The Vampire Shrink (15 page)

He relaxed back in the chair and stretched like a cat. The white T-shirt material molded to his chest muscles and accented the outlines of his nipples. Very distracting.

He saw me notice and wiggled his eyebrows.

What an ego.

“About a year ago,” he said, “I started tracking a pattern: dead bodies showing up with holes in their necks, drained of blood. At first I did just what you're doing—I wrote it off to some creative form of mental illness. I assumed I was searching for one predator who moved around a lot, or maybe a copycat murderer who had picked up on the vampire theme. As I suspect you've done, I researched everything I could find involving blood drinking.”

He downed the last of his coffee, carried his mug over to the pot, poured himself a refill, and returned to the table.

Why, yes, thank you, I'd love some more coffee. Hmmm, narcissistic personality disorder? Attention deficit disorder? Or just a typical male?

“We're on the same page so far,” I admitted.

He drummed his fingers on the side of his mug. “I showed up at the murder scenes, checking for similarities, and the cases just kept getting weirder. Some of the bodies had multiple bites that the lab results showed came from different sets of sharp teeth. No human or animal DNA in the wounds. There were never any signs of struggle, though, no needle marks for drugs. It was as if the victims simply lay there and let themselves be drained. Almost like some form of hypnosis or brainwashing.”

He stopped talking, scanned the kitchen, and pointed to a bag of cookies on the counter.

“You mind? I haven't had any breakfast yet.” Without waiting for my response, he leaped up, fetched the bag of cookies, and returned to his seat.

“Help yourself.” I wondered if he was always this comfortable with strangers or if he was simply oblivious.

No, I'm sure—oblivious.

“Then something happened to turn me into a believer,” he continued. “I was in Los Angeles, following some leads about the latest murders, and I was attacked by a vampire.”

He noticed me tighten my lips, and he said, “Let me finish. I know this pushes all of your ‘this guy needs therapy' buttons, but hang in there with me.” He opened the cookie bag, selected one, and took a bite.

He excitedly pointed his finger up in the air and brought it down in a quick dive toward the floor. “I saw this thing fly down—I kid you not—from the roof of a twelve-story building. He landed in front of me as if he'd just stepped off someone's front porch. Not a hair ruffled. He came at me with his teeth bared, showing these long, sharp canines, picked me up by my neck like I weighed nothing, and threw me down on the ground. He was on me so fast, I didn't have time to be afraid. I started shouting questions at him, asking him to tell me about himself. For some astounding reason, he stepped back and started answering. At the risk of being boringly unoriginal, it really was an interview with a vampire.”

It sounds as if poor Special Agent Stevens is missing a few of his marbles.

I bit the inside of my mouth to keep myself from smiling. “What did this vampire tell you?”

He mentally dissected the expression on my face to determine whether I was being serious or sarcastic. He must have decided my question was on the level.

“That's a very long conversation for another day, but what's important is that my education was vastly expanded. He gave me a graduate course in the strange and impossible. I think I must have connected with him at exactly the right time, because he was willing to spill all the vampire secrets. Actually, I think he was suicidal. Maybe I should refer him to you for therapy?” he joked.

He ate another cookie.

“Okay”—I shot him a frosty look—“so let me get this straight. You're honestly trying to convince me to believe that there are such things as vampires—preternatural blood-drinking ghouls—living among us? That they aren't just myths or psychotic humans?”

He stared into my eyes. “That's exactly what I'm telling you. What's more, I'm prepared to put my money where my mouth is. I can show you. I think the vampires have Emerald Addison. There's a coven in one of the clubs downtown, a former church, called the Crypt.”

That's the club Midnight mentioned.

“The vampire I talked to—Ian, who's probably back in London now—told me that the group and their leader have been here for years, and they keep a low profile. Recently some new bloodsuckers, the ones I'm pursuing, have come to town, and they're killers. Ian said that the one he's most afraid of is called Bryce.”

