I had the odd, dissonant sense again—the schizophrenic need to be with Hallow and to run from him. My two conflicting parts jockeyed for position while arguing in my head. Having two, clear aspects take center stage was definitely new. And frightening. I’d always been aware of—and comfortable with—my inner cast of characters. Like everyone, I had certain characteristics that dominated my psychic landscape. But my sub-personalities usually took turns sitting in the driver’s seat. I now had two pilots in my consciousness cockpit, neither wanting to relinquish the controls.

I had to believe the compassionate, wise part of me would find a way to triumph. All other outcomes were unimaginable.

Victoria’s description of my behavior at Devereux’s club—and my inability to remember the time in question—was classic dissociative amnesia. That was bad enough. But this was different. I was fully aware of both parts of myself, and their differing agendas. I feared I’d detoured onto the entrance ramp to madness.

Looking like a bomb-blast victim at a cover model convention, Devereux studied me for a few seconds before flicking his fingers in a dismissive gesture at his companions. “Leave us.” They did.

His clothes were torn and bloody, his hair coated with thick red liquid, but his body showed no physical damage from the undead brawl he’d just participated in. He put his arm around my waist and propelled me toward a wooden bench against a brick wall. When we sat, I slumped against him, mentally and physically exhausted.

Lust strolled over to a shadowy corner of my psyche and stood waiting, an amused expression on her face. She let me know she wasn’t going anywhere, but she would allow me the illusion of control. For the moment. I wondered what would happen if I couldn’t retain my portion of our joint reality. Would she simply take over my whole personality, or would the entire structure collapse?

I shifted my gaze to Devereux’s serious profile. Lust peeked over my mental shoulder to leer at his glorious, bare chest before she retreated back to her patch of darkness, laughing.

“What the hell just happened?” I raised my fingers to the throbbing bite on my neck and they came away bloody. Touching the wound caused my body to spasm dramatically, as if the memory of the orgasm was still there, eager to rejoin the party. Devereux grabbed me, steadying me on the bench. I held my breath, waiting for my alter ego to do something outrageous, but she only watched, impish smile in place. What was she up to?

Devereux smoothed a strand of hair from my cheek. “The demon has reestablished his influence over you. I can sense the chaos in your mind, but your thoughts remain obscured.”

I shivered—either from the cooling temperatures of the evening or in reaction to Hallow’s bite—and Devereux lifted me onto his lap, holding me tight against his chest. “Come. We will return to the penthouse.”

“No. Not yet. Let’s sit here for a moment and enjoy the night.” I didn’t want to go back inside the building. The fresh air felt good in my lungs and the open sky gave me a sense of normality. Whatever that was. Lust stepped forward inside our shared mind, tapping an imaginary watch on her wrist. What the hell was that supposed to mean? How bizarre was my mental meltdown going to become?

If I survived having two, radically different personalities, I’d never question my dissociated clients’ accounts of their experiences ever again. I wondered if Dr. Jekyll had to consciously live through the exploits of Mr. Hyde.

Devereux rocked me gently for a few seconds before he spoke again, his cheek resting against my hair. “I must accept full responsibility for what has happened to you. I refused to see what was clearly in front of me. I knew Hallow was powerful and that he used his wiles to ensnare women, but I believed my vampiric abilities and magical skills could keep him in check. He is more dangerous now than he was the last time I encountered him. I was overconfident and you have paid the price.” I started to sit up, and opened my mouth to assure him I knew he’d done everything he could, but he pulled me close against his body. “Wait, please. Let me finish.” I shut my mouth and relaxed. He obviously needed to talk. “Victoria shared some of her concerns with me about Hallow. She spoke of her visions—how she had seen Hallow in your townhouse and on a stage of some kind with you. She said she saw him bite you. I was so certain that my spells would protect your home, that I did not consider the possibility that Hallow is not subject to any rules—human, vampire or magical. Even after she shared her insights, I did not take action quickly enough.” He was silent for a few seconds. “I am angry because I do not know how to protect you from his malicious intentions. In all my eight hundred years I have rarely been bested. It is a bitter fruit to swallow.”

He went very still, his breathing and heartbeat growing faint. I knew those human-like functions were under his direct control, and I wondered if he’d simply forgotten about them.

Hoping to break whatever introspective spell he’d woven around himself, I spoke louder than necessary. “Can I sit up now?” In his intensity, he’d been holding me so tightly, I was sure there’d be bruises on my arms.

He released his grip, shook his head, and heaved a huge sigh. “Yes, of course. I apologize. Once again, I have behaved obliviously. You must truly think me a thoughtless cave dweller by now.”

His heart jolted back to life in his chest, and I could feel his breath against my hair. He’d told me he only bothered with things like breathing when he was around me or another mortal. I appreciated his efforts, because I certainly took breathing for granted and didn’t think I was ready for him to constantly remind me of his corpseness. There was no need for me to give him any lectures about his previous arrogance, or his tendency to gently bulldoze, because he was being harder on himself than I would’ve been, so I tried to lighten the mood.

“Oh, yes. You’re a regular Fred Flintstone.” I laughed.

“Fred Flintstone?” He lowered his voice and locked eyes with me, as if the topic warranted the utmost seriousness. “Is he one of your clients?” Articulating the words very clearly in his antiquated manner, he invested them with great importance. I laughed. How he’d managed to become the successful billionaire he was, functioning in the modern century, was a mystery, since his education about anything he didn’t consider pertinent was meager. But I guessed someone of Devereux’s age and temperament might find society’s focus on the superficial to be uninteresting.

He obviously doesn’t have a television in his coffin.

“No. He’s a cartoon character. But that’s not important.” I knew he was going to take offense and ask if I thought he was one, and I didn’t want to go there. “I don’t think you’re a thoughtless cave dweller, although if you’d asked me that a couple of days ago, I might have given you a different answer.”

He recognized the humor in my face and smiled. “Yes. And I would have deserved it.” His expression became serious again. “I have since discovered that Hallow created the trouble between the two vampire covens I have been attempting to resolve. His mind control abilities are second to none. He knew exactly how to distract me, and I was a fool to allow myself to be manipulated. In my mistaken belief that, as the master of the largest coven in this part of the country, I was the only one who could settle the dispute, I walked right into his clever ruse. It is true that the covens were in need of mediation, but only due to his intervention. I should have realized this much sooner. And I should have been more available to you. I should never have left your side.” He kissed my forehead.

My therapeutic lecture on the parental roots of the tendency to “should” oneself sprang to mind. Apparently I couldn’t ever stop being a therapist, even in the midst of a psychic brain split—but I didn’t think he’d appreciate the unofficial counseling session. He was being so sweet and beating himself up so badly, I thought it was time for me to own up to my own participation in the problem. Damned ethical training.

“Well, as fascinating as your self-flagellation is, I have to admit I didn’t make it easy for you to remain by my side. And I didn’t listen to you when you said Hallow was influencing me. I had no idea what you meant then, but I do now. I wasn’t aware of his ability to force me to forget my logical, practical self, and to become a more primitive aspect of my nature. I didn’t realize he was a literal monster until I watched him kill the radio show guy in front of my eyes.”

He went still. His relaxation immediately morphed into rapt attention as his body adopted a rigid posture. “What do you mean? When did you witness such a thing?”

The cool air—and the energetic buzz of Devereux’s impending anger—was becoming uncomfortable and I needed a few minutes to organize my thoughts. For the first time I noticed my feet were bare and wondered what had happened to my shoes—as if my brain needed something simple to focus on. “If we’re going to have that discussion, I want to go back inside.”

Without a word, he gathered me into his arms, stood, and transported us to my bedroom in his penthouse.

I expected him to launch right into demanding to know how I’d seen the radio host die, but he surprised me by smiling and changing the subject. I didn’t know what to make of the rapid mood shift. But since I was currently the Queen of Split Personalities, I didn’t see how I could point any fingers at him.

His gorgeous eyes twinkled. “We are both blood-covered, which I am sure is a greater burden for you than for me. I am, after all, very comfortable with the familiar substance.” He gave a dazzling smile. “Perhaps we should discard our soiled garments and shower before we continue our discussion.”

No matter what else is happening, a guy is always a guy.

My eyebrows shot up. “Is that your way of asking me to have sex with you? In the midst of all the insanity we’re dealing with? After the fight you just had?” Lust drew my attention by jumping up and down, clapping her hands. She started unbuttoning her blouse, a wide smile on her face.

I thought he’d make a lighthearted remark, perhaps toss out a double entendre, but he became serious again—almost sad.

“At this moment, I am at a loss to know how to proceed. I want to keep you safe, yet short of holding on to you physically, I am without options. I will, of course, strengthen your protective necklace—which, by the way, is probably the reason the lunatic was not able to completely take you over again tonight—and cast all the appropriate spells. I will station vampire guards at every entrance, and I have ordered the building’s security heightened in every way. The truth is that I need to reclaim you. Physically. Emotionally. And I need to find myself again. I know that sounds primitive and like something Fred Flintstone would do.” He grinned when he said the last. “But I need to rebuild our emotional bond, to soothe my own yearning as well as protect you. And, yes”—the brilliant smile was back—“of course I always want to have sex with you.”

Gazing up into his sparkling aqua eyes and blood-clumped, platinum hair, I couldn’t help but smile back at him.

“So, this would be sex for magical purposes?”

He gave a brief nod. “It could definitely be considered such.”

“Some men would be too upset after the evening we’ve had to concentrate on sex.”

He gave a slow blink, the corners of his mouth curving. “I am not a man. I am a vampire. A very old vampire. Rest assured that concentration will not be a problem.”

His tone of voice played along my body like warm hands. Butterflies fluttered in my stomach. At that point it didn’t matter which part of me was rolling out the welcome mat. Our nipples were hard.

The scientist part of me remembered that I’d often had discussions with clients about the difference between male and female sexuality, and how men felt most connected during the sex act. Devereux needing to reconnect that way made total sense. As always, his self-awareness was impressive, and his ability to share himself with me emotionally was one of my favorite things. How could I resist such a perfect male? Even if he was a chest beater on occasion?

“Well, then.” I gave what I hoped was a come-hither look. “I wouldn’t want to be accused of not holding up my end of our emotional bond. I guess I’ll have to suffer through another glorious Devereux orgasm. Only in the name of soothing you, of course.” Maybe he was more brilliant than I thought. Was he suggesting sex to positively distract me?

He threw back his head and laughed, the sound tickling over me like soft feathers, as he walked us into the lovely bathroom. “Of course.”

Lowering me to my feet, he cocked his head. “Your beautiful blue dress is ruined. That is another score I will settle with the demon. A replacement will be arranged.” He bent down, grasped the hem of my dress, and began tugging it up my body. I raised my arms in the air, letting him pull what was left of the masterpiece over my head. He dropped it on the floor, leaving me standing in my blue silk bikini panties, matching bra, and protective necklace.

With an easy motion, he tugged off his boots then unbuttoned the waistband of his black leather pants, staring at me as he slowly lowered the zipper. As I watched the downward movement, it occurred to me that another possible reason Devereux always wore leather was so blood could be easily cleaned off the surface. I wondered if I’d have to add more leather to my own wardrobe.

He slid the pants down his legs and kicked them aside, covering the short distance between us. His tall, muscular body was beautiful. Even dirty and blood-covered, he was breathtaking. I let my gaze meander down his chest, and over his flat stomach, finally reaching the thick, long erection jutting from between his legs. It was blissfully unconcerned about any vampire or human melodramas. It knew exactly what it wanted, and my hand moved on its own to grant its wish.

Devereux groaned as I stroked his penis. He wrapped his arms around me, the fingers of one hand effortlessly unfastening my bra in the back. I closed my eyes and a sharp pain radiated from between my brows. I gasped, my body trembling. Devereux jerked back from me, staring, his face a mask of concern. “Kismet? What are you doing? What has happened?”

I smiled. Or at least it felt like me. It was my body, but the drivers had switched seats. Or, more accurately, they still shared the seat, but the positions had been rearranged. The psychologist couldn’t reach the brake pedal or the steering wheel anymore. The part I thought of as my usual self was still present, but she’d been pushed aside and could only observe. But I was clearly both.

“Love buns!” I threw my bra on the floor and stepped out of the panties. “It’s so good to see you. I thought my ball and chain would never get things rolling. Come to mama.” I dropped to my knees, sucked Devereux’s erection into my mouth, remembering the joy of licking a Popsicle as a kid. He grunted in surprise. I used to like to shove the whole frozen treat into my mouth, creating a vacuum with my lips and tongue. If I’d only known what those lazy summer days were preparing me for.

I’d barely gotten a good suction going when Devereux yelled, “Stop!” and wove his hand into my hair, grabbing on and holding me immobile.

I mumbled, “Wha—?” through a mouthful of penis and relaxed my jaw muscles just enough for him to slide his erection through my lips as he backed away.

He released my hair and loomed over me, scowling, the family jewels still at eye level, slightly out of reach.

“Hey! What did you do that for? I was just getting warmed up!”

Devereux spoke slowly, his voice almost a growl. “Return her. Now.”

I shook my head, plopped my ass onto the cold floor, and sprawled, opening my legs to make sure he understood the offer. “No way. I’m out and I’m staying out. You can’t stand there with a hard-on the size of a giant redwood and tell me you don’t want to have some fun.”

He smiled and bent down, his blood-soaked hair falling forward in clumps.

Well, damn. That was easier than I expected. He wants me bad. “All right! Let’s have some fun.”

Too fast to see, he hefted me into his arms. “I said return her. Now.”

“So, Rhett Butler. Playing hard to get, eh? Well, have it your way.” I wiggled free of his grip, grabbed onto his neck, and planted a wet kiss on his luscious mouth. Before he could dislodge me, I managed to chomp down on his lower lip, sucking hard on the small cut I made.

He swung me onto my feet and wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, smearing the line of blood dripping from his lower lip. He glowered. “No. I will not help him strengthen his control. You will not taste my blood again.”

I folded my arms across my breasts, pouting. “What’s a girl gotta do to have a little fun around here? What kind of badass vampire are you, anyway? Afraid to share a little blood. It isn’t like you can’t just go out and get more. What’s the problem?”

He leaned in, locking eyes with me. “Return. Her.” His voice vibrated dark and low. “Now.”

I gasped as a wave of heat flowed through my body. Closing my eyes, I had a vision of Lust, walking naked—hips exaggeratedly swaying—through my inner landscape. She turned and spoke, “Don’t even think this is over. I’m not finished with him. Ciao for now.” She laughed as she skulked off into the shadows.

Forcing my lids open, I stared up into Devereux’s eyes.

“Is it you?” he asked.

For the first time in my life I didn’t know how to answer that question.

I blinked, licking my dry lips. “That was awful—like being locked behind a glass wall in a soundproof room. Is this how it feels to go insane?” A weak smile quirked my lips and I grasped the hand he offered.

He held me close. “Are you all right?”

“I don’t know how I am.” My arms circled his waist. “I’m pissed that some ancient monster was able to splinter my brain and cause me to lose control. I’m terrified that I’ll never be myself again and that things are only going to get worse—that I’ll lose everything about myself I value. I feel powerless—like a frightened five-year-old. I want to run and hide, but there’s nowhere he can’t find me.”

Devereux tightened his embrace. “I will not let him have you. I swear it. Do you remember any of what happened?”

I mumbled against his chest. “Every moment of it, but only as an observer. I didn’t get to feel anything directly.” I let go of him and stepped back, giving a weak smile. “I appreciate you saying no. It was bizarre watching her trying to seduce you. I know she’s me, but that aspect is usually mediated by the rest of the team. Raw. Primal. It really was like having my id run wild. I don’t even want to think about the kinds of professional and personal trouble she can get me into.”

“Is there anything you can explore as a therapist that might help you remain in control?”

I shook my head absently. “I’m not aware of anything like this in the psych literature … well, wait a minute.” I paused, holding my index finger in the air. “I do remember reading a popular novel—what was the name of that book? Oh, yes, Sybil—about a multiple personality patient with one alter who was aware of everything. She was present. Watching. Remembering everything for all of them, while other aspects blacked out when they weren’t on center stage. Hypnosis was helpful in that case.” I walked in tight circles in the large bathroom, ideas sparking, speaking more to myself than to Devereux. “Maybe Tom could hypnotize me. He’s pretty good at it when he’s not being a pompous ass. What if the wild part is suggestible enough to be modified?”

Devereux gently grasped my upper arm, freezing me in my tracks. His expression was both incredulous and concerned. “You want to entrust your mind to someone who wants to become a vampire so he can be a pornography star?”

I raised my hand and patted his cheek. “I know you don’t have much use for Tom, but he is a talented clinician—underneath all his narcissistic idiocy. I’m willing to try anything that might keep Hallow from dragging me farther into his psychotic hell.” Thinking about Hallow caused my body to contract in fear and tingle with excitement all at the same time. Frowning, I gazed up at my avenging knight. “What did he do to me? How could he possibly have caused this mind split?”

Devereux shrugged in frustration, shaking his head. “He is incredibly powerful. And completely mad.” He touched the protective pentagram necklace. “As I mentioned earlier, I believe he was unable to take you over completely due to the power of the spells in this talisman. So, instead of entirely replacing your normal personality with a more uninhibited version, as he did before, this time he could only give the primitive equal footing.”

I didn’t think the footing was equal. I thought her feet were huge and getting bigger.

Chapter Eighteen

Devereux adjusted the water temperature in the luxurious dual shower while I tried to sense whether my inner troublemaker was revving up for an encore. My body—our body?—was exhausted, and the last thing I wanted was to be pushed aside again while the Fellatio Queen forced herself on my man, er, vampire. Not to mention that thinking of myself in the third person was becoming too weird for my brain to deal with.

He slid one panel all the way open in the expanse of etched glass. “Shall we?”

When I hesitated, he raised an eyebrow in silent question.

I pressed my palm against his chest, simply needing to touch. “Are you sure we should shower together? I don’t want to do anything to tempt her into reappearing. She seems to lack boundaries around men, and I’ve had enough surprises for one day.”

“You are safe with me.” He lifted my hand and kissed my knuckles. “I will give her no cause to overwhelm you. I have complete control over my body and its reactions.” I glanced down at his still-flaccid organ to find out if it believed what Devereux said about control. He smiled in reassurance. “Tonight is about comfort and safety. We have plenty of time for lovemaking after our current … problems … are dealt with. There are many other ways for me to express my love. Allow me to soothe you.”

Even though he said he still couldn’t read my thoughts, I wasn’t sure I believed him, because everything he’d said was exactly what I needed to hear. If he truly was unable to read my thoughts, then he was much more perceptive and intuitive than I’d imagined.

I nodded, stuck a hand in to test the warmth before stepping into the large enclosure and sighed with pleasure as the just-hot-enough water flowed down my body.

Devereux joined me, closed the shower door, and stood under the second stream.

Wonderful aromas filled the air as he lathered his hair with shampoo, then smoothed rich, liquid soap over his body. The smells were earthy—spicy. His signature fragrance. Simply inhaling the scents relaxed me. I enjoyed watching him run his hands over the hard muscles of his lean frame.

I was fascinated by his lack of erection. Even as he washed his genitals, his penis didn’t so much as twitch. In all the time I’d known him, I couldn’t remember one instance where we’d been naked together and he’d remained unaroused. He smiled as he caught me checking.

“I told you I have complete control over every aspect of my body. Just as I am able to remain erect for long periods of time, if I desire, I am also able to choose not to rise to the occasion, so to speak. And now, if you will indulge me, I would very much like to wash your hair.”

Oh, yeah. I love this part.

He stepped behind me, reached for the bottle of my favorite shampoo on the shelf, and poured the thick gel into his hands. I moaned before he even touched me, remembering the last time he’d used his magic fingers to massage my scalp. Muscles I hadn’t even realized were tight, relaxed, and my jaw sagged. My head tipped back against his chest, and he chuckled as he tilted it upright again.

“It is good to feel the tension leave your body.” He spread the lather through my hair before piling it into a soapy clump. His amazing thumbs pressed little circles toward the base of my skull and along the back of my neck. When he focused on the area between my shoulder blades, I thought my bones would liquefy and spiral down the drain.

“I’ll give you an hour to stop that,” I mumbled. Whatever he’d been doing with his fingers ceased and I groaned, thinking he’d misunderstood my comment. Sometimes modern humor sailed over his head. Then I smelled the scent of my own bath gel and realized he’d simply switched from my hair to my body. He smoothed the aromatic soap down my arms, and onto my hands, massaging each finger. Ordinarily, that would make me very happy, but I was still concerned about my uninvited visitor’s reaction.

“You are tense again, and it does not take a mind reader to understand why.” Devereux twirled me and I automatically gazed up into his beautiful eyes. “While I cannot clear away what he has clouded, I can use my gaze to keep you in a state of pleasant relaxation. You will be completely aware and totally in control of yourself. Merely too comfortable to allow worries or memories to upset you. Would you like me to do that?”

The idea was appealing, but I’d spent enough time under someone else’s control recently. It made me doubt even Devereux’s intentions. “Just relaxation? And it would keep my wild companion at arm’s length? I could become a basket case again any time I want to?”

“I swear it.” He nodded. “And, because I wish to ask you questions about the comment you made regarding the radio show host, the more calm and relaxed you can remain, the better.”

My solar plexus tightened even thinking about my time at the amusement park. I stared harder into Devereux’s eyes, trying to discover any hidden agendas or ulterior motives, and found none. “Okay. Since even the thought of talking about that subject makes me nervous, and I don’t want to invite my alter ego to the discussion, go ahead. Zap me.”

He laughed. “That sounds like a word some of my young friends use to describe their victories or defeats with one computer game or another. Perhaps I will simply caress you with my gaze. Much more appealing, yes?”

I had to smile at that. “Yes. Much more appealing.” And before I could even wonder what his visual caress would do to me, my muscles relaxed and a delicious warmth spread along my skin. “Oh, you’re good. Very, very good.”

His lips spread in a dazzling smile. “I have heard that before.”

I intended to lift my hand to swat him for his cockiness, but that seemed like way too much work. Instead, I moaned as he smoothed bath gel around my breasts, heading lower. Feeling his hands on my breasts was wonderful, but I didn’t have the urge to jump on him. He was right about my still being aware, yet unconcerned. If he could bottle that gaze, he’d make millions. Oh, wait. He already had millions.

He rubbed the skin around my nipples with such tender dedication; I had to take a quick peek to see if any of his relaxed muscles had regained their tension. Nope. Still soft and dangly.

I closed my eyes, reveling in the sensation of his fingers sliding the gel along my body, and made whimpering noises as he briefly stroked a certain spot. Too bad I was so relaxed, because otherwise I’d encourage that finger to stay right where it was for just a few more seconds.

“So, as I spread the soap over your body, and you feel safe and calm, you may tell me about the death of the radio host.”

I opened my eyes and smiled at him. “That’s some pretty smooth hypnosis there, my nightwalking guardian angel. Maybe I could just have you hypnotize me instead of Tom. Your methods are certainly much more fun.”

He grinned. “I have had years of experience using my abilities and skills to create desired outcomes. I discovered early on that using certain words and phrases in conjunction with the power of my vampiric voice was an elegant—and effective—tool. But, while I would not choose Tom as my clinician of choice for any purpose I can conceive of, he might be better suited to your needs this time. After all, I have no psychological training and I am not willing to take chances with your well-being.” He deepened the intensity of his gaze and another wave of heat rushed through my body. “As you feel even more relaxed, you may now tell me about the radio host.”

Slick, Fabio. Real slick.

The words poured out as he massaged my body with his soft hands and shot sporadic laser bursts of vampiric eyeball voodoo to enhance my relaxation. I told him everything I could remember about what happened after he left my townhouse: my discovery that I could move through thought, Maxie’s visit and my decision to go with her to the alleged vampire staking, the creepy amusement park, the events inside the fun house—including Carson’s murder, Tom’s unexpected arrival and pitiful tale, and waking up in my living room chair, naked.

It felt like I’d been talking for hours, but my skin hadn’t pruned—which always happened when I spent too much time in the water—so we couldn’t have been in the shower as long as it seemed. When I finally finished my tale and took a deep breath, I noticed Devereux had switched from smoothing the soap to using a soft washrag to wipe away the lathery remnants. I’d been so distracted and relaxed I hadn’t even felt the difference.

He discarded the cloth and held my face in his hands, his expression solemn. Love filled his soft eyes. “I am very sorry I did not comprehend the gravity of the situation. Even if you had wanted to tell me about any of those experiences as they were happening, I was not available to you. I do not even know if I could have read your thoughts during that time period, because I did not try. I deeply and humbly apologize.”

“Uh …” Well, damn. Losing the ability to speak while staring up at Devereux’s sublime face hadn’t happened for months. Before I got used to his outrageously good looks and powerful vampire vibe, I frequently found myself reduced to monosyllables. Maybe it was the eyeball-induced relaxation or the cumulative effect of all the metaphysical and preternatural madness, but the neurons in my brain refused to fire.

He gave one of his slow blinks, and the corners of his lips quirked up. A mischievous angel. “Does that mean you accept my apology?”

I mentally threw cold water on myself, and quickly shook my head to clear the cobwebs. “Yes, of course. I just spaced out there for a moment. More tired than I thought. I apologize, too.”

“You have nothing to apologize for. Being under the influence of the lunatic meant you had less choice about your actions. It is he who will be sorry.” He paused, staring out through the shower glass, as if he were listening to something. “We must dress and prepare for the rest of the evening. Our guests have arrived.”

Guests? Immediately more alert, I pivoted to stare through the glass, expecting vampires to pop into the bathroom. Nothing but empty silence. I quickly rinsed the shampoo from my hair and added conditioner to tame the tangled strands. Devereux slid the door open, stepped out, and extended a hand. I frowned up at him. “Guests? You didn’t mention anything about guests. What’s going on? Is this another ritual?” As adorable as Devereux was, his idea of acceptable activities often bordered on the absurd, and I wasn’t ready for another trip down the yellow brick road.

“I have invited some powerful vampires to assist me to raise power, both to protect this penthouse and your office, and to surround you. I also instructed Zoë to bring Dr. Radcliffe so that he can hypnotize you if you wish. Perhaps it would be good for you to have an old friend near you.” He smiled. “A human friend—such as he is.”

“Thanks for that.” I slid my hand down his chest. “I know he’s a pain, but he’s a familiar pain.”

We wrapped ourselves in soft, large towels and walked over to the expansive, multi-sink vanity stretching out along one wall. While Devereux used the dryer on his shining, platinum hair, I bent over, squeezing the moisture out of my curls with a smaller towel. It was weird to be doing such normal, human things with a vampire. The first time I’d watched Devereux brush his teeth I was fascinated. I guess I hadn’t thought about the undead having dental hygiene routines, but it made sense. How did one get rid of blood breath?

The towel covering my body fell away as I leaned into the mirror to finish putting on my makeup. I felt Devereux’s gaze on me before receiving verification in the mirror. He met my eyes, a wicked expression on his face.

“Don’t look at me like that, or we’ll never get out of here.”

He chuckled and turned to me as he brushed his long hair. “Oh, yes, I meant to ask about the reporter you mentioned. Maxie. She must be quite a unique person for you to befriend her so quickly. What is it about her that caused you to let down your guard? You are usually more reserved and introspective about new people.”

Reserved and introspective were understatements. Sometimes the intensity of unfamiliar energy was so overwhelming, I exhibited all the symptoms of Social Anxiety Disorder. It wasn’t that I didn’t like people—there were many therapists who didn’t—or even that I was afraid of them. No. It was more that I couldn’t shut them out. I couldn’t turn off my emotional radar. Being constantly bombarded by a continuum of feelings was oppressive. But he’d asked a good question. What was it about Maxie? Why had I let her in?

For some reason, I’d been dreading this discussion. What did I want to tell him about her? What did I really know about the crazy woman? If her “organized crime” theories were any indication, she obviously didn’t have a very good opinion of him. I probably should have mentioned the journalistic speculation about the source of his wealth and power, but I couldn’t. I wasn’t sure why.

“Maxie is a character. Sort of wild and crazy. I never know what she’s going to do next. Since I’m more reserved and structured, maybe that’s her draw for me—someone to nag me out of my comfort zone.” I grinned and glanced at him. “You’d probably like her. She’s very beautiful. Tall and built like a swimsuit model.”

He paused in his hair brushing and raised an eyebrow.

“But the main attraction is her knee-length white hair.”

“White hair? I somehow got the impression that she was a young woman. Perhaps your age.”

“Yes, she is. She said something caused her hair to turn white overnight. But since that can’t really happen, I’m assuming there was a trauma at some point, severe enough to trigger physiological changes. She hasn’t shared the secret with me yet.”

He dropped his towel, which was highly distracting. “I imagine a powerful situation would be required to change a mortal’s hair that way. I know of cases where physical transformations have occurred due to magic, but I am sure there is a less mystical explanation for your friend’s situation.” He turned to face me, his tall, muscular frame reflected in the various mirrors. I felt the need to fan myself.

“Please excuse me for a moment. I will transport to my room on the other side of the penthouse and dress. I shall return.” The spot where he stood was suddenly vacant.

If it wouldn’t have messed up my freshly applied makeup, I would have splashed cold water on my face. Devereux was temptation incarnate. But, since we obviously had company to greet, and runny mascara wasn’t the look I was going for, I opted to stroll into the closet to find something appropriate to wear for the occasion. As if I knew what the occasion was.

Devereux enjoyed assigning his female devotees the task of filling my closets with expensive clothing. When I first discovered my fashion bounty, I was annoyed. I thought it was simply another way for him to exert control—to override my choices in favor of his own. And when his helpers disclosed they’d been spying on me—following me in person and observing my dreams—I thought he’d crossed the line between indulging me and manipulation. But it didn’t take long for me to understand he really did derive pleasure from showering me with gifts. Several of his undead elves mentioned the fun they’d had in the process. So, I stopped complaining about my constantly growing wardrobe. I accepted the clothes in the spirit they were offered and counted myself lucky. If truth be told, my fashion sense left a lot to be desired. I’d long ago faced the fact that, while I had many skills and abilities, choosing the best clothing for my body type wasn’t one of them. Somehow, I’d missed the junior high class on the topic “Being a Cosmo Girl.”

Who knew I’d turn out to be Alice in Wonderland, instead?

After debating between appearing sophisticated in an ankle-length, dark blue velvet dress or my version of hip in black leather pants that matched Devereux’s, I chose comfort and pulled on a pair of probably overpriced jeans. A pale blue, V-neck, cashmere sweater and sandals completed the outfit.

Never confident about my clothing choices, I stood in front of the three-sided, floor-length mirror to make sure I was acceptably attired. I performed a few moves I’d learned in a jazz dance class and a couple of spins. I’d just glanced down to retrieve the protective necklace from underneath my sweater when I felt someone behind me. Fearing the worst, my head jerked up and my breath caught. When I saw Devereux’s reflection grinning at me, I blew out so much air my lips flapped like a horse’s. I pressed my palm against my heart, as if that would slow down the frantic rhythm.

“Forgive me for frightening you.” His grin melted into a frown. “I did not try to sneak up on you. You were so engrossed in your selection process, you did not hear me reenter the room. And truthfully, it was very pleasant watching you when you were not aware of my presence.” The grin returned. “I especially enjoyed the dancing. But I do apologize for causing you distress.”

“Shit, Devereux.” I turned to him. “You scared ten years off my life. Next time clear your throat, or something, would you?” He was dressed in dark teal leather pants and a light-colored, matching T-shirt. Nobody could fill out a T-shirt in the same elegant way Devereux could.

He bowed from the waist, his silky hair falling forward. “I will endeavor to make more noise, and I will see what I can do to return the stolen ten years to you.”

I started to laugh, but the overly serious visage stopped me. “What do you mean? You’re joking, right? That’s just an expression.”

“As we have discussed before, time and space are not the rigid constructs mortals believe them to be. Some time in the near future, I will be pleased to demonstrate. But now we must go.”

He took my hand and we walked together through the bedroom, along the hallway, and into the large living room I’d previously described as the dentist’s waiting room from purgatory. It was anything but sterile and empty now. The room was filled with people, er, individuals I’d never seen before. All eyes turned to us as we entered.

Devereux spoke, his already impressive body seeming to take up more space. Another vampire illusion, no doubt. “Thank you for coming, my friends. Most of you are aware of the current situation, and I appreciate your willingness to help strengthen our protections.” He released my hand and placed his palm in the center of my back, gently urging me forward. “For those of you who have not met her, I am pleased to introduce my mate, Kismet. It is for her safety we gather tonight.”

I curved my lips in what I hoped was a sincere smile.

His mate.

Hearing the words surprised me, because I thought we’d agreed to discuss the ramifications before going public with the title. I was still trying to understand what it meant to him and why it was so important. Why hadn’t he mentioned anything earlier?

As one, the group of strangers bowed or curtsied. “Lady Kismet,” they said in unison.

Lady Kismet? What the hell was going on now? Were all vampires so melodramatic? Why was I always the last to get the memo?

I turned to glare at Devereux, and he gave a subtle shake of his head, indicating I shouldn’t say any of the hostile words struggling to explode out of my mouth. He’d definitely been around his minions and handmaidens too long.

One minute I was his equal, and the next his property. Or, at least that’s how it felt.

A creepy-looking, short, fat vampire approached. His stringy, gray hair flowed down over the shoulders of a standard, black Dracula cape. He fixed his bulging, light green eyes on me briefly before extending his hand to Devereux. As he reached out, his cape fell open, exposing naked, wrinkled flesh. “Master Devereux, I am honored to have been summoned for this ritual and to have been entrusted with the creation of the powerful ceremony we will participate in tonight.” His accent was so thick I could barely understand him. Of course, the fact that his fangs were fully extended, causing his words to slur, didn’t help matters. He smiled at me and I hoped the movement of my lips resembled something friendly in return. His belly was the biggest I’d ever seen on a vampire. His transformation must have happened suddenly, because I couldn’t imagine anyone choosing to live for centuries as an undead, smelly, greasy-haired, street-person version of Santa Claus.

Devereux grasped the rotund man’s hand. “Prospero, my friend. Welcome to my home. I would like you to meet Kismet, the one I have waited for.”

The one he’s waited for? What does that mean? I feel like I came in during the middle of this movie.

The greasy fellow flipped the edges of his cape behind him, giving me the Full Monty. My gaze shifted to his crotch in spite of myself. Unlike most large midsections, his bulged out like a pregnant woman’s rather than the droopy, cover-the-penis kind of flabby flesh, so his substantial pride and joy was evident for all to view.

Obviously noting the path of my gaze, he grinned and winked.

Ewwww.

Executing a theatrical bow, he lifted my hand and kissed it. “We all rejoice at your arrival, m’lady.”

“Prospero? Isn’t that the name of one of Shakespeare’s characters in The Tempest?”

“Yes.” He chuckled. “I heard he featured me in one of his little tales. I absolutely must read it one of these days.”

He dropped my hand and addressed the small crowd, “Take your places in the circle.” Giving me his attention again, he flicked the cape completely off his shoulders. It pooled on the floor at his feet. “Follow me.”

I glanced at Devereux, who was trying unsuccessfully not to smile. He nodded in the direction of the flat buttocks swaying ahead of us. With nothing to balance the back of his body, I was amazed by Prospero’s ability to remain vertical. Devereux whispered to me, “Prospero is a very powerful magician. He is my friend, but never be alone with him. His weakness for beautiful women is well known and he has a remarkable ability to entrance. Women have been known to fall at his feet after one glimpse of his fully erect organ.”

I stifled a grin and whispered back, “I’ll make every effort to control myself.”

Even if his fully erect organ breaks into song, I’m not going near it.

As we approached the waiting circle of vampires, I noticed the familiar floating candles, and the fact that everyone had undressed.

Wait a minute.

Surprisingly graceful, Prospero glided over to me. “Allow me to assist you, m’lady.” He started tugging my sweater over my breasts and I grabbed the cloth, pulling it into place again.

“Hey! Knock it off! What are you doing?” Prospero backed away, shocked.

Devereux had peeled off his T-shirt, and was unbuttoning his leather pants. “The ritual Prospero has created requires bare skin to be most effective. I apologize if I forgot to mention that.” He didn’t sound in the least sorry.

I didn’t know which stunned me more: the fact that Devereux actually thought I’d get naked in front of a group of strange vampires, or his effortless ability to lie through omission. Did he think being a master gave him carte blanche in his dealings with me?

“Stop!” I pointed to the zipper he was lowering on his pants. “You’re out of your mind if you think I’m going to take my clothes off in front of all these strangers. Hell, even if I knew them, I still wouldn’t take my clothes off. Don’t you know me any better than that?”

Okay. There was one part of me who was more than willing to get naked whenever possible, but, for whatever reason, she hadn’t tried to force her way out recently. I wanted to keep it that way.

Devereux stepped toward me. “If Prospero believes nudity will enhance the power of the ritual, I trust his judgment enough to follow his recommendations. I will be here to watch over you. The ritual will be brief.”

He simply wasn’t listening to me. So, what else was new?

“Why do you think a ritual is going to help, anyway?” My voice acquired an edge. “Isn’t it clear that Hallow can do whatever he wants? Nothing anyone has done so far has kept him away. What is the point of this?”

“The point is that each new ritual brings more power to our defenses.” His voice floated over me, attempting to soothe. “We already have the building well protected, which is why Hallow could only transport himself to the roof.”

“What? Only transport himself to the roof?”

A chaotic collage of images crashed into my brain, and I mimicked slapping myself on the forehead, any calming effect of his voice negated. “Shit! How could I have forgotten to tell you about the most horrible part of my evening? What’s the matter with me that I repressed the horror of watching Hallow rip the head off a client in front of me? You think he can’t come into your building? That your incantations and rituals are effective? My office is a bloody mess. And poor suicidal Jerome—who actually was about to drain me dry so you would kill him—got his wish. Death by maniac.”

Devereux stared at me, frozen for a few seconds, his mouth open, before he wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me against his chest.

“Come.”

Chapter Nineteen

Stale air blew against my face as we transported to my defiled office.

It was worse than I remembered.

Jerome’s headless body lay crumpled where Hallow had thrown him, blood congealing in a wide circle under the ragged edges of his neck. I didn’t know how much blood a formerly human body contained, but whatever had been in Jerome’s corpse—except for what Hallow drank—had soaked into the light blue carpet, leaving horrible brown-red stains.

Jerome’s head, wide eyes staring like a macabre Halloween mask, had rolled under an end table. Death had accelerated his aging process, reflecting his true age, which was at least seven decades. His usually slicked-down hair was now white, and it spiked up in all directions, as if he’d been electrocuted.

The stench in the room reminded me of a similar, vampire-created scene months earlier, when another young male body had been left in my previous office. I pressed my hand to my nose and mouth to filter the worst of the odor.

Devereux had navigated us next to my desk, where we weren’t directly in the bloody remains, but had a bird’s-eye view of the destruction. He released me and took a step forward, surveying the carnage, strangely calm. After a couple of silent minutes, he turned to me, his usually mesmerizing voice flat.

“You were correct. Our rituals are meaningless. From now until Hallow is disposed of, you will not be left alone. I will no longer depend upon only magic and vampire powers. Now it will be the force of my will against his.” He stared off again, lost in thought.

Hearing the pessimistic, almost hopeless, tone of Devereux’s words frightened me. Without acknowledging it to myself, I guess I’d always assumed he’d prevail, somehow conquering the madman and restoring my normal life. But his voice told a different story. Maybe he was no longer sure he could defeat the lunatic. Perhaps he’d finally come to the conclusion I wasn’t worth all the trouble. What if Hallow really could capture me? Had all the choices in my life brought me to this dark crossroads?

What should I have done differently? It was easy to second-guess myself about my involvement with the hidden world of the vampires. The minute I realized the ramifications of my new career choice, I should have closed up shop and relocated. My life was much simpler—not to mention safer—before I blundered into Dracula’s castle.

But that was all blood under the bridge.

Devereux slid his finger along my cheek, drawing my gaze back to his. “I can feel the fear radiating from you. I swear you will not be harmed. We will find a way to destroy Hallow.” His voice had reclaimed its velvet texture and it flowed over me, calming my anxiety. He pointed at Jerome’s body. “Your client must have been relatively young as a vampire. His body did not immediately crumble into dust when Hallow decapitated him. It will disintegrate over the next few hours, rather than at the moment of death. The older the vampire, the more quickly the body decomposes. If you look closely, you can see the process beginning.”

I followed his pointing finger to the gray substance gathering at Jerome’s feet, and shook my head. Devereux had gotten very good at raising issues in order to distract me from dwelling on unpleasant emotions. It was gratifying to realize how well he knew me. As long as I had something logical to hide behind—something cerebral to discuss—I was able to maintain some semblance of composure. Okay. We could stand over Jerome’s remains, discussing the mechanics of vampire death as if it were just another seminar topic. I was great at denial. I probably wouldn’t ever be comfortable with the cold, calculating, analytical view of death most vampires held. They didn’t attribute much value to life of any kind. Devereux was more in touch with his emotions than any male I knew—alive or undead—but even he was able to compartmentalize his feelings.

“I didn’t know that. The only other vampire I saw die was Bryce, after I cut his head off. He turned to dust right away.”

“Yes. I imagine he did.” Devereux nodded. “He was very old.”

I scanned the room, becoming aware of splashes of blood on the walls and the ceiling. “What should I do about poor Jerome and the ruined carpet? Is there someone I can call?”

Thinking about having the carpet cleaned reminded me that I needed to read Jerome’s file to check for relatives and friends to contact. I’d never lost a vampire client before and I wasn’t sure what the proper etiquette was. “Is there something special we can do for Jerome? A service, or something?”

Devereux tilted his head, studying me. “What would be the purpose of a service? He was dead before he was destroyed. I am sure all his human friends and relatives are long since departed, and vampires don’t require those kinds of ceremonies.” He saw me frown. “But, if it would make you feel better, we can bury his ashes. I will have his remains collected, and you can tell me what arrangements you would prefer. As for the carpet, it will be replaced immediately, and the room will be restored to its previous condition. There is nothing for you to do. I have already summoned the necessary assistance. Let us return to the penthouse.”

He circled my waist with his arm, gathered me against him, and we rematerialized in the penthouse living room, near the naked vampires who stood talking in groups, like an undead cocktail party.

Prospero strode over, arms raised in the air. “Devereux, is it true? Has the monster breached our defenses? If that is the case, I must rethink our ritual.”

Devereux laid a hand on the rounder man’s shoulder. “Yes, my friend. It is unfortunately true. It seems important now that I concentrate on other methods for keeping Kismet safe. But I would be most grateful if you and all those gathered here would continue the ritual on our behalf. I welcome your wisdom and assistance.”

“Consider it done.” Like the director on a movie set, Prospero leapt into action, assigning positions, discussing strategies. Once again, I was surprised by his grace and agility.

Devereux strolled over to fetch his discarded T-shirt, and slid it over his head. It was a shame to cover that pale, muscular chest, but I took his action as verification of a change of plan. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. What was my role in the war of wills?

A low hum emanated from the participants in Prospero’s ritual. Each vampire in the circle stood with his or her arms straight out in front, palms up. Perhaps my eyes were playing tricks on me, but I could have sworn the air around the group began to shimmer. It reminded me of waves of heat rising off asphalt in an urban August. I was so fascinated by the subtle phenomenon that I startled as a rumbling, raspy voice reverberated within inches of my ear.

“Master, there is a human downstairs—a dame—who claims she’s a friend of Dr. Knight’s. She insists on speaking with her. Shall I erase her memory and send her away?”

I turned toward the voice, expecting to find a big, hulking body to match the meaty tone, and almost laughed out loud at the short, slender man dressed like a gangster from the 1930s. A fedora hat rode his head at a jaunty angle, and an unlit cigarette dangled from his mouth, the rolling paper obviously stuck to his lower lip, allowing him to speak without dislodging the well-used prop.

“Who is it?” I asked the messenger.

He continued to speak to Devereux instead of acknowledging me. “She says her name is Maxie. I’ve never seen white hair on a young dame before. She’s quite a looker. Seemed rattled, though. Nervous. What do you want me to do with her?”

Devereux shifted his attention to me. “Do you wish to see her? I am not sure it is wise to bring her into a penthouse filled with vampires. After all, she is a reporter.”

“Yes, she is, but she’s also a friend. A very persistent friend.” A member of a very small club, indeed. I thought for a moment. “Is there a room we can use that’s separate from the rest of the area? Somewhere she won’t see your other guests?”

“You may use the library.” He pointed. “It is isolated from the rest of the penthouse and accessible only from this recessed alcove.” He walked to a wall panel near the front entrance, touched an intricate pattern etched into the rich wood, and a door slid sideways. He extended his hand, inviting me to investigate. “I keep many rare editions of my favorite books in this room. Some of the documents under glass are so ancient and fragile that exposure to the air would destroy them.” I poked my head inside the open door. “It would be best if your friend did not spend much time viewing the contents of the room. She would have many questions about how a humble club owner managed to own priceless books and artifacts.” He smiled and gave a quick bow of his head.

“Humble club owner? I don’t think anybody—reporter or not—sees you that way. In fact, Maxie told me you’re widely considered to be a powerful mob boss.” I chuckled. “And after seeing the fellow doing the Sam Spade impersonation, she’s probably more convinced than ever.”

“Mob boss? No wonder I draw so much media attention. And I thought it was merely due to my good looks and personal charm.” He grinned a little boy grin.

He did have those things in spades. The sweetness of his smile took my breath away. How was it that he’d been a vampire for eight hundred years and such innocence could still shine forth from him at the most unexpected moments? Weren’t vampires supposed to be evil? Wasn’t that the common assumption?

Was Devereux an exception and the maniac the rule?

“Ralph, please bring Dr. Knight’s guest up to the library. There is no reason to entrance her or erase her memory. Escort her directly to this room. Be vigilant. I understand she is very curious and does not have much use for authority.”

I smiled. That was a pretty good description of Maxie.

“Shall I await her arrival and introduce myself, or would you prefer me to leave the two of you alone?” Devereux pointed back toward the rest of the penthouse.

I stared into his mesmerizing turquoise eyes and remembered I’d promised Maxie she could meet him if an opportunity presented itself. Was it dangerous for Devereux if I exposed him to Maxie’s relentless quest for a story? Maybe she was so caught up in thinking he was involved in organized crime, she’d miss the bigger scoop.

“Would you like to meet her?” I decided to leave it up to him. Maybe he had better things to do. Or maybe I didn’t want to take responsibility for any of the ways the situation could go to hell.

“I admit to being curious about the woman who persuaded you to befriend her. I would enjoy meeting the white-haired swimsuit model.” I elbowed him in the ribs and he chuckled. “Ah, here they are now.”

Ralph held Maxie’s arm, clearly restraining her rather than politely guiding. “Here ya go, doll.” He nodded at Devereux, turned, and moved back toward the elevator. I’d half-expected him to say something Bogart-ish, but he probably wasn’t aware he was impersonating anyone. Thanks to my father’s obsession with the actor’s noir films, I knew more than I wanted to.

Maxie wore tight jeans and an equally snug white T-shirt with the words fuck you printed across her braless breasts. Her wild mane flowed, loose, down her back. Yes. Definitely swimsuit-model material.

She shot me a fierce glance. Annoyance blanketed her face as she shook her arm, obviously trying to restore the circulation. The shaking came to an abrupt halt when she noticed the tall, blond, leather god who’d moved to stand in front of her. Devereux was only a couple of inches taller than Maxie in his boots, and she was able to meet his eyes directly as she grinned at him, extending her hand, bad temper forgotten.

Devereux gave her one of his dazzling smiles.