At the sound of his name, my heart stopped, and my blood ran cold. I visibly started in my seat, sucked in all the air in the room, and gasped.

Alan jumped in his chair. “What is it?”

“You just said the name of the psychopath who barged into my office last night and attacked me.”

He pulled out a small notebook and pen from his pocket and began scribbling down everything I'd just said. “You were attacked last night? Tell me what happened.”

My stomach knotted at the memory.

“After I finished at the hospital, I went to my office to work for a while. Bryce and a small, creepy-looking man called Raleigh broke in, threatened me, and Bryce attacked me. He somehow punctured my neck and actually sucked blood out and swallowed it. I was sure he intended to rape me, but thankfully he didn't.”

I told the true story right up to the point just before Devereux entered the scene. Lying, I said that while I was passed out something must have scared Bryce and Raleigh off because when I woke up, they were gone. I didn't know why I wasn't willing to talk about Devereux, but I just wasn't. After all, he had rescued me.

Lame story, Kismet.

Alan put the notebook and pen down on the table, stroked an invisible beard, and frowned at me. “You're holding out. There's more that you aren't telling me. What is it?” He reached over, lifted my hair out of the way, and turned my head, eyeballing the Technicolor puncture marks on my neck. “I told you that counseling vampires was dangerous. No wonder you look like death this morning.”

Prince Charming has nothing on this guy.

“Gee, you sweet talker, you.”

“Sorry. Tact isn't my strong suit. In fact, being so blunt and thoughtless is why I never seriously thought about being a psychotherapist. I'd be alienating clients left and right. Actually, you couldn't really look bad if you tried.” He grinned, reached over and picked up a renegade lock of my hair, and tucked it behind my ear.

“Thanks, I think.” I'd been surprised not only by his touch, but also by the pleasant sensation that lingered where his finger had brushed my skin.

I've definitely got to get out more. I'll bet Denver's started putting hormones in the water. Or maybe Devereux did something to me the first time I met him. I've been acting strange ever since.

Suddenly feeling awkward, I reached into the cookie bag, pulled out a chunk of chocolate-chip heaven, and chewed loudly. Too loudly.

The smirk on Alan's face told me he'd picked up on my discomfort and was enjoying it. He slouched down in the chair and lifted an ankle to rest on his knee.

I pushed farther away from the table and put way too much effort into brushing cookie crumbs off my clothes.

As usual, my confidence with men is underwhelming.

“You said you can show me—prove to me that vampires exist?”

“Yeah, I can.” He grinned again, obviously enjoying my unease. “But right now I need to head back to police headquarters and see if there's anything new on the whereabouts of Emerald Addison. Are you free tonight?”

Smug bastard.

“That depends on why you're asking.”

He got up and filled his coffee cup again, then paced around the kitchen. “I think it's time for you to find out what you've stepped in. I want to take you to that club, the Crypt, and give you a dose of an alternate reality. How about I pick you up at ten p.m.?” He reached into the bag on the table and ate yet another cookie.

There's no justice in the world. The man doesn't have an ounce of extra fat on his body. And I've made a thorough inspection.

“Why would you want to go to a place you believe is a vampire coven? Aren't you afraid you'll be attacked again? Why would you want me to go there with you?”

“Whoa!” He gazed down at me, shaking his head. “For someone who doesn't believe in any of this, you ask a lot of questions. I'll give you a taste of what Ian told me. Becoming a vampire doesn't automatically change someone into an evil monster—that's all fiction. The personality you had before you died is carried over into your new existence. Most important for our purposes, if you were a psychotic human being, you'll be a psychotic vampire. Now, that's a totally different level of psychopathology.”

“I see.” I nodded slowly.
Does he really believe this stuff? Poor guy. They've really pulled one over on him.

He picked up his notebook from the table and tucked it into his pocket. “From what I've learned so far, the vampires in the coven at the Crypt are, for lack of a better word, more mellow than the ones I'm searching for. They've been able to stay below the radar for so long because the leader keeps them on a tight leash, and he doesn't tolerate any behavior that draws attention to their existence.”