“Wow.” She grasped his offered hand, throwing her shoulders back to better present all her assets. “The famous Devereux. World-renowned entrepreneur and billionaire. Major stud muffin. You’re way hotter than your sizzling photos. If you ever tire of my conservative friend here, I’m happy to send in the second team. You’re so cute, I’m downright speechless.”

He bowed. “Apparently not.”

I waved my hand in front of Maxie’s eyes. “You wanted to see me?”

She blinked and slid her gaze to me, her anger taking a curtain call.

Devereux kissed my cheek. “If you’ll forgive me, I have business to attend to.” He nodded at Maxie, his gaze lingering a few seconds. “It was … interesting to meet you. I trust our paths will cross again. Have a fruitful visit.”

Ever graceful, he turned and walked away. Maxie’s mouth sagged open as she watched his slim hips and firm rear end exit the hallway.

I poked her arm to get her attention. “Let’s go in here.” I pointed in the direction of the tasteful couches and chairs in the library.

“Jesus.” Maxie’s eyes tracked the rows of ceiling-high shelves, filled with old books, artwork, and antiquities. “He’s got a frickin’ museum in here.”

She wandered over to the glass cases Devereux had asked me to keep her away from, and I followed her, took her arm, and tugged her over to one of the dark leather couches scattered around the center of the room.

“Hey, what the hell?” She glared at me with total focus this time as I dropped us both onto the cushions.

“What are you so pissed about?” I shrugged. “What’s happened?”

After a brief pause, she blurted, “So, he’s one, isn’t he? Nobody human is that beautiful.”

Shit. “He’s one what?”

She sneered. “Don’t give me that crap. No wonder you laughed when I said he was into organized crime. You knew he was sucking the life’s blood from innocent humans, literally. I felt him trying to entrance me. It almost worked. Some fucking friend you turned out to be. You knew all the time. The Vampire Psychologist. You knew they existed. You lied to me. That’s what happened at the amusement park, isn’t it? Isn’t it? Damn … damn vampires took me.”

She was so upset she stumbled over her words. I had to know how much she’d discovered. I couldn’t betray Devereux and my clients based on something she might only know a little about.

“Maxie, stop, please. Tell me. What happened? I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I laid my hand on her arm and she threw it off.

“You can stop lying now. I know. The whole, miserable secret is out.”

“What secret?” What the hell happened?

“You’re probably worried that I’m going to tell the world about your vampire lover. Wouldn’t it just serve you right if I wrote about him? His entire operation would have to fold. He’d have to skulk off into the night with the other bloodsucking fiends. Maybe someone would even take him out with a sharp stake. Hey, fuck that. Maybe I would.”

“Maxie! Breathe. Tell me what happened.” My heart pounded against my chest. Anxiety twisted my gut. I wasn’t afraid for Devereux as much as I was terrified about what he’d do to Maxie if she really had the goods on him. I hadn’t ever asked him how he dealt with humans who discovered his existence. Did he kill them? Oh, wait. No. I forgot. He could simply erase her memory. I let out the breath I’d been holding. Maybe everything wasn’t lost.

Well, if he could make her forget anyway …

We sat glaring at each other for a few seconds and I broke the ice. “Okay. Tell me how you found out.”

Her eyebrows shot up. She gasped. “What? You’re not going to deny it? You’re not going to use some psychobabble on me—some therapy speak—to convince me I’m delusional? You aren’t going to tell me I’m hallucinating?”

“No. Tell me what happened.”

She’d apparently expected a lot more resistance and it took a few seconds for her to regroup. “Well, okay then.” She briefly grabbed my hand, surprise and skepticism flashing across her face. “Are you saying there really are vampires, then? You’re admitting it?”

“Yes.” I thought she might calm down faster if I kept things simple.

She opened her mouth in a silent ah. “Holy shit. I hoped I was wrong.”

Settling into full therapist mode, I stared at her, waiting for her to say whatever she needed to say.

“You’re going to stare at me until my brain explodes, aren’t you? I had a nice head of steam going—feeling all self-righteous for being lied to—and now that I got what I wanted, I don’t know what to say. Give me a minute to sort out my brain cells.”

I waited.

“Damn, that staring thing is creepy, Doc. It’s a wonder your clients don’t off themselves right in your office just to get away from your eyeballs.”

I slowed my breathing to help calm her.

“Okay, okay. After I tried to tell you about Devereux and you didn’t believe me, I went back to The Crypt a couple of times to do a little creative eavesdropping. Mostly all I ran into were wannabes with their pitiful play-acting. But while I was sitting there I saw a really studly guy doing his goth thing, but he didn’t look like the other wannabes. Did I mention he was exceptionally hot? Anyway, he took a woman into one of the private areas upstairs. The little cubbyholes covered by velvet curtains.” She jumped up and paced in front of the couch.

“I’d heard that you could find pretty much anything at The Crypt: drugs, sex, cults, satanism, torture, bondage, cutting—you name it. I followed them and stood next to the curtain of their little hideaway. There was a space between the curtain and the wall, so I could see them clearly. They got naked and were fucking their brains out. I watched for a few minutes …” She stopped in front of me and held her hands out a foot apart, palms facing each other. “Hey, this guy was hung like a stallion”—she resumed pacing—“and I was just about to return to my listening post downstairs when the guy rears up and sinks his fangs—fake, I thought—into the woman’s neck. She screamed and pushed at him, which caused him to lift his mouth for a minute. Blood gushed out of the holes he’d made. She was flailing and carrying on, and he grabbed her face to hold it still, looked into her eyes, said something I couldn’t hear, and she went limp. He resumed sucking on her neck, while he had a magnificent, grunt-filled orgasm.” Maxie must have burned off sufficient nervous energy, because she reclaimed her seat on the couch next to me.

“As soon as he was finished spewing, he stood and started getting dressed. Quicker than I could see, he slashed the curtains back and smiled at me, his long, bloody fangs slowly retracting into his gums. I turned to run away and he grabbed me and pulled me inside the cubby. He asked if I was a vampire groupie and said if I wanted to donate some blood, he’d be happy to take advantage of my offer. He had a creative suggestion for a new moisturizer for my hair. All of a sudden, I got super dizzy and started thinking what a good idea it would be to have that guy suck on some part of my body. I almost took my clothes off, and I would’ve, if the woman lying in the booth hadn’t groaned and sat up. Her movement seemed to snap me out of whatever the guy did to me. I bolted out of the cubby, down the stairs, and out of the club.

“The tall, skeletal bouncer at the door must have seen me run out—oh, holy shit, I just realized that isn’t a costume the guy is wearing. He really looks like that—and sent someone to follow me out. I thought at first the guy, a real cutie who resembles Johnny Depp, wanted to make sure I was okay. But right away he started trying to lock eyeballs with me, so I knew he was trying to control my brain and make me forget what had happened. I ran away from him, too, and came here.”

I wondered if Devereux knew how many predators were using his club for feeding purposes? I really hoped he didn’t know.

“I’m glad you came here. I don’t blame you for being freaked out. But I have to ask. How do you know the fangs weren’t fake and the guy wasn’t just a sick psycho who enjoys torturing women and drinking their blood? Lots of humans are that screwed up. What made you assume he was a real vampire?”

“Yeah, that’s the million-dollar question, Doc. As the most skeptical reporter in the universe, that was my first assumption. But it was just the strange feeling of it. The surreal texture. Like I was in a wide-awake nightmare. I know that doesn’t sound like me, but it’s true. I just knew I was with something other.”

“So, does this mean you’ll be doing an exposé about the vampires of Denver?” I frowned. “Will you destroy everything Devereux has built here? Force my clients—many of whom were turned against their wills—to go into hiding again?”

“Time out, Doc. Don’t try to make me feel guilty for exposing these undead predators to the human world. Sure, maybe a few aren’t monsters. Or, at least not complete monsters. But others are. Are you going to try to convince me that all these vampires are just humans with fangs?”

“No. They definitely aren’t that. But they all aren’t killers, either.” I thought about Hallow, the one who was, and I sighed. “What are you going to do?”

“I don’t know. Your reaction threw me. I thought you’d tell me more lies, so then I could get pissed off and write the biggest story of my career. But you had to go and screw up my plans. I still want to know one thing: did you lie to me to protect Devereux? Or just because you didn’t trust me?”

Since she wouldn’t remember any of our discussion later, I figured I might as well stick with the truth.

“Both, actually. What would you have done in my place if you met a tabloid reporter hunting for a juicy story? Someone you liked, but hadn’t known very long. I couldn’t take the chance that you’d write about me and Devereux, or that you’d expose my clients. And then there was the equally important issue of keeping you safe.”

“Keeping me safe?” She sat up straighter. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m still new to this whole bizarre world, and the last thing I wanted was to draw someone I liked into the madness. The less you knew, the better. It was the only way to keep you out of danger. As you said, vampires aren’t just humans with fangs.”

“What do you mean? Is there some kind of badass vampire causing trouble? Is that why Devereux’s watching you like a hawk, er, bat?

When I didn’t say anything, she shook her head. “Still don’t trust me, eh? What do I have to do to prove I’m in your corner?” She held out her wrist. “Do you want me to take a blood oath that I won’t write about your main squeeze?”

“Don’t be flashing any veins around here. You never know who might drop in for a snack.”

She frowned and scanned the room, temporarily unsure whether I was kidding or not.

I laughed. “No blood oaths required. It isn’t that I don’t trust you. It’s that the hit man you heard about in the club—the one you thought Devereux hired to kill his manager—is an undead psycho-fiend, inexplicably obsessed with me. Remember the guy at the amusement park with the long hair wearing the genie pants? The tall, pale, and handsome one? That’s him.”

“Wow. No shit? He’s a vampire? I’d let him suck on my neck anytime.”

I clutched her arm to let her know I was serious. “He’s already kidnapped one of my friends and I don’t want him to take you, too.”

She thrust her chin into the air. “I can take care of myself, Doc.”

“Not against this monster.” I shook my head. “He’s crazy.”

“Yeah, but he’d make a great story.”

Damn. She just didn’t understand how dangerous Hallow was. No wonder she flip-flopped so fast from anger to eagerness. Once a reporter, always a reporter. It wouldn’t surprise me if she sought him out on purpose. It was definitely time to have Devereux blast her with some laser vampire eyeball voodoo, so she’d forget everything we discussed. I hoped whatever he had to do to make her forget wouldn’t hurt.

“Well, if you won’t believe me, maybe you’ll listen to Devereux.” I rose from the couch. “I’m going to get him. I’ll be right back.” I hurried out of the room before she could ask any questions. I wanted to return before she could discover anything in the library she wasn’t supposed to find.

As I entered the hallway, a woman’s voice shouted.

“But he’s gone, Luna! We must tell Devereux.”

Chapter Twenty

“About what?” Devereux appeared from somewhere and strode over to the two women.

“Master! Tom is missing.” Zoë grabbed onto Devereux’s arm, literally quivering as she delivered her rapid-fire monologue. “He was sleeping on the couch at Dr. Knight’s townhouse when I went out to feed, and when I returned, he was gone!” Her chest heaved as if she’d forgotten breathing was optional. If she hadn’t been a vampire, I’d have diagnosed hysteria.

Devereux spoke in a soft, soothing voice. “Zoë, I understand you are protective of him, but why would you immediately assume that Dr. Radcliffe is missing? Perhaps he awoke and took the opportunity to escape from what he considered his captivity? I am sure he will turn up eventually.” He patted her hand before stepping aside, allowing her fingers to gently fall away. He turned to me. “Dr. Radcliffe seems the type of individual to place his own needs at the forefront in any situation. Would you agree?”

“Yes,” I nodded, studying the overwrought woman. “Why are you so upset, Zoë? What aren’t you telling me? You know Tom. He’ll do whatever it takes to get what he wants, and he’s probably off somewhere, searching for another vampire to bring him over. What’s really bothering you?”

Luna stepped out from behind her companion. “When Zoë came to The Crypt and told me Dr. Radcliffe was gone, I thought it wise to come to the master. It can’t be a coincidence that first Victoria went missing, then the doctor—both of whom are close to Dr. Knight.”

Devereux turned to Luna, his eyes cold, his voice hostile. “If you have something to say, just say it.”

The corners of Luna’s mouth trembled slightly and she lowered her gaze. “I believe it’s possible the Slayer has them both.”

Zoë gasped and grabbed Devereux’s arm again. “Oh, Master! Is Luna right? I’ve heard things about Hallow. Very bad things. Do you think he has Tom and Victoria?”

Devereux softened his expression. “There is no denying that Hallow is a monster, but I am not convinced that Dr. Radcliffe was taken against his will. In our short acquaintance, he has shown himself to be self-motivated and single-minded. In fact, it would not surprise me to find him on his way here, preparing to make another attempt to convince me to see things his way.” He shifted his gaze to Luna, still addressing Zoë. “There is no reason for anyone to fill your mind with fantastic speculations.”

Luna was behaving strangely—even for her, and I wanted to know why she seemed so certain. “Why do you think Hallow has them, Luna? Do you know something we don’t know?”

The expression on her face reminded me of the joyfully evil smile worn by the Grinch as he stole Christmas. “I know many things you don’t know. But my opinion is based on the fact that I know Hallow.”

“You know Hallow?” My voice came out much higher than usual.

She ignored me and spoke to Devereux. “If you would like me to search for Dr. Radcliffe, to see if he has gone to any of his usual haunts, I will do so. But my gut tells me he didn’t leave under his own power. I don’t have your tracking abilities, but I usually find what I seek.”

Something about Luna’s odd energy set my teeth on edge. I was sure Hallow had taken Victoria, and it wasn’t out of the realm of possibility that he’d snatched Tom, too. He’d probably figured out that we’d do whatever we could to get them back.

Luna shot her attention to me, glaring. “Don’t you care what happens to your so-called friends? Aren’t you worried? Why aren’t you offering to search for them? Are you really just another useless, stupid human?” She threw her words at me like knives.

What the hell had I done to make her hate me so much?

I took a step forward, opened my mouth to address her questions, and bumped into Devereux’s hard, muscular frame.

“Enough!” He locked eyes with me. “Do you wish me to search for your friend? I still have my doubts, but if you believe he is a pawn in Hallow’s game—that he is in danger—I will accompany Zoë briefly back to the townhouse and pick up the trail.”

I didn’t know what I believed. Five minutes ago, I hadn’t given one thought to Tom’s whereabouts. But since Luna raised the possibility of Hallow’s involvement, and Zoë was so upset, I couldn’t ignore the heavy feeling in my gut.

“Yes. Please go.” I stroked my hand down Devereux’s chest. “Taking Tom is exactly the kind of thing Hallow would do. I’ve seen him kill people twice now. He enjoys it. I should have considered that he’d try to control me by hurting my friends. Please find them.”

Face serious, he gave a curt nod. “As you wish. But you”—he raised my chin with his finger—“will stay here in this room full of vampires until I return. Swear it.”

I made an X over my heart with my finger. “Cross my heart and hope to … er … not die.”

He turned to Luna. “I am giving you an opportunity to redeem yourself. You will be personally responsible for Dr. Knight while I am gone. She is never to be out of your sight. Do you understand?”

She nodded solemnly, eyes downcast, but I was sure I saw her lips twitch ever so slightly in the beginning of a smile, before she brought her face back under control. I opened my mouth to tell Devereux I didn’t want to be babysat by the Queen of the Damned, but he took Zoë’s hand and they vanished before I could get the words out.

A burst of sound filled the air as the vampires in the circle switched from the soft hum they’d been offering for the last few minutes to a full-bodied “ohm.” My brain waves began to scramble, making me feel like I was dissolving into the tone, so I distanced from the chanting, hoping to clear my mind.

Shit! Maxie!

I angled off toward the library, having forgotten about her in the drama of the last few minutes, and heard footsteps behind me.

Luna caught up with me. “Where the hell do you think you’re going? Didn’t you hear the master put me in charge of you?” She grinned a mirthless grin.

“Dream on, Vampira. He didn’t put you in charge of me. He said you were responsible for me. So be a good bodyguard and walk three paces behind. I have a guest to check on.”

She fell back and growled, the sound much closer than it should have been.

I sailed into the library, the hostile Amazon almost literally on my heels. The room was empty.

Luna laughed. “Was this guest an imaginary playmate or a ghost? Or maybe another kidnap victim? You don’t seem to hold on to your friends very long.”

I went through the room, opening every door, exploring every hiding space, while Luna leaned against the doorjamb, smirking.

“She must have left,” I said aloud, more to myself than to Luna. If Maxie’d overheard the conversation about Hallow, she was probably on her way back to her office to file a story. I hated to think about what would happen if she mentioned Devereux.

Or maybe she was still in the penthouse somewhere, watching the naked vampires, believing she’d hit the jackpot.

I started back toward the circle, and the chanting increased in volume. The sounds were so loud they repelled me. I pressed my hands over my ears to cut out the trance-inducing vibrations and hurried up the hallway, bypassing the noise, and retreated into a room filled with Devereux’s art.

“What’s the matter with you?” Luna snarled from directly behind me. “Are you too good to stand with the vampires who are trying to protect you? Does their nudity offend your tender human sensibilities?”

I am so tired of her attitude.

“Not even close. The chanting is giving me a headache.” That was true as far as it went. I didn’t owe Luna any explanations, and I certainly wasn’t going to tell her how vulnerable I was to vampire voices. Some voices, anyway. Giving her more ammunition to use against me wasn’t part of the game plan.

I walked along the paintings until I came to one of my favorites: a self-portrait Devereux had created hundreds of years ago. He wore clothing from that earlier century and his long, platinum hair flowed down over a black, fitted jacket. The blue-green of his eyes sparkled on the canvas like precious gems.

Luna stood next to me, studying the canvas. Her tone was disdainful. “He is very beautiful. Too beautiful for the likes of you. If you truly love him, you will go away. Let him find someone more suited to his station.”

I spun on her, determined to get to the root of her problem with me. “Someone like you, I suppose?” Had it really been simple jealousy all along? “You think you’re better for him than I am?”

She laughed, the sound sharp enough to slice my ears. “I think the short, fat vampire with the big dick would be better for him than you are.”

Even though she was laughing at my expense, I couldn’t help but notice the gleeful explosion made her face even more attractive than it was when she was glowering or frowning. Her elaborate Cleopatra makeup was flawless tonight. She looked like the sexy, otherworldly villianess in a horror movie. I wouldn’t have blamed Devereux for lusting after his personal assistant. I still didn’t understand why he seemed so disinterested. What was the problem between them?

“You didn’t answer my question. Do you think if I’m out of the picture, he’ll suddenly find you irresistible?”

She closed the space between us, bringing her face within an inch of mine. A musky scent wafted from her skin, which mixed with the coppery tang of her breath, creating an intoxicating aroma. She must have fed recently. “You know nothing about me or my relationship with the master.” She lifted her upper lip, exposing the tips of her fangs. “I told you I knew Hallow. Do you want to know how I knew him?”

My heart pounded. Out of nowhere, Luna’s energy suddenly felt manic—dangerous—as if she were in the grip of something more powerful than herself. Was Hallow controlling her, too? I took a breath to calm myself. There was nothing to be frightened of. I was safe in Devereux’s penthouse, surrounded by scores of vampires in the other room. But if that was true, why was my body on red alert?

“Yes.” I couldn’t force any more words out of my mouth. Luna’s aura felt suffocating—dark and thick.

“I belonged to him. I was one of his women. He calls us his lýtles. He was my everything.”

He was her everything? Devereux’s addiction reference was more literal than I thought.

“I don’t understand.” I licked my dry lips. “Devereux said Hallow drains all his women. He uses them up. Sucks their life force as well as their blood. How could you still be alive if you used to be one of his slaves?”

“I’m alive because Devereux rescued me. He took me from Hallow and made me his own. I didn’t want to leave Hallow, but I was happy to give myself to Devereux.” She raised her palm and smoothed it down my hair, petting me like a doll.

Why didn’t I see this about her before? Hallow created an addict and she just switched her drug of choice.

“Do you mean Devereux made you a slave, too?”

Does he know she’s addicted to him?

“No, you stupid human.” She dropped her hand. “Devereux claimed me. I was still mortal. He found me, near death, and he brought me over. He gave me his blood and a new life. He became my master. My reason to exist. Hallow has never forgiven him for taking me. I was supposed to die for him—to be added to what he is so he can continue. I would have gladly sacrificed myself. Even now, I’d give up everything for one more touch from Hallow.”

Jesus. She’s lost.

“Why aren’t you with Hallow, then, if you feel that way?”

She bared her fangs, heavy energy radiating from her, still almost pressed against me. “Don’t you think I would if I could? I am of no use to him since I’m no longer mortal. He isn’t like Devereux. Hallow needs the raw power of unusual human women. But even though he won’t touch me, I crave him. I ache to feel him inside me—to sense him in my mind. I yearn to have him pierce my veins with his sharp fangs.” She trembled, her eyelids fluttered. “Once you are gone, Devereux will be truly mine as Hallow was.”

No wonder she hates me. I’m standing in the way of her drug.

Since she was in such a talkative mood, and she hadn’t hurt me yet, I pushed on. “Why has Devereux been so angry with you? What happened?”

“It is my fault that Hallow is here.” She gave a skincrawling smile and slid her finger along my lower lip. “We are still mentally connected, and I told him about you. About how Devereux is obsessed with you. About how I hate you. He said he’d take care of it. Devereux found out I was in contact with Hallow—he’d forbidden it—and has been trying to reject me. To cut me off. But he will forgive me once you are gone. I am sure I can make things right between us.”

She wants Devereux to become what Hallow was to her. Does he even have a clue?

She pressed me hard against the painting on the wall. The extended edge of the frame jammed into my lower back and I gasped from the pain. Her voice became lighter, almost singsong, as she spoke directly into my ear. “I know where Hallow is holding your friends.” She leaned back to watch my face. “I can tell you where they are and you can save them.” She smiled wide, fangs glinting.

I caught a flash of white out of the corner of my eye. Was that Maxie? If it was, I hoped she wouldn’t do anything crazy. She certainly wasn’t any match for Luna. Would she try to sneak up on a rabid vampire? I shifted my eyes from side to side, searching for my friend, but I didn’t see her again.

“Don’t you want to be a hero?” Luna purred. She tilted her head and batted her eyelashes. “They’ll die if you don’t rescue them.”

“You need help, Luna.” I stared at a point between her eyes because I knew better than to fall into her gaze. She’d paralyzed me once before and the memory was painfully clear. “It isn’t your fault. You’re an addict. Hallow did this to you.”

The evil grin slid across her lips again. “The only thing that will help me is for you to go away. Permanently.”

“You’re helping that monster kill people. Do you think Devereux will want you when he finds out you’ve been helping Hallow?”

“I don’t care about the fate of puny mortals. They mean nothing to me. Since Hallow won’t take me back, Devereux is my only hope. No one else is as powerful and old as they are. I need him. He will one day understand how things are.”

“I understand now,” Devereux’s voice surrounded us.

He grabbed the back of her shirt, pulled her away from me, and slammed her against an empty wall on the other side of the room. The chanting vampires went silent.

“Master! I wasn’t expecting you back so soon.”

“I never left,” he growled. “Did you think I could not read the hatred in your mind?”

He leaned into her. If she’d been human, her lungs would have been crushed. She made a satisfied groaning sound, as if she enjoyed the feel of him so close, no matter what the cause.

“You have betrayed me. I thought Hallow came to exact his revenge on me for taking you. I never would have suspected you could summon him here to bring me pain.”

“No, Master! No! I would never do such a thing. You are everything to me now. I adore you. Just let him have her and everything will be good again. As if she never happened. You will forget her. She’s only human.” She tried to wrap her arms around his waist and he grabbed her wrists, elevating them over her head.

I’d been slowly inching over to where Devereux had Luna pinned, trying to stay out of her line of sight. But as soon as she saw me, she laughed.

“It’s too late, anyway. Hallow has chosen her. He has already begun to feed from her. Don’t waste your time. She isn’t worth saving.”

With lightning speed, Devereux released her wrists and clutched her neck in a stranglehold, lifting her off the ground. His features hardened as his body shook with rage.

“You will die for this.”

She made gurgling noises, flailing her arms and legs in a futile effort to escape. She was a powerful vampire, but no match for Devereux.

Before he could crush her throat, I moved next to him, trying to wedge myself in between the enraged bloodsucker and his prey. My feelings about Luna didn’t matter now. I understood why she’d always resented me, and why her attitude had become even more toxic since Hallow’s arrival. She wasn’t in control—the sickness had taken over.

Devereux could swat me aside like a fly anytime he wanted, but I was pretty sure I was in no danger from him. Surely he’d want to know Luna hadn’t betrayed him consciously. I knew him well enough to be sure he’d torture himself if he destroyed Luna for something she had no choice about. No matter how inflamed he was now.

“Devereux, wait!” I pulled at his free arm. “She can’t help herself. You were right about Hallow’s effect on the women he uses. He makes them crave him like any other drug. She needs help. She doesn’t know what she’s doing. She’s definitely under the influence. Don’t do anything you’ll regret.”

He was silent for a few seconds, staring up at Luna, still holding her in his steel-fingered grip. Then he threw her to the floor hard enough to break human bones. “She must be punished for bringing the madman into our lives. I do not care why she has done so. It will be impossible for her to remain here now. I do not wish to see her face again.” He scowled at me. “You will not interfere in this. It is beyond what you are able to understand. Your defense of her is more than she deserves. We are vampires. We have different rules. Rules I create and uphold. There is no cure for an addiction such as you describe and she must be taught a lesson. I have no intention of rescuing her yet again.”

Devereux’s harsh tone and rigid body language spoke volumes about his ability to shut off his feelings. He’d retreated into an alien, non-human place inside himself and I couldn’t follow.

Luna wrapped herself around Devereux’s legs, clinging to him. She glanced up at me and, to my amazement, she smiled.

Devereux had just bent down to untwine her fingers from his calves, when I was pulled forcefully backward. Cold, strong arms snaked around me, holding me immobile.

“I couldn’t have planned things any better. Thank you, Luna. Finally, one of my lýtles has proven herself worthwhile.” Hallow slowly licked my cheek. “I am sure my new slave will surpass all of you. The pickings have been very slim for a long time.”

As if a switch had been thrown, several things happened at once. At Hallow’s touch, Lust jerked into wakefulness in my psyche. She strutted nude from the shadows into the center of my awareness and laughed. I screamed, frantically attempting to wrestle my way out of Hallow’s arms. Devereux roughly peeled Luna from his legs and leapt toward my captor. All the vampires from the circle swarmed into the small room, impeding Devereux’s access to the lunatic, and Luna burrowed through the legs of the undead arrivals, speed-crawling toward her former master.

Hallow tightened one arm around me, reached for Luna, and the three of us blinked out of Devereux’s penthouse.

Chapter Twenty-One

After what felt like a trip through a wind tunnel, Hallow released me and I fell onto my knees on a filthy, red rug. My landing stirred up a cloud of dust, and I sneezed. I sat back on my heels, keeping an eye on the lunatic. He was dressed all in white: loose, flowing pants and an Indian-guru-type silk shirt. His feet were bare. Deceptive innocence—a beautiful demon.

Luna, who’d had no trouble keeping her feet, threw her arms around Hallow’s neck. “Master, I knew you’d come for me.”

He grabbed a handful of her shining black hair, yanked her head back, and riveted his silver eyes on hers. Her knees buckled and, when he let go of her hair, she made a gurgling sound and fell to the floor in a heap, out cold.

“Is she dead?” I whispered.

“Of course she’s dead.” He laughed. “But you’re asking if she’s truly dead. No. Not until it suits me. I hoard my resources, just in case.”

Looking at them together made me wonder how I could’ve missed the strong resemblance. The same long, black hair and silver eyes. Had she appeared different before he found her? Was the similarity a consequence of their parasitic relationship?

The unfairly handsome monster strolled through our new environment, his arms spread wide, hands palm-up. “I have to give credit to my current lýtle. She managed to find the perfect lodgings for my Colorado visit. I must thank her before she makes the ultimate sacrifice.”

Ultimate sacrifice? I scanned the area. Who was this current lýtle he was talking about? The word brought to mind the image of a female version of Dr. Frankenstein’s hunchbacked assistant, Igor. What kind of horrid creature did Hallow have in thrall?

The large room housed three windowless walls decorated in faded wallpaper and the fourth sealed with brick. Not the kind of trendy brick one goes to great lengths to uncover in building renovations, but the hastily-slapped-together type, denoting something hidden. The air was heavy, musty—lifeless. It felt like all the emotions of the former occupants had coalesced into a psychic fog, undisturbed for a hundred years. The only light in the room shone from cracked, discolored kerosene lamps centered on what appeared to be antique gaming tables. A thick layer of dirt covered every surface, as if whoever had walled in the abandoned space was too rushed to worry about housekeeping issues.

He fisted his hands on his hips, surveying the area. “It doesn’t have the charm of a Paris tomb, or a Transylvanian castle, but I’ve always loved historical sites. Especially disreputable ones.” He strolled the area, appearing disturbingly normal. The tour guide from hell. “This place was an underground gambling house and brothel with a secret tunnel—complete with train tracks—leading to the Brown Palace Hotel. Apparently, Denver’s finest gentlemen got their rocks off in this forbidden place. Right now we’re deep beneath the busy streets of the city—so removed from civilization that the world could end and we wouldn’t notice—and I’m the first new customer to enter this establishment in a century. How appropriate for such an infamous soul.”

He fanned the air in front of his nose. “It’s a good thing I don’t need to breathe though, because I’m sure I’d find the foul smells unappealing. Water must be leaking in somewhere. And, of course, there’s the unofficial graveyard I discovered a couple of levels down. What a perfect place! But I can only imagine how my human guests are coping.”

“Human guests?” Chills prickled my arms. I was the only human in the room that I knew of.

He feigned surprise, slapping his palms against the sides of his face. “What a poor host I am.” He reached down and grabbed me by the hand, pulling so hard I flew into his arms instead of merely coming to my feet. “Ah, you’re so affectionate. What a pleasure you’ll be.”

Lust gave a thumbs-up.

I pushed against his chest, and he released me. “I’ll never be affectionate to you. It won’t be long before Devereux discovers our location, and you’ll have to deal with him. I feel nothing for you but pity.”

He stepped close. “Devereux—clever lad that he is—won’t find this place, and even if he does, I’ve got a special surprise for him.” He grabbed my hair, anchored my head in place, leaned in, and kissed me roughly. His breath had a sweet, earthy odor. Lust swooned. He raised his mouth just enough to speak, his voice a low rumble. “It doesn’t matter what you feel for me. After you’ve tasted what I have to offer, your body will do whatever it takes to acquire more. I am highly addictive, as you’ve no doubt discovered from talking to lovely Luna.” He gave an exaggerated sigh. “I wish human bodies lasted longer. It’s so tedious having to restock so often. I hope you aren’t another disappointment.” He clasped my hand, tugging me to a door in one of the regular walls.

He swung it open, exposing a wide, carpet-covered staircase. Dim light flickered at the bottom. “Let’s take a shortcut.” He wrapped his arms around my shoulders. Stale, cold, nauseating air flowed against my face, making me gag and close my eyes. Feeling myself standing on solid ground again, I raised my lids and sneezed. The air was even thicker here. It hurt to breathe.

He released me and I hugged myself, shivering from the cold.

Soft illumination sparked from candles burning in tall, standing holders, showcasing a large, colorful pentagram painted on the dark floor. Esoteric symbols filled the outer rim of the circle and a female body marked the center. She appeared very small in the large sphere, lying there naked and spread-eagled, tied to posts pounded into the ground.

I would have recognized those golden curls anywhere.

“Victoria!”

I broke free of Hallow, ran to her, and dropped onto my knees. Her eyes were closed and her head drooped, slack-jawed, to one side. I pressed my palm on her cold chest, trying to sense a heartbeat, and was overwhelmed with relief when I found one.

“What have you done to her?” I demanded. “Why is she tied up? What’s wrong with you?”

He loomed over me, staring down with an amused expression on his face. “Well, let’s see if I can answer those in the right order, shall we? What have I done to the powerful witch? I drank some of her succulent blood, giving her the orgasm of her life, then I ruined her for all other men by fucking her senseless. While she was entranced from my bite, I commanded her to instruct my lýtle in setting up a ritual circle. This part was ingenious, if I say so myself. Victoria’s magical skills are even superior to Devereux’s. I’ll bet you didn’t know that. Before she came back to her rational senses, I made her cast a spell to keep this entire room safe from intrusion. Only those I have selected can enter. Everyone else is magically repelled.” He laughed and slapped his thigh. “How clever of me to use his own witch against him.”

He polished his fingernails on the front of his shirt in a gesture of self-congratulation. “Why is she tied up? I’d say that one’s obvious. In order for the magic to work, the witch must remain in the circle. She was so overwhelmed after her last orgasm, she just passed out, which was the best thing that could’ve happened to her. If she’d kept up the screaming for much longer, I’d have had to slit her throat, spell-casting skills aside. And, what is wrong with me? My dear doctor. I’m a very naughty boy. We will have plenty of time to decipher all the chasms in my vampiric psyche. You’ll not only have the benefit of my bite and my body; you’ll be able to psychoanalyze me to your heart’s content. What more could a woman want?”

Ignoring the madman staring down at me, I grimaced at the sight of Victoria. He’d left ample evidence of the savagery of his attack all over her body: dried blood on her genitals and pubic hair, multiple ragged fang holes in her neck, on both breasts, and across her thighs. She never had a chance against the sadistic bastard. My stomach turned. It took everything I could muster not to gag, because he probably would’ve enjoyed my revulsion. My throat was so tight it was hard to speak. Her skin was tinged blue. If my teeth were chattering, she had to be in danger of hypothermia.

“Let me cover her up. She won’t be any good to you if she freezes to death.”

He tilted his head to the side, studying Victoria. “Hmmm. Cover her up? No. I don’t think so. I like looking at her like this. All that provocative, voluptuous flesh. I especially love the way her breasts slide down on either side, making her nipples point in opposite directions. Very erotic. A Rubens painting come to life. And you needn’t worry about her being cold. As long as she’s entranced, she feels nothing.”

As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I scanned the rest of the room. The echoing cavern had obviously been some kind of communal brothel or sleeping area. I’d guess brothel, because now-tattered, flimsy curtains hung from the ceiling, marking off the “private” spaces. All the small bed frames had been shoved into the far corner, leaving evidence in the dust of their previous positions. The farther away from the candles, the deeper the shadows, so I couldn’t make out the artwork on the walls or any other furniture.

I suddenly remembered the other missing person and jerked my head in Hallow’s direction. “Do you have my friend Tom? Have you hurt him?”

“More questions?” He smiled condescendingly. “Well, I suppose that’s a psychologist’s prerogative. Yes. I have your chatty, obnoxious friend. Quite frankly, he was so irritating that I wasn’t even initially tempted to take his blood, or anything else. I finally had to command him to sleep. How in the world do you endure such a person?”

I stood, squinting to see in the faint light. “Where is he?” I was almost afraid to know.

Hallow pointed to the beds in the corner. “I stashed him as far away from me as possible, just in case he awakens and starts talking again.”

“I don’t have your vampire eyesight. Can I have a candle so I can find him?”

His favorite evil grin quirked his lips. “Very clever, my good doctor. Asking your captor for the means of his own destruction. Although, I hate to disappoint you, but I meant what I said about my indestructibility. Even if you did manage to set me on fire, I’d probably only get a temporary tan.” He chuckled and winked. “I’ll fetch a candle and escort you back.” He strolled to a shelf near the wall, picked up a candle, lit the wick, and returned. “Follow me.”

Hallow had been right about the bad odor. Now that I had a moment to process the secondary horrors, foul smells assumed a larger presence. This room reeked: a combination of mildew, body wastes, and death. I was tempted to hold my breath, but I wouldn’t have been able to manage long enough for it to make any difference.

My jailer led me to a bed in the darkest corner. A naked Tom lay sprawled on top of a flat, soiled mattress. I sat on the edge of the bed and felt for a pulse. His heart beat much stronger than Victoria’s. My initial relief was quickly replaced by anger at the vampire for hurting another of my friends.

“Why is Tom naked? Do you just enjoy humiliating everyone?”

He shrugged, unconcerned. “Is nudity humiliating to humans? I’d forgotten. I simply took his clothing so he couldn’t run away. It’s cold outside. I didn’t think he’d want to parade through downtown Denver nude.”

I almost laughed. “You obviously don’t know Tom.”

An angle of the candle caught two still-bloody fang holes in Tom’s neck. The lying psychopath. Fear surged through me. What if we couldn’t hold on until Devereux found us? “I thought you said you didn’t take his blood.” I slid my finger through the tepid liquid. “Why bother lying?”

He grabbed my finger and sucked it clean. “Not that it matters, but I put him to sleep before taking his blood, so technically I told the truth. It’s not as much fun if they’re compliant, but blood is blood, after all. Just a little snack before popping over to collect you.”

He assumed his now-familiar stance, the candle-free hand fisted on his hip, his legs apart. Lord and master. “Your friend is of no consequence. His only purpose was to serve as added incentive to get you here. I’m confident that Luna would have persuaded you to rescue your fallen comrades—loyal trouper that you are. But Devereux returned faster than expected, so I just stepped in, shortened the intermission, and raised the curtain on the final act.”

I tensed. “What final act?”

He cocked his head and raised an eyebrow. “Even after spending so many months with predatory bloodsuckers, you’re remarkably naïve, Doctor. I sense no pretense in you. You sincerely have no idea what is about to happen. I don’t think I’ve ever met anyone with as many innate abilities as you possess who is still so astoundingly, mentally pure. You actually believe the world is rational—that an explanation can be found for everything. You expect a murdering vampire—yours truly—to tell the truth. It’s a mystery. I have absolutely, as the miners who once thrived in the Queen City would say, hit the mother lode with you.” He laughed, his body rocking with the hilarity of it.

I wasn’t quite as naïve as he assumed, but if allowing him in think so gave me any advantage whatsoever, I’d gladly play along. “What do you mean?”

“I’ll walk away with the strongest, most pure lýtle I’ve stumbled upon in many a century, and your friends … well, let’s just say they won’t make it through the night.” He reached out and grasped my hand, pulling me up from the bed. I knew it wouldn’t do any good, but I resisted, trying to delay the inevitable as long as possible. He laughed, not deflected in the least. “Jolly good, Doctor. You’ll find I enjoy a vigorous struggle. Unfortunately, the fight usually goes out of my … guests … much too quickly. So, please. Feel free to arouse me. Soon you’ll be just another docile slave. While it is my intention to suck the life force out of you, I will also miss it when it’s gone. One of the little paradoxes of my existence. But never fear. I plan to savor you slowly.”

He must have noticed my shivering, because he gave me a surprised look. “Once again, I have been a poor host. Since temperatures don’t affect me, I had totally forgotten you might find this room a bit brisk for your tastes.” He grinned. “I can rectify that.”

Pulling me along behind him, he traversed the room, holding his flame aloft. He paused every couple of feet, ignited the wicks of row after row of tall candles, until the entire space was ablaze with light.

“The witch told my lýtle to provide lots of candles, and my slave is nothing if not obedient. We might as well ignite them. I do want you to enjoy your last few hours in Denver.”

The suddenly visible walls of the subterranean den of iniquity were filled with huge paintings depicting various sex acts. Hallow pointed to one in particular and chuckled. “That one should give you a glimpse of your future.”

The scene he’d indicated was of a woman on her knees in front of an abnormally well-endowed male who held her hair clasped tight in one hand while he forced the obscenely large organ into her mouth with his other.

I gagged in sympathy, cringing as Hallow slid his hand up my arm.

Taking advantage of his relaxed grip, I jerked my arm away. “You’ll never force me to do that. I’d rather die.”

He laughed as he reclaimed his grasp. “Force you? To the contrary, my dear doctor. You’ll beg me.”

I shuddered in trepidation, fear crawling up my spine, as Lust danced a celebration boogie in our shared inner sanctum.

“All the comforts of home,” Hallow said as he propelled me toward a fireplace carved into the back wall. He bent over, touched his candle to a clump of newspapers in the hearth, and the fire caught.

Black smoke billowed into the room before it was sucked away. I coughed. The fireplace must have a chimney leading up to the fresh air. I hadn’t noticed if the room we’d landed in earlier had a fireplace, but there had to be one on the topmost floor. Hope momentarily glimmered. Wouldn’t someone notice smoke coming from this supposedly empty place?

My optimism died as I remembered all the businesses above us. Nobody would have cause to think anything about smoke coming from a stray chimney. What was unusual about that? Many of the buildings in this area had been made into lofts, purchased by uninvolved trust-funders or Internet millionaires. Not the kind of residents who devoted a lot of time to pondering the goings-on of the neighborhood.

Hallow dragged me back to the circle and gave me a shove, causing me to fall onto Victoria’s cold, still form. I quickly rolled away from her, not wanting to make her any more uncomfortable or cause any more pain than she’d already endured. The monster gazed at me with his hypnotic, silver eyes. I tried not to meet them.

“Are you as excited as I am?” He cocked his head and adopted a serious expression, as if he thought I’d actually answer his ridiculous question. “I have one last task to complete and then your new life will begin. Since your friends don’t seem to be brilliant conversationalists tonight, you can spend the next little while contemplating how you can be of greater service to me.” He leaned forward, his dark veil of hair swinging down in front of him, and gave a maniacal grin. “Think hard, now. There’ll be a quiz later.

“Oh, by the way, you can stop trying to contact Devereux telepathically. The witch’s marvelous magic stops everything, including communication.” He gave an exaggerated frown. “This just isn’t your day, is it?”

Ear-splitting laughter burst from his throat before he vanished, the sound echoing after he was gone.

I’d already figured out the futility of trying to contact Devereux, but that didn’t matter. It wouldn’t stop me from flinging message-filled bottles out into the cosmic sea.

Searching for escape routes, I noticed the entrance to the staircase was only a few feet away. Either the fiend was absolutely confident I wouldn’t try to leave, or he’d arranged it so I couldn’t. Only one way to find out. I jumped up, climbed the stairs two at a time, and smashed into a cushion of solid air at the top. Or the outer layer of the invisible beach ball I’d been trapped inside. That’s how it felt.

I slid my hands along the oddly pliable, magical force field protecting the upstairs room. It gave when I pushed on it, but wouldn’t allow me to move forward. This must be what Hallow meant when he said he’d compelled Victoria to use her abilities to seal the area. But, of course, the maniac could pop in and out at will. Too bad I couldn’t …

“Hey!” I yelled down to unconscious Victoria. “What if he forgot he gave me a ticket for Air Vampire?” Was I still able to transport myself? I quickly retraced my steps and moved toward the circle, visualizing the interior of Devereux’s penthouse, then froze. Wait. It couldn’t be that easy. Hallow was insane but not stupid. What if I was able to blink out, but smashed into the plastic beach ball again? Only this time at the speed of light? Would I be pulverized into unrecognizable atoms?

How could I help Victoria or Tom—or anyone—if I was dead? But then I looked at one friend, then the other, and I realized it was a no-brainer. I simply had to try.

I closed my eyes, picturing Devereux’s dining room. I recalled the wonderful breakfast buffet his helpers had prepared for me a couple of mornings ago, and sighed at the pleasant memory. I imagined the aroma of the coffee, the taste of the fresh baked goods, the sweetness of the strawberries, melons, and grapes, and waited for the familiar sensation of free fall.

Nothing happened.

I filled in even more details and tried again.

Nothing.

Imagining myself in my own townhouse had the same result.

Damn.

My flight had been cancelled.

I plopped down next to Victoria, laid a hand on her cold arm, and worked to clear my mind. I couldn’t allow myself to be overcome by fear.

Suddenly Victoria groaned and pulled against her restraints. I gasped. Pain knifed through my body—her pain—as sharp as if it were my own. Since we had similar psychic abilities, proximity made the sensory connection between us even deeper than it usually was.

“Victoria?” I scooted close, angling my head near her mouth, overwhelmed by the magnitude of the torture Hallow had inflicted upon her. I had to take a few deep breaths to remind myself I could distance emotionally. That I wouldn’t be any help to her if I became further enmeshed in her misery. Almost like a physical act, I mentally pushed myself back from the waves of pain. It took all my control not to cry.

She groaned again and her eyelids fluttered, then slowly opened. Her beautiful peridot eyes were bloodshot, the pupils dilated. “He’s not”—the tip of her tongue struggled to moisten her lower lip—“what you think,” she whispered.

“What do you mean? Who’s not?”

She coughed, wincing with pain.

Shit. She was in bad shape.

I raised my head, scanning the area for anything helpful—water, blankets—but I didn’t really expect to find them. Unless they were accustomed to spending time with humans—live humans—the undead rarely took our needs into consideration. Especially if the bloodsucker in question viewed humans as fast food.

Victoria kept trying to speak, even though it apparently took a lot out of her.

“Hold on a minute, Vic. Let me see if by some miracle I can find some old tapestry or something to cover you with. You’ve got to be freezing.”

I sprang to my feet and rushed through the tall candles, widening my search until I reached the edges of the room. Along the far wall I discovered a bounty of old couches, chairs, and tables, which had been clumped together, with a few heavy rugs of varying sizes thrown on top.

“Yes! I found a couple of small rugs, Victoria. They’re filthy, but they’ll keep out some of the draft.”

I’d just turned with the rugs to retrace my steps when my eye caught a modern-looking cup sitting on one of the tables. I lifted the half-full cup. Starbucks coffee. Why would Hallow have a half-empty cup of trendy java? I’d never heard of a vampire ingesting anything but fresh blood. I sniffed the contents. It smelled like strong, black coffee. I tipped the container so the light would shine on the surface to make sure there was nothing floating there. People often used cups for ashtrays. It seemed to be cigarette-butt-free. I finally took a tiny sip. It really was cold coffee.

No telling how long the bitter liquid had been sitting there, but it would be better for Victoria than nothing. While shifting the two rugs I’d wedged under my arm, I managed to drop one. I bent over to pick it up, and my fingers slicked over something smooth and cold. Gathering the flexible material, I held it up in the light. A leather jacket. It seemed too small to be Hallow’s, but it didn’t matter who it belonged to. It was now Victoria’s.

I crushed the rugs and the jacket to my chest, tightened my grip on the coffee cup, and hurried back to the circle. I set the cup out of the way, situated the leather across Victoria’s chest, then spread the rugs over her. Retrieving the cup, I slid my arm under Victoria’s neck and lifted gently. “I know this probably is going to taste horrible. You’re not much of a coffee fan as it is. But it’s wet and, judging by the lack of stains inside the cup, it hasn’t been sitting here very long.” She nodded and parted her lips to accept the offering.

I could still sense her anguish like a background hum.

She swallowed a few times, then cleared her throat. “You have to resist him. He can only take you if you offer yourself freely. It’s all a lie.” She tried to lift her head, but the effort was obviously painful because she gasped and closed her eyes.

I hovered, worried. “Victoria? Please don’t close your eyes. I’m afraid you won’t open them again if you do.”

She nodded, slowly opened her lids, and gave a weak smile. Her voice was thin and hoarse. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to let any bloodsucking asshole take me out.” Her expression grew serious. “Remember what I said. He’s cursed. Not what you think. Don’t choose him.”

Choose him? Why would she even suggest such a thing? It was clear that Hallow had given her something to cause her pupils to dilate and make her say such strange things. “I promise I won’t choose him. You never need to worry about that. I know he’s a monster.” I studied her eyes. “He gave you a drug, didn’t he? That’s why you’re so lethargic.”

“No.” She coughed and shook her head. “He’s a drug. His bite …” She went still except for her eyes, which tracked back and forth. “He’s coming.”

“How do you know?” I whispered, scanning for any signs of the crazed vampire.