“Would I need to take garlic and crosses if I go to the Crypt? Isn't that how vampires are repelled?”

He ignored my sarcasm. Or maybe he hadn't heard it. “No. I guess that's all bullshit. Ian said religious items have no effect on the undead. Neither does garlic. And I'd personally appreciate it if you'd pass on the garlic—I hate the smell of it. But wooden stakes still work, if you want to carry some in your purse.”

“Uh-huh.”
Is he serious? He's an FBI agent? Really?

Sitting there while he loomed over me had started to make me nervous, so I stood, expecting him to step back out of my way, but he didn't. He remained there, staring at me with those lazy eyes, displaying the same overconfident smirk I'd seen at the hospital.

I raised my chin. “Excuse me.”

He laughed.

Arrogant jerk.

I waited for him to give me room to move, and when he did, I strolled over to the counter, refilled my coffee mug, and returned to sit at the table. I decided to ignore his bad manners.

I inspected the contents of my cup. “Have you met the vampires at that club?”

“Yeah, I've been over there several times. The head honcho is called Devereux. He's been very cooperative. I'll introduce you.”

At the mention of his name, my body immediately revisited the kiss I'd shared with Devereux, and I felt the heat rise on my cheeks. I think it was safe to say that introductions had already been taken care of.

“What about the mythology around vampires drinking human blood? There isn't anything mellow about that,” I said quickly, hoping to divert Alan's attention from what I was sure must have been my obvious reaction to his mention of Devereux. Either he didn't notice or he chose not to comment, because he simply nodded and answered the question.

He paced around the room again. “Ian told me that the blood issue is highly misunderstood. First, he said it isn't necessary to kill someone. Small amounts of blood from several donors works just fine. As I already said, some vampires—same as humans—have more evil tendencies than others. For those vampires, killing is the thrill. For them, not killing would be like sex without the orgasm. Speaking of orgasms, Ian said that drinking blood is better than sex—which they can have, by the way.”

The image of Devereux invaded my brain, and heat coiled up my spine. I concentrated on keeping my face neutral. “It sounds as if Ian was very talkative.”

“Yeah.” Alan rested his hip against the counter. “We spent hours together, and I took great notes. Then I got more information from the coven at the club. It's been an educational experience. It's also helped clarify who and what I'm searching for.”

“Wait a minute,” I said. “You told me the vampire leader doesn't draw attention to his group. Why would he volunteer to talk to you? What's to stop you from turning them over to the local police?”

“Think about it: you've been visited by the craziest vampire in Denver, you have clients who sit in your office and tell you about vampires, and I've just spent the last hour trying to convince you that vampires exist, yet you still don't believe. What are the chances anyone would actually think the owner of the Crypt is the leader of a vampire coven? Devereux can tell me the truth because he knows that no one would buy it. And when you see the club you'll understand how easy it is for them to just blend into the fantasy.”

“What about the FBI? Have you told them the truth? Do they know what you're up to?”

“Let's just say that they're under the impression I'm tracking humans who are pretending to be vampires. They might amuse themselves by laughing at my Mulderisms, but the FBI is pretty conservative, and if they knew what I was actually doing, I'd be out on my tail. Okay. I'm really outta here now. I'll see you tonight at ten. Oh yeah—thanks for the java.”

With that, he was gone.

CHAPTER 7

I
t took me a minute to realize I was just sitting there—almost catatonic, my mouth hanging open—staring at the door that had just slammed.

Moving only my eyes, I surveyed the cookie crumbs, coffee drips, and crumpled napkins surrounding Alan's empty mug. Then I shook my head and broke into semi-hysterical laughter, the kind of laughter that makes you grab your midsection because it's almost painful in its intensity. I let the crazed frivolity roll through me for a few seconds, then started talking to myself, out loud, which in some quarters might be construed as a bad sign.