“My body knows. It craves him. It can feel him approaching. Hide the cup. I’ll pretend to be asleep.”

I grabbed the cup, hurried to the nearest piece of furniture against the wall, and thrust the Starbucks container behind it. Returning to her, I collapsed onto my knees by her side, whispering frantically, “Can you release the magic spell you created? Is there something I can do to help?”

Almost immediately, I was startled by Hallow’s mesmerizing voice and leapt to my feet. “Well, what have we here? Pretend to be asleep, will she?” He materialized nearby, clutching a semi-conscious Luna under his arm. “Tsk-tsk, my dear doctor. I see you’ve misbehaved. Didn’t I tell you to leave the witch uncovered?” He barked out a laugh. “As if the rugs will warm her while she lies on the equivalent of a block of ice.”

I gazed down at Victoria, her eyes were huge, lips parted.

Hallow dropped Luna, who fell to the ground with a loud thunk. He squatted next to Victoria, stared into her eyes, and she lost consciousness, her head flopping sideways.

“We can’t have her screaming again. I’d hate to lose control of myself and kill her before I make full use of her.”

He stood effortlessly, and turned to me.

“I brought you some company.” He pointed at Luna. “Letting her watch the finale is the least I can do, after all her decades of service.” Luna roused enough to wrap her arms around Hallow’s ankles, whining, “Master, please! You need me.”

He glared down at her, shaking his head. “I haven’t had a slave who was worth a shit in centuries.” Leaning down, he lifted Luna by her shirt and flung her across the room. She landed near Tom’s bed, no longer whining.

He cast a glance back over his shoulder. “Oh, yes. Speaking of slaves. I have a surprise for you.”

He stepped aside and laughed, sending chills down my spine. He sailed his arm through the air in a wide arc, pointing to the person I hadn’t noticed waiting behind him.

Maxie.

I gasped, pressing my hand against my wildly pounding heart. “Maxie? Jesus, Maxie, no.” My brain spun, unable to comprehend that the maniac had kidnapped yet another of my friends. Another mortal he could drain. Dark circles underscored lifeless eyes in her pale, blank face. She stood silent, her fuck you T-shirt half-untucked from her jeans, her shoes missing, her white hair loose and tangled.

“What have you done to her?” I asked Hallow as he leaned in to study the expression on my face. “There was no reason for you to capture anyone else. You’ve already got me.” He seemed overly interested in my reaction to his newest insult. I inched toward Maxie, wanting to touch her—to let her know she wasn’t alone—but Hallow stepped in front of me.

“No. Not yet. Let me get comfortable first.”

Let you get comfortable? Comfortable for what?

Chuckling, Hallow jumped over Victoria, fetched a chair from against the wall, and placed it where he could see both Maxie and me. He sat, sending up a cloud of dust.

“All right. I’m ready. You can continue now.”

Something was wrong. He was even more pleased with himself than usual. I studied his face, trying to figure out what kind of trap he intended to spring, but his wide smile told me nothing. I turned my gaze back to Maxie, who stood silent, empty.

Had he already drained her and somehow animated her corpse to fool me into thinking she was still alive?

I reached out and touched her arm. Immediately, her face blurred. As I watched, her features shifted, melting like wax. The pale skin, dead eyes, and dark circles morphed into her usual flawless skin, bright blue gaze, and silly grin.

She laughed. “Good ta see ya, Doc.”

Without thinking, I jerked back.

What the hell just happened to her face?

“Maxie? Are you okay?”

Am I hallucinating?

She slid her gaze to Hallow.

He strolled over and threw his arm around my shoulders. “I don’t believe you’ve been properly introduced to my current lýtle.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

My brain spun, my mouth went dry, and I stopped breathing. His words struck me like a verbal punch to the gut. All I could do was stare at the smiling woman in front of me. It seemed to take forever before I could speak, but it was probably only seconds.

“Your lýtle? Maxie?”

Hallow cocked his head and made a tsk noise, faking sympathy. He patted my shoulder. “Oh, dear. I can’t even begin to imagine how betrayed and disappointed you must feel. Allowing yourself to make a new friend, only to discover she’s been spying on you all along—using you, taking advantage of your good nature. What an evil creature she must be.”

A tear rolled down my cheek before I even realized I was crying, but once the weeping began, I was overcome. Sobbing, I didn’t even try to hold back—to pretend to have a professional image to worry about or anyone to impress. What was the point? I wiped my nose on the sleeve of my sweater.

It was clear that from the moment Hallow had entered my life, he’d been in control. Nothing Devereux or anyone else did—especially me—had any effect on the lunatic’s sick agenda. I would’ve laughed at my own stupidity if his machinations weren’t so horrifying.

Being set up and sucked dry by an insane vampire wasn’t where I expected to be at this point in my life.

My heart ached as I thought about Victoria and Tom and what the fiend would probably do to them. Hopeless, I cried for Devereux’s good intentions and the pain he would experience after I was gone. For all the possibilities that would die along with us. And for Maxie’s deception. Even though I’d only known her a short time, I’d allowed myself to trust. Some judge of character I was.

My knees gave out and I sank to the filthy ground.

My mind refused to accept this huge, ugly truth. Even now, with the proof grinning down at me, I still couldn’t make myself believe she’d meant to hurt me. That our connection had been a complete lie. How could I have been so taken in? Had I been under Hallow’s control longer than I knew?

Were there signs I’d missed? Inconsistencies I refused to acknowledge?

Of course there were. And as I figured them out, they’d haunt me for as long as I remained able to have independent thought.

“Hey, Doc. You’re doing that weird staring thing again.”

I gazed up at her through my tears, unable to speak. Did she think I’d respond to her familiar statement? That I’d play this hideous game with her?

Suddenly there was a loud, building-rattling crash. It was so extreme, it even startled Hallow. Were we having an earthquake in addition to everything else?

Several more explosions thundered around us in all directions.

Hallow laughed. “I take it, your hero and his vampire cavalry have arrived.” He danced around the candle holders, clapping his hands after every new assault. A demented child. “It will be entertaining listening to them take the building apart, only to discover they’ll be stopped in their tracks when they hit the impenetrable layer created by Devereux’s very own sorceress!” He turned to Maxie, a malevolent grin on his face. “I simply must go and watch. Witnessing their frustration is just too big a temptation to pass up. You stay here and guard your replacement.”

“Master!” Maxie groaned and threw her arms around his neck. “Don’t say things like that. You’d never replace me. You love me. You promised I’d be with you forever.”

Hallow shoved her away so violently she fell, her head hitting the hard ground with a sharp crack. She landed next to me and he leaned over both of us, snarling, his long fangs glistening in the candlelight. His silver eyes narrowed. “You will be with me forever.” The sound of his laughter resonated after his body disappeared.

Maxie was as addicted as Luna. I didn’t know whether to feel disgusted, sad, or one of the myriad of other emotions wrestling in my brain. I chose horrified. Was I getting a glimpse of my own future?

But why was I less willing to be compassionate about Maxie’s addiction than Luna’s? Maybe it was because I’d let my defenses down with the alleged reporter, where I hadn’t with Devereux’s bristling assistant.

Maxie sat up, rubbing her head, yelling to be heard over the demolition sounds. “I’ll be glad when all my humanity is gone. It’s irritating to still be so breakable.” She scooted close and stared at me. “It wasn’t personal, you know. I really did like you.”

I sniffled a couple of times to clear my clogged nose. “With friends like you, I apparently didn’t need any enemies.”

“Yeah.” She shrugged. “I can’t blame you for being pissed off. But here’s your chance to ask all your questions. Once Hallow returns, there won’t be a lot of time to talk.”

She said the last in such an ominous tone, my stomach clenched. “What do you mean? What’s going to happen?”

She leaned back on her elbows. “He’ll take some of your blood, give you some more of his, and begin the process of making you one of us.”

“Wait. Some more of his blood? What are you talking about? I never drank any of that psychopath’s blood.”

“I’m not surprised you don’t remember.” She shrugged again. “He didn’t give me any details. But one time I know about for sure.” She raised her eyebrows, as if she were waiting for me to ask what she meant, so I did.

“Well?” I asked impatiently. “Are you going to tell me?”

“I just wanted to see if there were any traces left of the feisty doc I know and love.”

I frowned and pressed my lips together. She was making it easy for me to hate her.

“Okay, okay. I guess I am being an asshole. It’s hard for me, too, ya know. I didn’t expect to like hanging out with you. No matter what you think, I’m not totally heartless. Anyway, do you remember when I gave you some brandy at the amusement park?”

“Brandy?” Our trip to the deserted fun house seemed so long ago, I had to mentally re-create the evening step by step, starting with crawling under the fence. It only took me a few seconds to remember Maxie’s insistence that I drink some brandy after my encounter with an invisible hand. And the strange aftertaste that made me assume it had been in her car for a long time.

“The light bulb over your head just lit up.” She smiled. “Yeah. There was a little of Hallow’s blood in the flask.”

The idea of my drinking Hallow’s blood was so disgusting, I couldn’t sit still. I scrambled to my feet, pacing back and forth.

Maxie rose from the floor behind me and I faced her.

“Why put blood in the brandy?” I inched backward. “Was it just another way to prove you were in control?”

“Well, yeah.” She shoved her hands into her jeans pockets. “There was that. But in order to save time during the big transformation ritual—and to keep you from overdosing and becoming worthless to him—you needed to acclimate by drinking small amounts of his blood. Putting it into terms you can relate to, Doc, you’re connected to him now at levels much deeper than body or mind. We’re in the realm of metaphysics or even quantum physics, here. He has begun the process of joining his aura with yours. Soon, you’ll be an extension of him.” A huge smile curved her lips. “Like me.”

Another crash sounded overhead. My solar plexus tightened and my breath caught. The notion that I already had some part of Hallow inside me was frightening. Even if Devereux did somehow manage to break through the magic and free us from Hallow, I’d still be under the lunatic’s control. All I could hope was that Devereux got to Victoria and Tom before they were killed.

Knowing that Devereux was near should have been reassuring, but since nothing about Hallow had proved to be rational, I was afraid to hope there might be a way out of this nightmare. Talking to Maxie was probably another dead end, but she had more information than I did. I was willing to repress my true feelings and appear interested in case she said anything I could use to help my friends.

I pointed at her head. “So, Hallow’s the reason your hair is white? He’s the thing that happened to transform you?”

“Yeah.” She gathered the avalanche of white into a tail. “The hair is a side effect of becoming Hallow’s lýtle. The progression is different for every woman. You probably figured out that his twin over there”—she pointed at Luna—“only resembles him because they didn’t get very far along in the transformation process. Devereux interfered. If they’d continued, her hair probably would’ve gone white, too.”

“What about your face changing?”

She laughed. “I wondered if you were going to mention that. The transformation gives each of us special abilities. I can alter the appearance of my face and body. Every person who looks at me sees what he or she wants to see. It’s great for going undercover to get a story.”

Did she expect me to believe she really worked for that tabloid? She answered before I could ask the question.

“Yeah, I really do work there. Although, I’ve only been in the Denver office for a few months. Being Hallow’s slave isn’t a 24-7 kind of gig. A girl needs other interests. And, just in case you’re remembering what I told you about visiting the amusement park when I was a kid, I actually did live in Denver earlier. I wasn’t lying about that. At least not totally.”

I’m so relieved she didn’t totally lie. Yeah, right.

“So, who was it Hallow came to harvest if it wasn’t Luna?”

She appeared confused for a couple of seconds before bursting into laughter. “Oh, yeah. The harvest thing. Well turns out Hallow’s a pretty creative liar. Much better than me. It was you he came for all along.” She nodded in appreciation. “He really got into the game, here. He littered the ground with bloodless bodies, just to tantalize the vampire community and to keep them out of his way. Brilliant, actually.”

Well, that explains Mr. Roth’s dead vampires.

Hallow’s statement about me being Maxie’s replacement came to mind. Her reaction made it pretty clear she either didn’t believe him or was in denial. Devereux said the monster had a harem of women. I hadn’t seen evidence of that. Maybe I’d regret raising the issue, but I wanted to know.

“I thought Hallow had a lot of female slaves. Where are all the rest?”

Her good humor vanished. “I don’t know about how it used to be.” She raised her chin in the air. “Since he’s had me, he hasn’t needed anyone else.”

“Until now?” I crossed my arms over my chest.

“I’m not sure why he wants you.” She frowned. “I tried to convince him that three’s a crowd.”

Ah, the seeds of discontent.

“But it wouldn’t be three. He said I’m your replacement.”

Her eyes narrowed and her hands fisted at her sides. She stood rigid. “Shut up! You don’t know anything. He won’t replace me. You couldn’t possibly be enough for him. He’s just fucking with my head.”

She didn’t appear to believe what she said any more than I did, but addicts could be masterful at self-delusion.

How far can I push her?

“Maybe he’s tired of you. Or maybe he’s just a lying bastard who manipulated you the same way he did me. You probably don’t mean any more to him than his other women.” I laughed. “I’ll bet you thought you were special.”

I must be suicidal.

Her lips curled into a malevolent smile and she took a step toward me. I only had a few seconds to cringe away from the anger radiating off of her when an entire portion of the wall collapsed behind us. Bricks and cement tumbled into the room like a chunky mudslide.

My gaze shot to the huge hole. A sea of pale faces appeared inside. Devereux had brought reinforcements, and they were all trapped behind the unseen magical boundary.

“Kismet!” Devereux roared. He threw himself against the invisible force field, repeating words in the strange language he often used. After a few seconds, he slammed his fist against the barrier in obvious frustration and shouted, “I must know which spell Victoria cast so I can dismantle it. Revive her!”

I took a step toward Devereux, wanting to ask him how to revive Victoria, since Hallow had knocked her out with his vampiric gaze. Maxie grabbed my arm, holding me in place with unexpected strength. “Nope. Sorry, Doc. No conjugal visits today.”

“That’s right,” a low voice rumbled directly behind me.

Maxie and I turned toward Hallow.

“At least not with your knight in shining armor.” He swept Maxie’s hand away from my arm and spoke to her in a brusque tone. “Sit with the witch. Be prepared to do whatever I ask.”

She sank to the ground.

He lifted me into his arms and smiled. “Now that the audience is in place, let the show begin!”

Devereux raged on the other side of the barrier. “You will pay for this, demon!”

Hallow threw back his head and laughed before turning toward Devereux. “I almost wish I had time to finish you off before I claim my prize. Killing one such as you would bring me great pleasure. But, if I have learned anything after all these millennia, it’s that a juicy human in hand is worth two—or multitudes of—vampires in the wall.”

His body shook with mirth.

I struggled to free myself from the steel bands his arms had become, but my efforts only made him press me closer. “Hallow! Why are you doing this? You already have Maxie. You don’t need me. What’s the point of this?”

He stared at me. “You honestly don’t know, do you?”

What the hell was he talking about? “Know what?”

He licked his lips, exposing the tips of his descended fangs. “You have strong abilities. I’ll be gorging myself at the smorgasbord of your talents for, well, for as long as you last.”

Great. We’re back to the strong abilities crap again.

He walked us to the far end of the room, to the collection of beds near where Tom still lay unconscious. Holding me easily with one arm, he snagged another of the flat, dirty mattresses by a corner and dragged it onto the floor. Pulling it along behind him, he scooted the germ-infested bedding into Victoria’s circle and dropped it, sending up another burst of dirt.

Shit. This is bad. I’ve got to keep him talking.

“Wait a minute. What abilities? Vampires keep saying that, and I still don’t know what any of you are talking about.”

“You mean your golden magician hasn’t told you?”

Devereux glared at Hallow, mumbling something. If he was trying to cast a spell of his own, it wasn’t working. His vampire companions—at least a dozen of them—kept up an ongoing clatter of shouts and threats. Their commotion was so overwhelming, I didn’t think anyone but I could hear Hallow’s ramblings.

“I think we’ve already established that I don’t know what the hell anyone is talking about. Since you’re so enamored with the sound of your own voice, why don’t you tell me?”

He grinned. “Glad to. You’re gonna love this. Drumroll, please! You’re a vampire.”

I raised my eyebrows and pursed my lips. “I’m a vampire?”

Well, what did I expect from an insane murderer? Devereux said Hallow’s mind had mutated over so many centuries. Who knew what kinds of weird neural pathways survived in his brain? But his lunacy aside, the longer I could keep him distracted, the longer I’d avoid whatever psychic lobotomy he had in store for me. The entire situation was becoming more bizarre by the second.

“You are, indeed. Oh, not the blood-drinking variety like your warrior vampire over there or even like me, but you’re a vampire nonetheless. You, my dear doctor, are an emotional vampire.” He smiled, waiting for my reaction.

I frowned. “We usually call those people psychic vampires, and I’m not one.”

He shook his head. “No, it’s not the same thing at all. Those pitiful humans live off crumbs from the psychic table. You literally attract emotions. Like a magnet. And the fascinating thing is, you don’t even know you do it! All those psychic emanations float in your aura like a vibrational buffet. And not only from your current life, but from endless others. For someone like me, you’re a feast.”

Vibrational buffet? Endless other lives?

He paused for a few seconds, a huge grin sliding across his face. “Devereux probably never told you the big secret about who you used to be, either, did he?”

Who I used to be? How crazy is this madman?

I opened my mouth to ask about those ludicrous assertions, and he shook his head. “No, don’t even bother asking. I’m going to keep that bit of information to myself for future use.”

I’m arguing with an insane vampire. Time to switch techniques.

“Well, okay. Assuming I believe anything you just said, what’s that got to do with you?”

He released my legs and my feet landed on the ground. He gripped my upper arm with his strong fingers. The heavy smokiness that had cleared slightly when Devereux punched the opening in the wall had returned, making my eyes water. My lungs ached from breathing in the thick air and I felt lethargic.

“Why, you’ll just keep on drawing in resources from the human environment and I’ll be well fed. What a glorious arrangement. Of course, your physical apparatus will eventually give out, but by that time I’m sure I’ll have found a replacement or two.”

He angled my body so Devereux—who was now yelling strings of unfamiliar words over the clamor of the other vampires—had a clear view. He stepped behind me, his hands following the curve of my waist to fondle my breasts.

I sucked in a breath, suddenly terrified. Hallow must have subdued my mind earlier to keep me from sensing the depths of his vileness. Whatever he’d done to mute his usual, predatory, insane energy had shifted, and the thing pressing himself against me now felt horrifying and alien. The psychotic vampire’s power washed over everyone.

My gaze slid to Maxie’s. Her eyes were wide, lips parted. She sat limp, her shoulders slumped—entranced. Victoria lay in her own, silent world.

Devereux pounded against the invisible force field, his expression a mixture of rage, fear, and grief. The cacophony of the vampires around him reached eardrum-shattering levels.

Hallow cupped my breasts, squeezing gently, his voice soft silk in my ear, the resonance relaxing my muscles, disarming my resistance. “Let’s begin.” He continued stroking me, whispering psychotic endearments.

As he spoke, my mind began to fragment. My perception split and I clearly saw in my psyche the two familiar aspects of myself. Once again, they stood together in my inner world, waiting. The part I thought of as my professional self—reserved, shy, even cautious—seemed to be diminishing in size. I—who was I?—wanted to call out to her, to warn her she’d been deceived, but my vocal cords weren’t functional.

The primitive aspect—Lust—stepped forward, shining with raw energy. She responded to Hallow’s unspoken invitation, excited to become whatever he demanded. I experienced the same dissonant sensation as before: being both parts of myself, while knowing the primitive was about to take control.

Hallow spun me around to face him and stared into my eyes. His silver irises began to swirl and flicker. My knees softened. The sounds of the room receded and the temperature warmed.

Like an hourglass turned upside down, the sand flowing between halves, I transitioned from one personality to another inside myself. It was a curious sensation—simultaneously reveling in the growing strength of one aspect, while grieving the distance of the other. Reality began to lose its crisp edges, morphing into an altered state.

Is this a dream?

He smiled.

I studied his face, which had become even more beautiful. More unearthly. His sculpted features, full lips, and lustrous hair fascinated me. All I could think about was touching him. Feeling his skin under my hands.

In answer to my thought, Hallow pulled his shirt off in one seamless movement. His soft hair flowed down his body. I wrapped my fingers in it, sliding the long, dark strands across his muscular, pale chest.

He wrapped his arms around me and brought his lips to mine. A wave of heat pulsed through me, creating an odd melting sensation. My very skin seemed to dissolve. I felt myself merge with Hallow—his aura consuming mine. Intense sensations rocketed through me and I heard myself scream. I recognized the sound, but knew it couldn’t be coming from my physical mouth, since my lips were still pressed to Hallow’s. My heart pounded, double-time, the rhythm so hard and fast I anticipated the sharp pain that would signal an impending coronary. But it didn’t come. Bright images, like a film on fast-forward, bombarded my brain. Scenes of death and destruction, visions of bloodless corpses and ancient graveyards. Were these Hallow’s memories?

He deepened the kiss, sending electricity along my frame. I wasn’t sure if my muscles spasmed, or I only imagined they did. He slid his tongue into my mouth and I tasted blood.

Then, suddenly he disengaged. He reared back and stared at me for a few seconds, his mercurial orbs exerting an almost-physical pull. Without thinking, I raised my chin, exposing the throbbing vein in my neck. Fast as a serpent, he struck.

In that moment, a door slammed in my psyche, locking away the only part of me with any hope of resisting the beautiful monster. She was once again sealed in the soundproof glass cage.

I shuddered in orgasmic bliss. The commonsense, rational part of me could no longer interfere and the primitive self was enraptured. My entire being ached with need. As Hallow sucked on my vein, my body convulsed, one climax building on another.

When he lifted his bloody mouth, I groaned and raised my neck again in invitation, already craving what only he could give me. He laughed.

“That was only the prelude. The finale is yet to come.” He tugged my sweater over my head and tossed it onto the rugs covering Victoria. “Turn around so your ex-lover can see what is no longer his.” I slowly turned and faced the hole in the wall where Devereux stood. A sad expression shadowed his gorgeous face. I had forgotten he was there, but as soon as I saw him, I smiled and waved. He was so pretty. I didn’t see any reason why he shouldn’t come and take part in the fun.

At that moment, Hallow unhooked my bra and I shook it down my arms, happy to be free of the encumbrance, oblivious to my nakedness.

He stroked my breasts and pinched the nipples, making me moan with pleasure.

As he slid his hands across the chain of my protective necklace, he groaned. “Oh, yes. Such powerful magic in this trinket.” He clasped the silver pentagram in his hand. “And it would work beautifully if I were merely what Devereux believes I am.” He laughed. “But, I’m not!” He tugged hard on the chain and the necklace came free in his hand.

“Hey! That hurt!” I yelled, raising a hand to rub the tender spot at the back of my neck.

He threw the necklace across the room.

Still massaging the sore skin, I glanced down at Maxie. She’d raised onto her knees, her brows contracted, her lips a tight, thin line. I couldn’t understand why she seemed so upset. We were all going to be together, weren’t we?

Distant noises floated into my ears. Devereux’s mouth appeared to move in slow motion, exaggerating his enraged expression. Why was everyone so angry?

Hallow stepped in front of me again, unfastened my jeans, and pushed the fabric down my legs, leaving me standing in my white bikini briefs. “Get rid of them.”

I stared at the pants lodged around my ankles and couldn’t seem to figure out the process for discarding them. The portion of my brain that was in charge of such things wasn’t reporting for duty. I tried lifting one foot, then the other, but the jeans wouldn’t budge. Watching myself march in place made me giggle, and laughing felt so good that I began swinging my hips.

“Stop!” I froze in place.

Hallow turned to Maxie and barked, “Help her.”

Maxie crawled around Victoria to kneel in front of me. She pulled my jeans off, one leg at a time, and threw the pants out of the circle. I leaned over and stroked her hair. Her head jerked up, a surprised expression on her face.

My bare feet looked so pale against the dark floor. Hadn’t I worn shoes? I tried to think about that for a few seconds, but became distracted by Hallow’s loud voice.

“Move away.” He kicked out at Maxie. She flinched and returned to her original location.

“I told you there was fantasy sex in our future.” He turned to me and smiled. “My fantasy, of course.” He tugged at the drawstring waist of his flowing pants, and the tie came open. The silky fabric pooled at his bare feet and he stepped out of it, nude.

I was mesmerized by Hallow’s fantastic form. White marble skin over well-toned muscles and a thick, long erection jutting out from dark hair between his legs. I couldn’t force my gaze away as my hand floated in that direction.

He laughed and assumed his favorite, spread-leg, fists-on-hips stance. “Patience, my good doctor—or whoever you are now.” He nodded at his penis. “I can assure you it’s worth waiting for.” He pointed to the filthy mattress. “Lie down.”

I stretched out on the thin pad, unconcerned about anything but persuading Hallow to suck on my neck. I knew there were other people in the room, but they were only faint blips on my radar.

“I’m ready! Bloody Marys for everyone!”

Hallow knelt at my feet and said, dryly, “How charming. I’ll have to do something about getting the rest of you back. This mindless part of your personality is becoming a mite boring. Who knew your psyche was so fragile?” He smoothed his hands up my legs, hooked his fingers into the elastic band of my panties, and pulled them off. He crawled up my body, his soft hair sending pleasure ripples along my skin, until he completely covered me. I turned my head, offering my vein, and he grabbed my hair, lining my lips up under his.

“Don’t skip ahead,” he scolded. “You’ll make me lose my place in this tedious ritual.” He slanted a glance at Victoria. “If it wasn’t for the hag of a witch who originally cursed me, making me jump through all these ridiculous hoops, we’d be off to the next adventure by now. But, since the crone stuck her warty nose into my business, turning my usual process into a Wiccan fairy tale, we’ll have to accomplish this the slow way. Not that you’ll complain, of course.”

“But don’t you want to bite my neck?”

He pressed his lips against mine in a rough kiss, which only lasted a couple of seconds. “Shut up and pay attention.”

Angling down my body, he licked and kissed his way to my breasts. As he focused on one nipple, then the other, my body trembled. His rumbling chuckle vibrated my stomach as he finally shifted lower.

Moving glacially slow, he spread my legs and knelt between them. “Bend your knees.”

My body’s quivering escalated as my breathing hitched, making my heart flutter in my chest like the wings of a hummingbird. A continuous, low moan escaped from my throat.

“Do you freely choose to become my slave, my sweet Kismet?”

I’d just opened my mouth to yell, “Hell, yes,” when Hallow’s face slammed into my crotch and something heavy landed on top of me.

“No fucking way!” Tom screamed.

Chapter Twenty-Three

All hell broke loose.

In the seconds it took me to gasp, then scream, after being squished by an unidentified flying object, I watched Hallow and Tom wrestle, rolling sideways.

“Hey! Come back!” I sat up, pissed that my fun had been so rudely interrupted. They ignored me.

In the blink of an eye, Hallow pinned Tom to the ground. He grabbed a handful of Tom’s hair, exposing his neck. He paused briefly, flashed his long, sharp fangs, then sank them into the frantically pulsing vein. Tom shrieked and wailed, wildly flailing the arm and leg that weren’t trapped under the vampire’s body.

Hallow’s loud sucking sounds mesmerized me—I couldn’t shift my gaze away—until a rush of movement on my other side drew my attention. I was surprised to find Maxie crouched over Victoria, slapping the sides of her face, demanding, “Wake up!”

Maxie glanced at me before leaping toward one of the four thick spikes pounded into the end of each leather strap restraining Victoria. The other end of each strap was tied around one of Victoria’s wrists or ankles. She wiggled the spike back and forth, still loudly whispering to rouse the unconscious woman. “Wake up, damn you. Hallow really is going to replace me with her.” She jerked her head in my direction. “I agree with the asshole ex-boyfriend—no fucking way! Wake up and tell the blond stud how to tear down the magic bubble. Hallow will be pissed, but he’ll get over it. And I’ll have him all to myself again. Wake. The. Fuck. Up!”

Victoria groaned and pulled against the leather straps. Maxie must have sufficiently loosened the first spike because, with a feeble tug, Victoria’s arm came free. She coughed, then licked her lips. “Yes. Devereux,” she mumbled.

While Maxie crawled to the next anchor, Victoria took a deep breath and almost sang some foreign-sounding words, her voice weak, “patefacio veneficus, patefacio veneficus.”

I glanced over at Hallow, who was now licking Tom’s neck like a bloody lollipop, then boomeranged my gaze back to Maxie.

“Louder, witch!” Maxie ordered as she dislodged the spike binding Victoria’s other arm. “Before the master comes out of his blood trance.” She edged close. “This is going to hurt.” Maxie slid her arm under Victoria and heaved her into a sitting position. Victoria gasped with pain. “Again, witch! Louder.”

Victoria nodded, licked her lips and chanted, “patefacio veneficus, patefacio veneficus, patefacio veneficus …”

She paused for breath, and before she could take up the chant again, a deafening crash reverberated simultaneously from all directions. I saw a blond blur heading toward Hallow, followed by a herd of vampires.

Tall candles toppled like downed trees as the newcomers swarmed across the room. I watched for a moment to see if anything would catch on fire, but the ground was little more than hard dirt, so there was nothing to ignite.

Devereux yelled to the nearest vampire as he pointed at Luna, “Take her back to The Crypt. I will deal with her later.”

A Jean-Luc Picard look-alike swooped over to Luna, gathered her into his arms, and they vanished.

Interrupting Hallow’s feast, Devereux wrapped his arm around the fiend’s neck, pulled him off Tom, and the two men faced each other, snarling and hissing.

Devereux’s undead storm troopers spread out in a loose formation around the combatants, calling out graphic suggestions for subduing the dark-haired bloodsucker. “Do not interfere. He is mine,” Devereux roared at his companions as he removed his coat in a smooth movement and tossed it behind him. “I have waited long for this, Slayer.”

Naked, Hallow spread his bloody lips in an evil grin. He made a “come and get me” gesture with his hands, and laughed. “This night just keeps getting better.”

They leapt on each other, lethal fangs extended, blood spurting from bites and gashes.

Heart pounding, I sat up to get a better view of the fight and my gaze caught the limp, bluish-white body sprawled on the floor. Tom didn’t look so good. In fact, he looked dead. A strange, sad feeling coursed through me and I tried to shift my attention back to the two vampires, but couldn’t stop staring at Tom. Some distant voice in my head kept insisting I had to do something to save him.

Save him? What the hell? How was I supposed to save him? I was just waiting for one of the gorgeous, long-haired guys to finish what Hallow had started.

“Hey!” Maxie said.

I rose to my knees and swiveled my head toward her voice.

“What are you doing?” Maxie asked. She grabbed Victoria’s hand, which was tugging at the straps tied to her ankles.

“Let go! I need to help him,” Victoria pointed to Tom. “He’s dying.”

“No, he’s not dying. He’s dead. Drained dry. Toast. There’s nothing you can do, Glenda.”

“You’re wrong.” Victoria wrenched her hand away. “I can still sense him.” She squinted her eyes and stared at Maxie. “He’s more alive than you are. Whatever you are. You’re not a vampire, but you’re not human, either.”

“Yeah, looks can be deceiving.”

“Not to me. I see you. Or what’s left of you. And I see Hallow, too.” Victoria locked eyes with me. “I’ve got to make Kismet see before it’s too late.” She slid her gaze back to Maxie. “If you really want to make sure Hallow doesn’t claim her so you can keep him for yourself, you’ll help me.”

“I did my bit,” Maxie snorted. “I helped you give Devereux the key to unlock the spell. The rest is up to the blond Sir Galahad and his knights of the round coffin. But just to be clear. I wasn’t helping you. I was helping me.” She gave a bitter laugh and nodded toward me. “Yeah, as if anything we do will keep her from giving Hallow whatever he wants. He’s been controlling her longer than you think. She’s basically one giant libido at this point.”

“I’m not a giant libido.” I fisted my hands on my hips. “I’m just the right size. Why are you two talking about me like I’m not here? What is it you want me to see? Hey!” Devereux and Hallow tumbled into me, knocking me, face-first, to the ground. My forehead bounced on the hard surface, sending a jolt of pain across my skin. I rolled sideways toward Victoria, trying to escape the violent frenzy. She’d managed to dislodge the last two stakes holding her legs and rose painfully to her knees.

Devereux yelled to one of his vampires—a refrigerator-sized, undead linebacker with a tight cap of wiry, black curls named Basil—gave him less than a glance, and pointed at me. “Move her to safety.” The second Devereux shifted his attention to Basil, Hallow planted some kind of martial arts kick on Devereux’s shoulder. He struck with such force, Devereux flew through the air, his body punching a deep indentation in the far wall before he crashed down into a pile of stacked-up furniture. Devereux’s bellow of rage was accompanied by the sound of wood splintering.

Time stopped.

Unbelievably fast, Hallow appeared next to me, dripping blood. Covered in the red liquid, he looked like a cartoon demon. The powerful, thick smell caused me to gag. He wound his wet fingers into my hair, grabbed a handful, and pulled my head tight against his sticky leg. He yanked so hard on my scalp, it felt like my hair was being wrenched out by the roots. I wailed, “Ow, dammit. That hurts. Let go.”

“Shut up. We have unfinished business.”

He swiveled to face Basil, who’d just stepped up beside me. Hallow knifed his fingers into Basil’s chest and, before the huge vampire even had a chance to notice the wound, Hallow grabbed Basil’s heart and crushed it in his dripping hand. Basil went down like a skyscraper in an earthquake.

Devereux reappeared as Basil’s body disintegrated into ash. He flung off the tattered remains of his bloody shirt, growled, and took a step toward Hallow, then looked down at me and stopped. The other vampires closed in around us.

Hallow tightened his hold on my hair and laughed. “Yes. I thought my hostage might get your attention.” Keeping his eyes on Devereux, he bent down, jammed his other hand into my armpit, and dragged me a couple of feet backwards. I slid through a pool of Basil’s blood. “As delightful as this interlude has been, I’m afraid my new slave and I will have to complete the ritual and be on our way. Of course, I could simply wait until the sun comes up, watch you and your minions die for the day, and then finish you off. You wouldn’t feel a thing. But that would be incredibly kind and … humane … of me, and I can’t have that. No. Better that I allow you to observe while I complete my business with your former significant other, and then I’ll destroy you all.”

He tugged me to my feet, wrapped his arm around my waist, and snugged me against his body. As soon as he pulled me in, I felt his limp organ stir to life.

I looked up to find Devereux staring at me. I met his beautiful eyes, felt a crackle of energy arc across my forehead, and heard, “Come to me.”

That sounded like a great plan to me, so I stepped toward him.

Yeah, Dracula baby.

Hallow yanked me sideways, breaking my eye contact with Devereux. “Nice try, laddie. You simply don’t have the juice to override my control of the delightful doctor. And, if you keep trying, her mind will simply collapse upon itself. But, of course, it’s your call. It won’t bother me if she’s a vegetable. She’ll still be able to attract emotions like a magnet, so her mental state is of no concern to me.”

Hallow strengthened his grip and spoke into my ear. His voice sizzled across my skin. The achingly ecstatic tone melted my bones, slowed my heart rate. I was beyond relaxed. “Do you choose me, Kismet?”

I wanted to say yes, but I couldn’t form the word. My lips wouldn’t work. I was unable to force any of my muscles to do my bidding.

He shook me roughly. “Fucking sensitive human! Even my voice is too much for you. Speak, slave. Do you freely choose me?”

I coughed, trying to clear my throat.

A hand reached out and grabbed my leg, shooting a quick burst of electricity through me.

“Aspicio!” Victoria screamed.

The strange word hit me like a lightning strike, sending a trembling wave sparking through my entire body. I jerked my gaze down to Victoria as she yelled again, louder, “Aspicio!”

Holy shit!

Boneless, I slid out of Hallow’s grip onto my knees, staring into Victoria’s wide, peridot eyes.

“See the truth, Kismet! Take my hand and see what I see.” She held out her hand, palm up.

“Silence, witch!” Hallow commanded. “I’ll make sure you’re obedient, and this time there will be no traitorous slaves to intervene.” He reached for her golden curls.

Devereux leapt over me, smashing into Hallow. The forward motion pushed them backward, where they upended more of the tall candleholders, all the while snarling and growling. The smell of fresh blood saturated the smoky air.

Maxie, who’d been a silent observer on Victoria’s other side, suddenly stood. One of Devereux’s vampires moved in to restrain her. He clutched her arm in what must have been a painful grip. “The master told us not to interfere in his fight with Hallow.” He smiled wide, displaying a perfect fang and a chipped one. “But he said nothing about you. I think you’ve caused enough trouble.”

Devereux and Hallow continued their battle behind us. Guttural growls, rumbling hisses, and the sounds of ripping flesh and wrenching bone provided grisly background music for the surreal confrontation.

I’d been staring blankly, still unable to move. I was aware of everything around me, but frozen. Victoria reached over and took both my hands, squeezing hard. “Aspicio! Excito!”

My head flopped back, my mouth gaped open, and then my chin thumped forward, down onto my chest. Victoria’s words reverberated like a cattle prod to my brain. Electrical impulses radiated through all of my nerve endings; energy rushes danced along my scalp. My toes cramped. I slowly lifted my head and met her gaze. My eyes felt twice their normal size.

Expression intense, she leaned in close. “Keep hold of my hands and look at Maxie.”

The worst migraine I’d ever experienced commandeered and threatened to explode my skull. I blinked, licked my lips, and turned my attention to Maxie, who was struggling to break free of the snaggletooth vampire’s grip.

“Stop, witch! Don’t do this!” Maxie yelled.

She looked as she always did, right down to her cynical smirk. Her long, white hair flowed along her body like silky snow, her model’s figure showcased in her tight T-shirt and pants. Confused, I turned back to Victoria, not sure what she thought would happen.

She squeezed my hands again, so hard I felt the bones crunch together. “Aspicio! Excito!” she repeated. My body twitched like a frog in a high school biology class.

A loud buzzing filled my ears—like white noise times a thousand. I tried to raise my hands to block the annoying sound, but Victoria held them in a death grip.

I studied Maxie again, and this time her image melted. Her face blurred, and the blue eyes I was accustomed to seeing morphed into green. Then brown, silver. All her features swam, gel-like, creating an image that resembled a double exposure. I opened my eyes as wide as possible, blinking several times to clear my vision, but the bizarre transformation continued.

The beautiful woman with the quick smile no longer stood in front of me. Instead I stared, uncomprehending, at a tall, brown, dried-up husk with vaguely human features—empty holes where eyes should be—surrounded by a murky dark green-gray energy field. Her aura bubbled and churned like chemical sludge in a toxic waste tank.

The unexpected, hideous sight so shocked me, I gasped and slumped back against Victoria, who encircled me with her arms.

“Look at Hallow,” she demanded.

Everything slowed. My eyes watered and my vision fuzzed. The pain in my head hammered relentlessly, pressing with such intensity against the bones of my skull, I knew I couldn’t possibly survive. I must be dying. This had to be death. Victoria’s voice seemed far away.

“Kismet! Look at Hallow!”

She grabbed the sides of my face and turned it toward the two vampires fighting.

Hallow and Devereux floated in the air, mouths yawning, fangs displayed menacingly, covered with blood from the gashes and lacerations crisscrossing their bodies. For a second I thought Devereux had embedded his powerful fingers into the skin of Hallow’s neck, but then—like switching channels—Hallow, the beautiful man I’d momentarily desired, faded from my sight, and something unbelievable appeared.

Devereux levitated inside a massive, energy field filled with thousands of skeletal shapes, all slithering around and through each other like bony serpents, each with huge, bulging eyes. It looked like a loathsome, vast amniotic sac—the fluid thick, nebulous, and toxic—containing the partially formed embryos of a demonic breeder. Or the undigested remains in the distended stomach of a psychic cannibal.

He didn’t seem to notice anything was out of the ordinary as his grasping hands floated in a thick, dark, bloody liquid, which made up an inner layer surrounding an emaciated, contorted, charred-black thing in the center.

My attention had been so transfixed by Hallow’s grotesque form, it took me a few seconds to notice that Devereux appeared the same as he always did. Maybe his skin was whiter—more corpse-like—but I couldn’t see any other changes.

So, why did Hallow appear to be such an impalpable monstrosity?

Without having a face that I could make sense of, the soulless creature in the holographic nightmare seemed to glare at me.

I screamed, the torment in my head building to a crescendo. Suddenly, as if I were watching several movies simultaneously, each featuring a specific part of me—my scattered sub-personalities—the pictures sped up. The volume cranked. I was about to scream again, waiting for my head to burst into flames, when it all … stopped.

Standing alone on the center stage of my inner world, the part I’ve spent most of my life considering “me” waited, eyes closed. Like metaphorical ghosts, aspects who’d splintered off during Hallow’s takeover of my mind, merged back into the physical form of the main personality. My psychic skin stretched to accommodate the gossamer reintegration.

Lust sauntered over slowly and shrugged. “I’m stronger now. You can’t sweep me under the carpet. Everything is different.”

I nodded as she melted into me. All my puzzle pieces locked into place.

Heat rushed through my body. Feeling as if I’d been hit by a truck and the breath forcefully knocked out of me, I reeled, still leaning against Victoria.

She shook me and yelled again, “Aspicio! Excito!”

At her words, something snapped inside of me. The repressed rage of a lifetime splashed over the crumbling metaphorical dam in my psyche and pulled me under. I was suddenly drowning in anger. So lost in outrage I could barely catch my breath. My fists clenched as I thought about all the risks I hadn’t taken in the name of being somebody else’s idea of a good girl. The perfect rule-follower. My mouth went dry with the fury of truths unspoken—feelings swallowed. My body shook with the wrath of allowing myself to be bullied and dominated my whole life. I’d become so disempowered—so afraid of my own wisdom—that retreating into my intellect seemed the only safe place. The bitterness rose in my throat like fiery magma, swelling hot and relentless toward eruption.

An unknown darkness had awakened inside me.

“Yes, that’s it,” Victoria whispered in my ear. “Feel his blood in your veins. Let his evil fuel your resurrection. Turn it against him.”

I opened my eyes in time to see Hallow—his form flipping back and forth between being the beautiful demon and the metaphysical cancer—reaching for me. He’d somehow momentarily stunned Devereux and rushed over to retrieve me.

He yanked me to my feet and against his body—which was only humanoid for a few seconds before the illusion gave way to the grisly aura it had been superimposed on. I fought against him, jabbing my elbows into his gut, enjoying his grunts of irritation.

Victoria struggled to a standing position. She thrust her bruised arm into the air, fist closed, and screamed, “Expugno!”

The hairs at the back of my neck prickled, and chills rippled over my skin. I didn’t know what she’d said, but the mere word seemed to ruffle the airwaves.

Now that I could see exactly how monstrous Hallow was, my stomach turned and my skin went clammy. I had to remind myself to breathe while he pressed me against him. I closed my eyes and cringed as I thought about what I was really immersed in. My intuitive radar was wide open, sensing every foul nuance of his alien nature, and he felt sickeningly obscene.

“Enough of this nonsense.” He grabbed my hair, tugged my head back, and exposed my neck. He began repeating the same phrase, over and over, in his enticing, mesmerizing voice. “Do you choose me? Do you choose me? Do you choose me?”

I felt myself becoming drowsy, my knees softening. The edge of my anger dulled. I opened my eyes and several hundred pairs stared back at me from Hallow’s incorporeal death camp. I screamed, my rage rebounding, and forced out the words, “No! No! I don’t choose you. Let me go!”

Devereux, whose leather pants were torn and flapping around his knees, tackled Hallow, sending them both back to the ground again. It seemed like they’d been fighting for hours, but time had ceased having any meaning.

My body shook. Even if I hadn’t been quaking with anger, being nude in the below-freezing temperatures would have taken its toll.

The vampires struggled, switching positions every few seconds as one gained dominance over the other. As Hallow straddled Devereux’s ribs, his sharp fingernails gouging out flesh from Devereux’s neck, his voice rang out, “I’ve changed my mind, laddie. You’ve been a worthy adversary, but you’re much more trouble than you’re worth. Time to put an end to this.” Hallow slid his hand across the floor, picked up one of the stakes that had restrained Victoria, and raised it over Devereux’s heart, preparing to strike.

Devereux’s vampires flocked to him, obviously concerned about the placement of Hallow’s new weapon.

“Get back!” Devereux roared. “He is mine.”

The useless bloodsuckers looked at each other, shrugged, and stepped away.

I couldn’t believe they were just going to stand there, watching. The time had come to replace mindless obedience with common sense. Devereux was a force to be reckoned with, but it was insane to think that something as old and freakish as Hallow could be bested by anyone.

Hallow had become the quintessential symbol of every tyrannical person I’d ever allowed to override my free will. He’d put me and everyone I cared about in danger for his own, selfish needs, leaving a trail of death and destruction in his wake.

I felt like I’d finally awakened from a long sleep, and I refused to stand by, passively, allowing him to complete his foul plan.

We all sensed a turning point approaching. Maxie—freed from her dentally challenged captor—took a step toward the bloody battle. Except for her aura, which was still thick and dark, she’d transformed back into the beautiful woman I’d befriended.

After watching Hallow flash back and forth continuously between his two forms, I discovered if I focused on the likeness I was used to, he appeared that way for me. If I softened my gaze and looked at him with my peripheral vision, the horror show emerged. It was definitely less hideous to deal with the monster in his human shape.

Devereux had managed to slough off the demon sitting on his chest and they were both on their feet again, circling, Hallow brandishing the spike.

Victoria chanted a couple of feet behind me.

“Bring me the witch!” Hallow yelled at Maxie, who startled at the harsh, loud sound of his voice.

Maxie pivoted like a robot, stomped over to Victoria, then backhanded her with such velocity that Victoria became briefly airborne before landing with a loud thud, unconscious. Maxie closed the distance between them, grabbed her arm, and started dragging her across the hard ground toward Hallow.

I was so shocked by the savagery of Maxie’s violence, I jumped in front of her, my palms pressed against her chest. “Let go of her, Maxie. You don’t have to do this. Don’t give in. You’re more than just his slave.”

“You’ve seen what I am.” She stared at me with wide, glazed eyes. “I serve at his pleasure. I can’t fight him.” She shook her head. “I don’t want to.” She raised her fist, reared back, and hit me in the jaw.

The blow took me down. Literally. I’d never been struck before, and the punch, radiating pain across the bones of my face, stunned my senses. I sat dazed on the cold ground for several seconds, rubbed my jaw, opening and closing my mouth to gauge the damage.

Maxie dumped Victoria near Hallow and gave her a vicious kick to the ribs.

Watching Maxie hurt Victoria shook me out of my stupefaction. Heart pumping, adrenaline surging, I leapt to my feet, took a running jump, and landed on Maxie’s back. I wrapped my arm around her neck and pulled hard. I’d obviously caught her by surprise, because she lost her balance and we both crashed to the ground a couple of feet away from Victoria. Old ideas about my physical limitations combusted in the raging fire of my anger. I reveled in the dark satisfaction generated by my stranglehold on her throat. Who knew aggression could feel so good?

Being the more experienced fighter, Maxie sloughed me off, straddled my hips, and pinned me beneath her. She braced my wrists over my head and smirked, keen intelligence once again shining from her eyes, replacing the entranced gaze she’d had moments before. Our unexpected trip to the ground must have altered the zombie-like trance Hallow inflicted on her.

I struggled, bucking my hips, actually managing to shift her off my lower body and free one arm before she regained control.

“Gee, Doc. I’m impressed.” She raised her eyebrows. “A little of Hallow’s blood flowing in your veins and you turn into Xena.” Her expression became pensive and she leaned down to whisper. “Since your boyfriend’s a little busy and it doesn’t look like he’ll be riding to your rescue tonight, I’m going to have to change my plans. I guess I’ll have to get rid of you permanently. Hallow will punish me, but we’ll both get over it. He needs me.”

Delusional thinking. She needs a twelve-step program, like Vampires Anonymous.

“He might need you, but he doesn’t care about you. You mean nothing to him.” I laughed, goading her to have a strong reaction. “You’re an empty husk. Why would he want you when he could have me? For a smart woman, you’re pretty dense.”

She didn’t disappoint. Her eyes narrowed and she gathered both my wrists into one of her hands.

Bull’s-eye.

“Say good-bye, Ethel.”

She reached over and grabbed another nearby stake, held it over my heart, and laughed.

I twisted my body with enough force to bounce her off my hips, which caused her to release my wrists. Rolling on top of her, I grabbed for the stake, hoping to wrest it from her grip. We grappled, my moment of utilizing the element of surprise caused by my extra physical strength now past. Evenly matched, we both held onto a portion of the stake as it angled between us.

“How arousing,” Hallow crooned from above us.

Maxie lifted off my body and released her grasp on the stake. I held on. Having the sharp weapon in my hand added to my illusion of control. Sort of like carrying an umbrella in a hurricane.

We both stood, staring at the madman.

Hallow spoke directly to her, his expression dark. “Kill my new slave and suffer a fate much worse than death, old woman.”

He’d apparently found a way to escape Devereux long enough to grab Victoria’s unconscious body from the dirt and cuddle her against him. Quick as a cobra, he pierced her neck with his long, sharp fangs and drank deeply before raising his crimson mouth from the holes in her skin. He licked his lips. “Ah, yes. Elixir of the gods. The perfect pick-me-up when battling a jealous bloodsucker.”

Devereux waited in front of Hallow, unmoving and silent, clearly censoring himself to keep Victoria safe. His blood-covered chest was still, breathing unnecessary. His gaze never left his adversary.

“I’ll have to reconsider my plans to be rid of the old in favor of the new,” Hallow observed as he studied Maxie and me. “In fact, I’ve decided to take this voluptuous witch along for the ride. After all, she is powerful, and one simply can’t have too much blood available.”

He bent down, as if he were dipping Victoria in a macabre dance, preparing to sink fangs into her neck again. He turned his back to me, and I lunged toward him, spike poised to impale. As I raised my hand to strike, Maxie streaked by me, and threw herself in front of Hallow. I thrust the spike down, pushing it through skin, bone and organs. The spike sliced into her chest before I even realized what I’d done.

Maxie screamed.

I released the spike and stepped back, stunned. “Oh, my God. I’ve killed Maxie.”

Chapter Twenty-Four

Maxie’s body crumpled to the ground, gushing blood.

My stomach churned. I fought back vomit.

What had I done?

Within seconds her physical form disintegrated, leaving a semitransparent puddle of dark green-gray sludge that oozed, like an extraterrestrial life form, into Hallow’s death aura.

Hallow retracted his fangs from Victoria’s neck, threw her down roughly, and snapped into a rigid posture. He turned to me and shrieked, the sound rising into the register probably only heard by dogs. His face was a mask of fear and outrage. He tore at his hair and growled, blood dripping from his fangs.

Devereux’s arm slid around my waist from behind as he pulled me backwards, away from Hallow. “Come. It is over now, my love.”

I didn’t know what he meant. How could it be over? Insane Hallow was still here. Did Devereux think Hallow cared that Maxie was dead? That he’d stop his psychotic lunacy to mourn her passing?

Victoria opened her eyes and groaned at Hallow’s feet.

Devereux freed his arm and wrapped me in a thick blanket that suddenly appeared, before pulling me against his bloody chest again. I didn’t know where the warm cloth had come from, but I wasn’t going to question it.

Devereux must have mentally contacted one of his vampires, because a muscular male stepped next to him briefly before hurrying over to Victoria. The large vampire removed his heavy wool cloak, threw it over the wounded witch, and lifted her into his arms.

“Take her to the penthouse,” Devereux ordered.

“No, Devereux. Wait. Not yet. I need to witness the end of this nightmare,” Victoria urged, her voice barely audible.

Victoria’s rescuer looked to Devereux for direction, and received a nod. They moved over to stand next to us.

Why had the vampire been able to approach Hallow without any repercussions? What was going on?

My head spun as I remembered the wet, thick sound of the spike penetrating Maxie’s chest. I couldn’t have killed her. No. This had to be another horrible nightmare. I’d reacted without thinking when I went for Hallow. I just couldn’t stand watching him suck the life’s blood from Victoria. Why had Maxie gotten in the way? But I didn’t really need to ask. I knew the answer. She couldn’t help herself. Protecting the source of her addiction was all that mattered. But she knew better than anyone that Hallow couldn’t be killed. Did she want to die?

I’d gotten so caught up in remorse about Maxie’s death, that I didn’t immediately notice what was happening to Hallow.

His terrified face reminded me of Edvard Munch’s famous painting, The Scream. Silver eyes abnormally wide, he continued his high-pitched keening wail, which had descended the frequency scale and could once again be perceived by human ears.

As I watched, his beautiful body—or the image he’d projected—began to blister and swell, as if acid had been poured on it. Within seconds the familiar façade was gone, and all that remained was the grotesque specter.

Frightened by the sense of impending doom permeating the air, I shifted my head to glance up at Devereux. My stomach clenched. “What’s happening?”

He gave me a gentle squeeze. “The Slayer has lost his tether to the physical world.”

What?

Devereux rubbed his cheek against my hair. “He cannot remain without a slave to feed from. You have bested him.”

“Bested him?” I said, distracted by the horror show in front of me. “You aren’t making any sense. I don’t understand what’s going on.”

Hallow’s vast, malignant aura pulsed and writhed, oscillating around the distorted, twitching thing in the bloody center like a gangrenous cell. The holographic image shifted as I studied it from slightly different angles. Hundreds—no—thousands of bony creatures swam or floated in what appeared to be a thick, slimy liquid. Or maybe heavy, noxious air. The eyes of all the lost souls trapped in Hallow’s metaphysical hell stared, wide and desperate, somehow communicating terror without having actual faces to express the feelings. Lightning-like energy arced throughout the putrid sac.

The entire energy field began to spread out, mimicking the shock wave around a nuclear explosion. My heart pounded as the edge of the toxic mortuary rolled toward me, like a foul tsunami. I raised my arms up to cover my face, bracing for the impact—waiting to be swept inside Hallow’s psychic abyss—but nothing happened.

I lowered my arms to discover the grisly aura deflating. As if it were in the throes of birth contractions, transitioning from one dimension to another, it pushed itself through an invisible fissure, becoming translucent. A face—the only one I’d seen in there—floated into the remaining section of the sac. As I watched, Maxie’s familiar form appeared. She gave a sad smile before dissolving back into the sea of death.

With a deep rumble, the Hallow-thing vanished.

Silence fell heavy in the underground madhouse.

What had just happened? If others hadn’t been present to witness the incomprehensible delirium, I would have feared for my sanity. A chill ran through my body. Could it really be over?

A deep voice boomed, “Master, the human is near death. Do you wish me to transport him to the penthouse?”

The human?

I gasped and turned toward the vampire squatting next to a very-blue Tom, who lay forgotten on the frozen ground.

“Tom! Please, no!”

I broke free of Devereux’s arms and ran to Tom. Even through the haze of my previously altered state, I recalled the fight between my rarely courageous friend and the monster. He’d tried to save me.

Devereux knelt down beside me and hugged me against him. “I can barely hear his heartbeat. He has little time left.”

My body went cold inside the warm blanket. I grabbed Devereux’s arm. “Can’t you do something? Transport him to a hospital? Cast a spell to heal him?” For the second time tonight, I cried. These tears were not caused by anyone’s influence. They were pure grief.

Devereux touched his head against mine. “I am not able to bring back the dead, my love. I am sorry.”

I jerked away and turned to him, excited. I grasped his arm, my fingers pressing into his cold skin. “Yes, you are! You are able to bring back the dead. He wanted to be a vampire. You can turn him. You can! Please, Devereux. I don’t want to lose him this way. There has been enough death and misery tonight.”

Devereux laid a hand on Tom’s chest and closed his eyes. He lifted his hand, shook his head, and met my gaze. “I would not do this—not even for you—if I had not seen him take extraordinary action on your behalf. You must understand that there is no guarantee. Not everyone survives a turning of this sort. He is weak and might not withstand the challenge.” He stroked his finger down my face. “Are you sure you wish me to make your friend one of the undead? He will not be the man you knew for a long time. Perhaps never again.”

No. I didn’t want him to transform my oldest friend into a bloodsucking creature of the night, but since Tom had made his desires known—and he was nearly dead already—I didn’t see what other choice I had. I simply wasn’t able to let go.

“Yes. I’m sure.”

Devereux stood and spoke to the vampire still crouched at Tom’s head. “The dawn is less than an hour away. Take him to the penthouse and prepare him. I shall follow.”

The vampire nodded, gathered Tom into his arms, and they vanished.

Devereux spoke to the vampire holding a limp Victoria. “Take her.”

He did.

I stared down at the ritual circle in which Victoria had been held prisoner. The colorful symbols and letters seemed so benign in the remaining candlelight. The last few hours had been a nightmare I’d never forget. Even while the sane part of me had been locked away, I’d still observed everything. Every hideous detail was seared into my brain.

Maxie was dead.

I killed her.

My mind felt numb, empty. How could I simply go about my normal life as if the last few days hadn’t happened?

“Do not torture yourself, Kismet.” Devereux eased up behind me, enfolding me in his arms. “The responsibility for the death and destruction of the recent past can be laid at Hallow’s doorstep alone. It was his abuse of his lýtle that caused her willingness to die.” He tightened his grip. “Come. I must attend to your friend before the sun rises, and you must sleep.”

I relaxed my head against his chest, closed my eyes, and felt the familiar sensation of free fall. Soft air blew against my face as we transported from the hidden gentlemen’s club under the streets of Denver to Devereux’s high-rise penthouse. When Devereux released me, I opened my eyes.

He stepped in front of me, looking like a war casualty. His hair was so saturated with blood, it appeared brown instead of blond. But nothing could dim the brilliant green-blue of his eyes. “My staff is here to assist you in my absence. As always, my home is yours.” He held my face in his hands and gently kissed my lips. “I will do what I can for Tom.”

He disappeared.

Several unfamiliar women swarmed toward me, causing me to startle. They’d been so quiet, I hadn’t noticed them. I secured the ends of the blanket tighter around myself.

A tall, elegant, dark-skinned woman stepped forward and offered a warm smile. No fangs. “Welcome, Dr. Knight. I’m Carolyn. You must be exhausted. Devereux said you prefer a shower, but we thought, after the experience you’ve had, you might enjoy soaking in the tub. So, both are available. We’ve also prepared food and drink.” She tilted her head, waiting for my response.

“Are you vampires?” They didn’t feel like vampires to me, but I wasn’t sure how keen my senses were at the moment. It would be a while before I trusted my instincts again.

“No.” She chuckled. “Garden-variety humans. Devereux has hundreds of human employees, although not all of them are aware of his true nature. We”—she pointed to her companions—“have been with him for years. He’s a wonderful man.”

She didn’t refer to Devereux as master. That was one point in her favor. I didn’t ask what they were employed to do.

“He also asked me to get your permission to call the clients you have scheduled for today and tell them you have a personal emergency and will need to reschedule. Is that all right?”

My first reaction was to insist I’d see my clients, but that idea quickly deflated. For all intents and purposes, I was temporarily useless to them. A traumatized, grief-stricken therapist wouldn’t be at the top of her game. “Yes, thank you. Tell them I’ll call later.” I paused. “But just out of curiosity, when, exactly, did Devereux tell you all this? He’s been with me for the last several hours.”

“Devereux communicates with me telepathically. He told me shortly before you arrived here. Shall we go?” she asked, eyebrows raised.

I started to say I didn’t need any help. That I could run my own bath and find my own food, but that simply wasn’t true. I was exhausted. My heart was so filled with pain, I could barely breathe. Help would actually be great.

Carolyn led the way and I shuffled along behind her with the other women bringing up the rear, like an impromptu royal procession.

After a hot bath, a small meal, and a glass of wine, I let them tuck me in.

Sleep sucked me under.

*

The smell of coffee once again caressed my nostrils, enticing me to rejoin the land of the living. I was beginning to associate Devereux’s penthouse with the aroma of high-quality java.

Dressed in a comfortable bathrobe, I wandered out to the dining area expecting to find another breakfast buffet. I wasn’t disappointed. Food was abundant.

Victoria sat at the end of the table, drinking her cup of tea. She was dressed in one of her lovely goddess gowns and she smiled as I approached. “I could get used to this.” She chuckled, as she flicked a hand toward the feast.

I hurried over to her, pulled out a nearby chair, and sat. “Are you all right?” Her neck was a mass of multi-colored bruises, as was her cheek, and her lip was split and swollen. My midsection tightened in anger as I confronted the damage Hallow had inflicted on her.

“Yes. I’m better than I would’ve expected, considering.” She patted my hand and nodded, her voice perky. “And I’ll be even better by tonight, after my coven performs a healing ritual on me.” She took a sip of tea. “You’re welcome to come, you know. I think it would be good for you to deepen your occult knowledge and practice your skills. Plus, we could help heal that terrible bruise on the side of your face.”

I stared at her until she sighed and dropped the false cheerfulness.

“Okay.” She shook her head. “It was horrible and I feel defiled and broken. Slimed. I’m almost sorry he’s dead—or whatever he is—because now I can’t take my revenge. I can’t make him pay for what he did to me.” Her breathing was fast and ragged, her face flushed. “I’m left with all these feelings of hatred with nowhere to put them.”

She started to cry. I scooted closer and hugged her.

We were silent for several minutes.

She wiped her eyes on her sleeve, sniffed a few times, and shifted back in her seat. I took that as a cue to give her more space, so I moved my chair over to its original position and poured myself a cup of coffee, waiting for her to continue.

“When he came into the lobby yesterday morning—was it really only yesterday?—I was so shocked by what he really was that I hesitated. I could have pressed the alarm button under my desk, but my brain froze. I couldn’t think. And before I even realized, he’d transported me out of there. We were in that disgusting, frigid underground place.” She gave a cynical laugh. “I did manage to fight him off for about two seconds before he entrapped me with those silver eyes. I think I pulled out a handful of his hair.”

“Yes.” I nodded and continued to speak softly. “I found one of the strands on your desk. That’s how we knew he had you.”

She stared out one of the large windows framing a panoramic view of snow-covered mountain peaks. “I was so afraid his plan would succeed, that he’d control you to the point that you’d do what he wanted. It almost worked. He’s incredibly powerful.”

Fear washed through me. “What do you mean? You said he is powerful. He’s been destroyed, hasn’t he?”

She brought her gaze to mine. “I don’t think whatever he is can be destroyed. He merely lost his connection to the physical plane when Maxie sacrificed herself before he could claim you. I want to believe he’ll exist for millennia as that abhorrent energy field we saw, unable to take form in our world. But he’s like no other. He defies everything I know about the laws of physics and the nature of vampirism. All we can do is strengthen and educate ourselves.” She took my hand. “I was serious about inviting you to my coven. We are a large circle of strong, dynamic witches, healers, seers, and teachers. You need to acknowledge and sharpen your abilities.”

“Abilities?” I frowned. “I’m so tired of hearing that. I don’t understand. I know I’m intuitive and empathic, but I don’t consider those to be special things. They’re normal. Everyone has them to some degree. Hallow said I’m an emotional vampire. What are these powers I’m supposed to have?”

“Not powers.” She shook her head vigorously. “Abilities. Powers implies something beyond the range of the species. Like comic book characters.” She smiled at my confused expression. “You know, like shooting fire or webs from your fingertips, bending steel with your eyeballs, or being able to fly. You simply have an exceptional amount of your particular abilities. For example, everyone can sing, right?” I nodded, sure of where she was going with the story, because I’d used this example myself to explain intuition to clients. “Well, most people have average singing abilities, some can’t carry a tune to save their souls, and a few have extraordinary talent. It’s the same for everything. Vampires have abilities that are in alignment with their species—mind reading, teleportation, immortality. Devereux has added talents due to his magical lineage. None of those things are powers, per se.”

She sipped her tea. “People misunderstand witches, too. We’re often accused of having powers, when we really have skills, abilities, talents, wisdom, and, in some cases, common religious beliefs. You told me you learned about Wicca in a comparative religions class in graduate school. See? Nothing unusual about that.”

“Okay.” I shrugged. “But so what? Being empathic and intuitive comes in handy with my work. Sometimes it’s a curse, sensing things I don’t want to know. Why are so many vampires interested in my so-called abilities?”

It was her turn to shrug. “I only know what Devereux told me. When he first met you, he said you are a gifted human. That something about the level of your innate talents, mostly unknown to you, is unusual. He said he suspects you’ve accumulated them over many lifetimes. Like adding chords to a basic melody.” She laughed at my raised eyebrows. “Yes. I know. You’re not comfortable with the notion of reincarnation yet. But, after all you’ve seen, isn’t it silly to resist something as widely accepted as past lives? Many ancient religions take reincarnation for granted.” She pointed a finger at me. “Put your Inner Scientist to work on it and do some research.” I chuckled as she continued. “Anyway, Devereux said there’s something about the texture of your abilities that enhances him. It’s as if you act as a crystal—concentrating and expanding energy. Or a tuning fork holding all the notes in his aural spectrum. Ask him. He’ll tell you.”

Crystals, reincarnation, vampires, wizards? Tuning fork? Aural spectrum? The texture of my abilities? How much more weirdness is there? I’ll be banned from the psychologists’ club for sure.

My stomach growled and I realized I’d been sitting in front of all that tantalizing food without eating any of it, so I selected a bagel and some fruit and chewed thoughtfully for a few minutes. There was another question I hadn’t asked her yet.

“Before I killed Maxie and Hallow went wherever he went … I know.” I held up my hand in a stop gesture in response to her mouth opening. “I didn’t kill her intentionally, but I did kill her. I have to accept that.” I sat up straighter, trying to calm my heartbeat and rein in my mounting anxiety. “But, previous to that, you said something about my using his blood flowing in my veins. Maxie said I drank more of his blood than I knew about. Since he’s gone, does that mean the effects of his blood are gone, too?”

My expression must have been sufficiently frightened in order to elicit the compassionate smile she gave me. “I wish I knew. My guess is that whatever changes his blood made to your psyche, your physiology and abilities, they’ll be permanent. But you’re still in charge of how they manifest in your life. I hate to sound like a broken record, but it’s Devereux you need to ask. He is the only one who could possibly advise you.”

She was right, of course.

We ate in silence for a few minutes and then she pushed her chair back from the table and stood. “I need to return to work—take control of my life again.” She grinned. “I know I’m not irreplaceable, but things certainly do get chaotic when I’m out of the loop!” She rested her palm against the side of my face where Maxie’d hit me. “We’re in this together, my friend. We’ll figure it out.” She leaned down and kissed my forehead. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

She walked slowly out of the room, her gait hampered by her injuries, and headed to the elevator.

I gave my coffee a warm-up and studied the beautiful scenery through the glass, feeling sad. Nothing would ever be the same for me. No matter what effect Hallow’s blood had on me, I was different. I’d seen too much. Victoria had been right about that, too. I couldn’t hide behind my professional defenses any longer.

So many things had happened. Tom was dead or in the process of becoming a vampire. Devereux’s trusted assistant, Luna, had proved to be less than trustworthy. My brief friendship with Maxie had ended tragically. I’d been the target of yet another mentally ill vampire and, like the first, he might still show up anytime. My blood was contaminated by something that had no logical description.

What if Devereux doesn’t have any answers?

*

After my talk with Victoria, I dressed and drove back to my townhouse, desperately needing to create a semblance of normalcy.

Rescheduling clients, answering e-mails, catching up on paperwork, and performing household tasks filled the remainder of the late afternoon, and reminded me of life before vampires.

Wearing a pair of comfortable jeans and the blue blouse Devereux had mysteriously managed to paint in the portrait he created of me some eight hundred years ago, I’d just poured myself a glass of wine and clicked on a rerun of my favorite TV show, House, when the beautiful vampire appeared in my living room.

His face and body were flawless, as always, giving no indication of the ferocious battle he’d waged less than a day earlier. His shiny, platinum hair flowed down his chest, begging to be touched. He wore a snug, aqua, silk T-shirt—a perfect match for his flashing eyes—tucked into his trademark black leather pants. A total feast for the senses.

He opened his arms and I rushed into them, allowing myself to be held for a few seconds. To feel safe. To pretend the events of the past few days had been a bad dream.

We finally pulled apart and he cradled my face in his hands, leaned in, and pressed his warm, soft lips against mine. I opened my mouth for him, and he slid his tongue inside. A rush of heat flowed through my body, my heart raced, and my knees felt weak. It was so wonderful to simply kiss him because I wanted to.

He broke the kiss and stroked his hand along the colorful bruise on my jaw. I hadn’t even tried to cover it up.

“How are you?” he asked, his voice gentle.

“Better now.” I smiled, tugging him over to the couch, where we both sat. I didn’t trust my knees to hold me. I thought about Tom, and Devereux answered my unvoiced concern.

“We performed the ritual of transformation for him. I gave him my blood. What happens now is unknown. He will either pass through death and be reborn, or he will truly die. We will not discover the outcome until his soul makes its choice.”

“Thank you, Devereux.” I leaned over and kissed his cheek. “I know you wouldn’t have tried to save him if it weren’t for me.”

“There is nothing I would not do for you.” He smiled. “In fact, I wish to grant another of your wishes.” He stood in a fluid motion, and extended his hand to me. “If you will indulge me?”

My expression must have reflected my doubts about whether or not I was ready for any more surprises, because he laughed. “All is well. Truly. You will enjoy this.”

He extended his hand again and I took it, letting him pull me up from the couch.

“You might wish to wear a wrap. We are going to a high altitude.”

I just stared and he laughed again, his eyes sparkling. “Wait. I shall fetch it.” He vanished and was gone ten seconds at most, before returning with my heaviest coat. He held it out, waiting for me to slide my arms in. I couldn’t figure out the danger, if there was any, so I did as he asked. My suspicious nature isn’t likely to change any time soon.

“Excellent.” He slid his arm around my waist, and we traveled, cold air flowing against my face.

We landed in an extraordinary room.

My mouth sagged open as I walked around the huge space. I’d never seen anything so astounding.

A palace had been carved out of stone.

The walls were adorned with gorgeous paintings and beautiful tapestries, interspersed with colorful tiles and gemstone murals. Stunning sculptures were randomly peppered around the room. Lush, thick rugs, layered on top of one another, created a spongy softness to the floor. Tall candles illuminated from inside ornate holders, a spicy aroma wafted from incense burners, and a fire blazed in a magnificent fireplace.

The spectacular area was empty except for two things: a huge, gold-gilded bed and a shiny black coffin.

I had to swallow a few times before I could speak. “Where are we?”

“You wanted to know where I spend my daylight hours.” He nodded. “We are inside a mountain. This is my private place. It has been so for centuries. Sometimes I come here to be alone. Or to time travel.”

My throat tightened, holding back all the words I wanted to say. I was touched and honored that he’d finally shown me his secret lair—overwhelmed that he was willing to be that vulnerable to me.

“Well, then I’d better thank you yet again. This time for trusting me.” I walked over to him, threw my arms around his neck, and kissed him.

He wrapped his arms around me and deepened the kiss.

My knees threatened to give out again and I pulled away. He smiled, apparently aware of my physical challenge and who caused it. I strolled over to the sleek black coffin.

“Do you sleep in here?”

He joined me, caressing the smooth lid with his long-fingered hand. “Sometimes. Mostly I enjoy the comfort of the bed.”

I lifted my brows. “You use the bed if you have company?”

His expression became serious, his brows contracting in the middle. He took my hand. “I have never brought anyone here in all the centuries since I created this place. You are the first. The only.”

That stunned me, and I encircled his waist with my arms, and pressed myself against him. “Thank you.”

He kissed the top of my head. “Let us explore the comforts of the bed.” He scooped me up into his arms and walked us there. He crawled onto the mattress, still holding me, and dropped me into the exquisite softness, quickly collapsing on top of me.

He flicked his hair behind him and licked my lips with his warm tongue. I opened my mouth and groaned.

Pulling away, he smiled. “I will ask you what Hallow asked. Do you choose me, Kismet?”

Immediately, the horrible memory flashed through my brain, and I froze underneath him, feeling unexplained terror. He continued smiling down at me, his sweet face shining in the candlelight, his eyes shimmering. I saw nothing but love there. I relaxed and stroked his soft skin.

“I do.”

Epilogue

Devereux says he tastes Hallow in my blood. He’s asked all his master vampires, wizards, and healers to explore the possible consequences and potential solutions of my contamination. He offered to let me drink more of his blood, to balance out Hallow’s wild power, but we’re waiting to see how—or if—the monster’s blood changes my life in any way before we make a decision about a remedy.

Victoria came through her ordeal stronger than ever and nagged me relentlessly to join her coven. I finally gave in, and have been enjoying the company of other women and the acceptance and strengthening of my own abilities—the ones that have nothing to do with Devereux. I’m a Priestess in Training.

Tom survived the transformation process and has been sequestered away until he can be trusted around humans. I understand that might take decades. The Dr. Sex cable TV program will have to wait.

Luna has been banished to a secret vampire enclave. Devereux doesn’t like talking about her, so I don’t push.

One of the role-players from my night at the amusement park asked for a psychotherapy appointment. It seems he’s lost chunks of time and has been experiencing strange flashbacks. I wonder if I can deal with what we uncover.

Devereux says we belong together. He could be right. I’m open to discussion.

For the most part, I’m coping with my feelings of guilt about Maxie’s death and my unwanted thoughts of Hallow. I keep having a recurring dream where I talk to him in the white-columned, lofty setting he used before. I don’t know what it means.

I don’t want to know.

A special presentation of:

The Vampire Shrink

LYNDA HILBURN

Chapter One

My involvement with vampires began innocently enough. Long before the blood hit the fan, so to speak.

Like most psychologists, I’d been trained to view the world through a diagnostic lens, hearing my clients’ stories through my metaphorical ears, searching out the deeper meanings. Thankfully, my tendency to reduce each person to a prevailing neurosis was tempered by my irreverent, dark sense of humor, which kept me from taking myself and the world too seriously.

While I never was as bad as some of my colleagues about believing only in what I could prove—if you couldn’t quantify it, it wasn’t there—I had seen enough bizarre stuff in my private psychotherapy practice over the years to make me more skeptical than I was comfortable admitting.

My private practice had its share of UFO abductees, demonic possessions, satanic cult survivors, religious cultists, attached entities—all the newest selections on the menu of emotional and mental pain. Plus, all the “regular” therapy issues.

So, when I opened the door separating my reception area from my office that fateful Friday to welcome my new client, I was only momentarily surprised. Waiting for me was a young woman wearing a long, black dress covered by a dark purple velvet cape. Rings adorned all ten fingers, and a long snake bracelet, with sparkling ruby eyes, wound its way up her arm from wrist to elbow. She had waist-length, light brown hair with multi-colored streaks, and she wore white theatrical makeup, dark red lipstick, and remarkably life-like, high-quality, removable fangs.

My mind began to pick out the various category boxes I could put her into. Hmmm, Goth? Vampire wannabe? Acting-out teenager?

“Please come in and have a seat.” I gave my warmest therapy smile and waved my hand in the general direction of the couch and chairs in the center of my office. “I’m Dr. Knight. Please call me Kismet.”

That’s quite an outfit. Spectacular, really. This sweet, young thing has a flair for the dramatic. What’s that delicious fragrance? Sandalwood?

She walked in silently, handed me the packet of paperwork she’d filled out in the waiting room, and sat down in the chair farthest from where I was standing. Scanning the information, I noticed she’d listed her name as Midnight.

“Midnight? That’s a lovely name. Is there a last name?”

“No. I have no need of anything from my human past,” she said, with exaggerated seriousness.

Okay. Let’s not assume the obvious. I chose a chair across from her and picked up my note pad and pen. “Tell me how I can help you.”

“I’m only here because my family made me come. They can’t accept my choices and they’re hoping you’ll talk me out of wanting to be a vampire. They want you to fix me.” Her voice separated each angry word like little staccato notes.

She gave me the once-over I’d come to recognize from my younger clients: the smirking scan that evaluated my tailored, light blue suit and sensible, black heels and found them hopelessly conventional. Then, inevitably, her eyes moved to my hair, which was very long, curly, and often had a mind of its own. The dissonance between my conservative suit and unintentional rock-star hair disrupted the inner picture she was constructing of me. I always enjoy the flash of confusion that washes over their faces at that point. My inner trickster is never far away.

She hiked her dress up until the hem rested on her knees and crossed her legs dramatically. “You’re not what I expected.”

I smiled. “What did you expect?”

“Someone old, with her hair in a bun and no makeup. You’re not that much older than me. And you’re pretty. You remind me of that singer my mother listens to all the time. Sarah Brightman. The one with the long, dark hair and blue eyes.”

“Thank you. I enjoy her, too. Are you comfortable with someone who isn’t old and who doesn’t have her hair in a bun?”

She frowned. “I guess so.”

I could see that her need to connect was struggling with her automatic protective defenses, and the jury was out about which one would continue the session.

“Well, tell me about your desire to be a vampire. How long have you wanted to be one?”

She tilted her head, pursed her lips and sat silently for a few seconds. Quick flashes of emotion danced across her face as fear, disappointment, and resentment gave way to hope.

“Ever since I met Devereux—or Dev, as we call him about a year ago,” she said, dreamily.

Ah, connection won. Maybe she’ll let me in.

“Why would meeting Dev make you want to be a vampire?”

“Well, duh, because he is one.” She rolled her chocolate-brown eyes, and made that “tsk” sound with her tongue against her teeth.

I kept the warm smile on my face, and ignored the teenage angst. “Can you tell me about Dev?”

She hesitated, staring down at the floor, using the tip of her tongue to play with the fake fangs. “I don’t think I’m supposed to talk about him. He wouldn’t want me to. He says it’s better if no one believes vampires really exist.”

Oh, I see. Her sharp little fangs fit perfectly over her own canines, with an almost-invisible band holding them—similar to braces. How clever.

“Do you believe that vampires really exist?” I tried not to sound as if there was only one right answer to the question.

“Oh, yes. You wouldn’t believe what I’ve seen. Denver has tons of vampires,” she enthused.

“Really? Midnight, I want you to know that anything we talk about in here is completely confidential. You can feel free to tell me anything you want and it will go no further. I’d really like to hear about all these vampires.”

Vampires. Well, that certainly is a change of pace from aliens and demon possessions.

She raised an eyebrow. “How do I know you won’t tell my parents?”

“Unless you’re going to hurt yourself or someone else, I will never tell anyone anything that we discuss,” I explained, giving her my ethically required disclaimer.

She paused a moment, studying me. “Well, I guess it’s okay then, since you can’t tell anybody.”

She uncrossed her legs and shifted forward in the chair. “So, what do you want to know?”

“Why don’t you just start at the beginning?”

She nodded. “I met the vampires right after I graduated from high school last year. My friends all went down to that cool club that used to be a huge, old church in the funky section of downtown—it’s called The Crypt. We’ve got the best fake IDs so we just slide right in. But it’s weird. Even though we’ve got the perfect IDs and they let us in, they never let us buy alcohol. If we go up to the bar, the bartender just laughs at us. Pisses me off. What’s up with that?”

I scribbled notes on my pad. It was a delicate dance to get the words on paper without letting my clients feel abandoned by my split attention. I always wound up with a cramp in my hand after each session from all the fast writing.

Interesting that the club wouldn’t sell drinks to her. Maybe they’d gotten in trouble for serving minors before?

She worried her bottom lip with the tip of one of her fangs, as if it gave her time to think before speaking again.

“Anyway, there are several levels to the club and one of them, down in the basement—we call it the dungeon—is private. There were curtains over the doorway, but my friend, Emerald and I, we waited ’til the guy who guarded the door left for a minute, and then we sneaked down and peeked in through the crack and saw all these amazing people,” she reported, with an expression of awe on her face from the memory.

“Amazing people?”

“Yeah, two different kinds, really. A whole bunch of kids around my age, maybe a few years older, all dressed up sorta Goth, but not really, wearing white paint on their faces and red on their lips. Then there were the other ones. So beautiful. They were wearing regular stuff like leather, and didn’t have the white makeup on, but they were totally awesome. They were a little older, maybe in their 20s or 30s, and they all had gorgeous, long hair …”

She stared off for a moment, her mouth hanging loosely open, having gotten lost in the vision.

“So, they were totally awesome?”

Nodding her head gently, she said, “Totally.”

“And then what happened?”

“We were just standing there, scoping out the room, and a hand came through the curtains, opened them, and the hottest guy I’ve ever seen asked if we wanted to come in. Emerald didn’t want to go in—she’s afraid of everything—but I really wanted to check out all those people, so I said yes. The hot guy reached out, took my hand and actually kissed the back of it and said his name was Devereux. I thought I was going to pass out just from looking at him. There was something about his eyes.” She paused and glanced over at me, trying to gauge my reaction before she shared any more details.

I felt the muscles in my neck and back tighten, which happened sometimes when I worked too hard at holding in all the opinions that wanted to tumble out of my mouth. Often, having to remain silent was the hardest part of my job.

She met a strange man in a bar. A man dressed in leather, who invited her into a private room. What’s wrong with this picture?

I smiled. “And then?”

“Then he sorta led me inside and Emerald followed us. There must have been fifty people in that room and they were all incredible. Dev walked us over to a table, and he was so polite. He pulled out the chairs for us, like in the old movies, and asked if we wanted anything to drink. We both ordered beers—we had to try—but he brought us Cokes, and we just sat there, staring at him. He wasn’t drinking anything and I asked why not, and he said he’d already had his fill for the night, and he just kept smiling and giving us those psychedelic eyes. I didn’t know what he meant back then, but I do now.”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you sure you won’t tell this to anyone? I don’t want to piss Dev off,” she said, reading my face for signs of deception.

“I promise,” I assured her.

She nodded. I’d evidently passed the test.

“Well, he drinks blood, ya know? That’s what vampires do. So, when he said he was full, he meant he had already ‘eaten’ for the night,” she explained, her voice light and casual, as if we were talking about the weather.

Yuck. He drinks blood. Can you say mental illness?

“Do you drink blood?”

That, obviously, was a loaded question, because Midnight started scraping her lower lip against her upper teeth. She twisted the edge of her cape nervously in her hands and stared down into her lap.

“Midnight? Are you all right?”

Squirming in the chair, she said, “Yeah. It just feels creepy to be talking about this.”

“Do you mean because of what your family would think?”

She hesitated. “No, because of what Dev would do if he found out,” she said, softly. “We’re not allowed to drink blood.”

Thank heavens for that.

“We’ll come back to the blood in a minute. What’s your relationship with Dev?” I was becoming more and more suspicious of this seemingly charismatic character.

Catching the drift of my concern, Midnight shook her head. “He’s just a friend. All the girls are after him, but he said we’re too young and that he’s into older women. We all hit on him but he never goes out with any of us. He’s in charge—the boss, I guess.”

The vampire Bruce Springsteen? “The boss of what?”

“The vampires. And the apprentices.”

“The apprentices?” I had a sudden vision of several vampire wannabes sitting around a conference table in New York with Donald Trump. A vampire Donald Trump. I fought to keep the amusement from creeping onto my face. My sense of humor is such a challenge.

“That’s what we call ourselves.”

“Let’s go back to the drinking blood part. You seemed to have a strong reaction when I asked you about that. Why?”

She lowered her eyes and started chewing her bottom lip again. “Dev lets us hang around with him and the other vampires, but he won’t let anyone take blood from us and he won’t let us drink blood, either. He said that only real vampires can use blood the way it was meant to be used. Since we’re officially still human, we could get diseases that vampires can’t get. He has lots of rules about what we can and can’t do if we want to be with them.”

Okay, so maybe the guy isn’t totally whacked if he keeps them from the blood thing.

“So, what is it you don’t want him to know?”

Long pause.

I waited silently and watched waves of conflicting emotions flow across her face as she decided what, if anything, she was going to tell me.

“There’s this one guy, Eric, who wants to be a vampire real bad. Dev told him that he wasn’t ready, that he needed to go out and learn about life before becoming the undead, but Eric doesn’t listen. He set up all these rituals at his apartment, where the apprentices drink each other’s blood. He gave us all these neat little necklaces with tiny knives on them, so we can make little cuts in each other’s necks and drink,” she said, her voice breathy. “It would be really bad if Dev found out because he’d be totally angry, and I don’t want to do anything to make Dev mad at me.”

My eyebrows crawled up toward my hairline.

The apprentices drink each other’s blood?

Holy shit.

I hoped she was simply acting out and all this blood stuff was imaginary. I needed to find a non-threatening way to convince her the entire vampire thing was a fantasy.

“Are you afraid of Dev?”

“No. Not the way you mean.”

“But, despite Dev’s disapproval you go to the rituals at Eric’s apartment?”

She scooted forward excitedly in her chair. “Well, yeah. It’s so much fun. I never would have thought that drinking blood could be so sexual—so romantic,” she gushed.

I tried very hard to keep the neutral expression on my face.

“Sexual? Romantic? What happens at these rituals?”

AIDS! Not to mention viruses, bacteria, and things I can’t even comprehend. What about infections from the cuts? Red alert, Kismet.

“Well, first we order a pizza or something and drink some wine—maybe get high—just the same as any other night. Then we pick a partner, and after we take turns drinking a little blood—not much, just a couple of teaspoons—we have sex. It’s the most amazing feeling. I let Eric cut my boob last week and suck on it. It was so hot.”

Is this what she thinks intimacy is? Where did all this come from?

“Are you having safe sex?”

She nodded vigorously. “Don’t worry about that. I’ve got a purse full of rubbers!”

I tried to visualize a rubber big enough to fit over Eric’s entire body. I didn’t want to come off as sermonizing or lecturing because she wouldn’t come back, but I had to find a way to get across to her how dangerous this was.

“Midnight, what about diseases you can get through blood transmission? What about AIDS? Drinking blood is very dangerous.”

“Vampires can’t get diseases.”

“Eric and the other apprentices are just regular guys, aren’t they? Human?”

She stared into her lap, silent.

“Will you consider holding off on any more cutting and drinking blood activities until we explore the consequences more thoroughly?”

She stayed silent for so long that I feared she might leap up and flee the office, but she finally gave a loud sigh. “I guess.”

I let out the breath I’d been unconsciously holding. Whew. Talk about a pregnant pause. Even if she’s just humoring me, it’s a start.

“Thank you, Midnight. I appreciate your open mind and your willingness to trust in our work together.

“So, outside of the rituals at Eric’s apartment, the apprentices mostly just get all dressed up and hang around with Dev and his vampire friends at the club downtown?”

She nodded.

“Tell me more about Dev.”

She got that faraway look in her eyes again and lifted out of the subdued mood she’d retreated into.

“He really rocks. So hot. He’s over six feet tall. I am so into tall guys. Gorgeous, long blond hair, aqua—not blue, not green, but aqua—eyes, and a killer bod. He’s always wearing some kind of tight, dark leather.” She sighed and drifted off again for a moment.

Hmmm. That does sound interesting.

Chuckling, I said, “I get the picture. But what’s his story? Why is he hanging out at a bar in downtown Denver? What does he do? Who is he?”

“He doesn’t talk much about that. He told me once that he’s been a vampire for eight hundred years and that he really loves Colorado because the mountains remind him of some place in Europe he lived before he died. But he seems to have a ton of money. He has this amazing loft down the street from the bar, which, by the way, he owns, and the loft is so cool. Sometimes he lets us come over and blast some tunes, and he always keeps lots of food around, even though he doesn’t eat any of it.”

Why does this supposedly gorgeous, wealthy man hang around with teenagers? He has lots of rules for them. Does he see himself as a father figure? Or is he a clever predator?

I glanced over at the clock. “Well, Midnight. Our time is up for today. I’d like to meet with you a couple of times a week for a while so I can get a good sense of how I can help you. Would you be willing to do that?”

“I guess so. You seem cool, and it’s a relief to finally be able to talk to somebody about all of it. Usually I have to be careful what I tell anyone—even Emerald.”

We scheduled our next appointment and I walked her out into the waiting area, wondering how she’d look without all the makeup. I shook my head and thought about what a miracle it was that any of us survived our teenage years.

Since Midnight was my last client of the day, I sat down at my desk, kicked off my shoes, and created a case file for her. I hadn’t been able to decide on a specific diagnosis yet, but I selected some possible options and then added a sheet of informal notes to her case file:

Female, nineteen years old. Referred by family. After some halfhearted resistance, she readily shared her experiences. In fact, she seemed overly eager to unburden herself. Almost too willing to share all the outrageous details. I need to explore how seriously she takes this fantasy world she’s created. She’s articulate and intelligent, but naïve. She has an outgoing personality and a trusting nature that is both sweet and problematic. Is this a bid for attention or a cry for help? She is participating in some very dangerous activities, and is reluctant to acknowledge what she’s doing because this peer group is probably her main support. Explore disconnection from family. Set boundaries and create a contract for healthier behavior.

Geez. Life isn’t weird enough. We need to go out and drink blood. Why didn’t I think of that?

But I had to admit, the topic had already captured my interest. I was, after all, subject to the same rules as any other psychologist: publish or perish. I was due to write another book and the pressure was on. And, if truth be told, my life had become boring. I had accomplished all the goals I’d set for myself and settled into a listless rhythm. After the excitement of always graduating earlier than expected from every academic program I’d ever attended, adapting to the monotony of private practice was less than thrilling. It would be good to have a challenge.

I turned on my office computer and searched for everything I could think of about the subject: vampires, vampirism, blood, blood drinking, cults, mind control, immortal beings, etc. I was inundated with fiction stories about vampires, historical research on blood-drinkers, case studies involving the self-proclaimed undead, and websites for wannabes. Talk about an education.

I printed out examples of the most informative sources and spent a good three hours at my desk, reading through psychological reference books, seeking a trail of crumbs. By the time I came up for air and checked the clock, it had become full dark. I usually tried to avoid walking out of my office by myself at night. Too many lost souls wandering the streets.

“Shit, shit, shit,” I said out loud as I gathered the papers and tucked them into my briefcase. I put my shoes back on, found my purse and my car keys, locked up my office and headed out to the elevator.

Normally at that time of night there wasn’t much traffic in the building and the elevator came right away. I rode down, holding my keys with the car alarm clicker in my hand, and strode out the front door of my six-story office building. Luckily, I had parked conspicuously beneath one of the street lights in the parking lot across the street. My champagne-colored BMW was the only car left, so I figured I would be safe.

Just as I walked out of the building, I caught a blurred movement out of the corner of my eye, felt the hairs on my arms raise and noticed a shadow to my right. A male figure stepped away from where he’d been leaning against the wall. He stood there, gazing at me, smiling. Almost close enough for me to touch. We locked eyes for a long moment. The light shining out of the front of my building was bright enough for me to notice that he was scrumptious. Long, blond hair, dazzling eyes, and tight leather pants.

Hey, wait a minute. Stop ogling the good looks of the guy who’s about to jump on you and RUN!

And I did.

For someone who sat on her butt all day talking to people, I could still move pretty fast when I wanted to. I was blessed with one of those long, lean, runner’s bodies, an inheritance from my father’s side of the family, and my body fat percentage was on the low end. But due to my mother’s genetic contribution, I was too “well endowed” to actually enjoy running on a regular basis.

The fight-or-flight instinct is an awesome thing.

I sprinted over to my car, clicked the lock, yanked the door open, jumped in, and secured the door. My heart was pounding out a heavy metal drum solo in my chest as I turned the key in the ignition.

Once I was safely barricaded in my car, and the reasoning portion of my brain sauntered back to the party, it occurred to me that I hadn’t heard any footsteps following me as I ran. Scanning the area in all directions, I could find no threat of any kind. The handsome mugger or rapist had vanished. Or maybe it had been some regular guy, enthralled by my grace and beauty, and I’d scared him off when I’d bolted. Yeah, right, Kismet.

My heartbeat began to slow down to some semblance of normal. I’d have to say that was the most exciting thing that’d happened in weeks, which said a lot about the pathetic state of my social life.

I sat there until the adrenaline rush subsided and then shifted into drive. I need a new office. I drove out of the parking lot and steered the car along one of the many one-way streets that confound the traffic in downtown Denver.

I caught a red light a few streets over, which gave me a moment to check out the nightlife in this popular part of town. Taking up an entire city block was the club Midnight had told me about; the old church that had supposedly been converted into a play temple for the Children of Darkness. It really was a beautiful building. All that incredible stained glass. Funny that I’d never noticed it before. Just as the light turned green and I put my foot on the gas, I saw a tall man with long, blond hair standing on the entrance steps. He smiled and waved at me when I passed.

*

I drove home to my new townhouse, punched in my security code and locked myself into my own, personal sanctuary.

I lit an aromatherapy candle, poured myself a glass of white wine, sat down in my favorite chair—one of those puffy, huge chairs with an equally large ottoman—and stretched out, letting my thoughts wander back to the blond man.

That was just too weird. My mind must be playing tricks on me. It couldn’t possibly have been the same guy, could it? Well, wait a minute. That club was only a couple of blocks from my office, and if he had been the one who saw me run to my car, then it made sense that he could have recognized the car again when I passed him. It was merely a coincidence he was at that particular club, which I only noticed because I’d heard about it today.

Just a coincidence.

But, then again. The guy in front of my office building resembled the blond, gorgeous, blood-drinking—maybe mentally ill—guy Midnight had talked about. Could I be so desperate for male company that I conjured up the image from her words? I have an active imagination, but this was ridiculous.

I carried my glass of wine over to my desk, opened my briefcase and spilled out all of the vampire material I’d printed. I turned on my computer, clicked on the TV and prepared to spend the next couple of hours researching possible topics for a new book.

“Allow me to introduce myself. I am Count Dracula,” blared from the speakers.

Startled, I looked up at the TV then smiled. There he was, the sexiest vampire ever. Frank Langella as Dracula, circa early 1980s. He had the best lips—pouty, full and definitely come-hither—and eyes that wouldn’t be denied. One of my college roommates had been a real vampire fan, and she had an extensive collection of bloodsucker movies.

I sat back and enjoyed watching Frank’s lips for a while, finishing my glass of wine. As the end of the movie approached, I clicked off the TV, because I didn’t want to watch those sweet lips get fried by the sun in the film’s finale.

I had a sudden memory of the last time I’d watched this movie in college, sitting with my roommates and listening to them scream at the end—rooting for the vampire to break free and fly away. Afterward they all talked about what fun it would be to invite some dark, window-tapping stranger into their beds.

Hmmm. Vampires as erotic fantasy material. Listening to my roommates that long-ago night, the budding psychologist in me had been intrigued, but I considered vampires to be horror movie and comic book fare. I was not the kind of person who believed in the supernatural or the mystical. I’d found that most things turned out to have rather bland explanations.

Of course, since then I’d taken the required class in Jungian Psychology in graduate school and I knew all about his theory of synchronicities—the interconnection between inner and outer realities based on the idea of a collective unconscious. Jung said that there are no coincidences and the universe functions through an unknowable intelligence. I could even agree with that on an abstract level. And yes, it did seem odd I was experiencing things that appeared to be related on the surface. But contemplating the cosmic possibilities of metaphysics was a helluva lot different from believing in vampires.

But, still. This had been one strange day.

Dark Harvest

© 2008 Lynda Hilburn

ISBN: 9781933836614

MEDALLION PRESS

Ed♥n

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Chapter Twenty-Four

Epilogue

Excerpt: The Vampire Shrink

Copyright

Chapter Two