The Vampire Shrink (33 page)

At that moment he stalked toward us, his hair fanning out behind him, holding the chalice in his hands. His eyes were feral, expressing a wildness he'd never shared with me before, and his face was startlingly beautiful. A fallen angel.

Clutching the chalice in his left hand, he held it away from his body and embraced his mother in a one-armed hug. He met her eyes, and she tilted her head to the side. Devereux leaned in to her, exposed his fangs, and sank them into her neck. She gasped and laid a hand on the back of his head.

I didn't know what to do with myself—where to look. Devereux had just assaulted his mother, and she was apparently enjoying it. There was something very sensuous about him sucking on her neck, and I couldn't imagine that was a psychologically healthy mother-son activity.

But then she's dead, and this is a dream, so do the rules apply?

After a few seconds he raised his head, embraced her again, said something in that strange language, and turned to me, licking blood from his lips.

Devereux raised the chalice into the air, and the chanting started again. Vampires rose from the floor and disentangled themselves from each other, adding their voices as they re-formed the circles. As the intensity of the sound increased, the curious entranced feeling overtook me again.

Devereux knelt before me, offered the chalice, and said, “One sip, my love.”

There was a major firestorm of resistance in my brain. One part of me was already struggling to get up from the chair, begging the muscles in my legs to report for duty one more time. But the muscles were hanging out with the other part of me that was fantasizing about tearing off Devereux's clothes and jumping on him. One sip of blood wasn't much of a price to pay for being able to get my hands on this blond Adonis. Good thing this wasn't really happening.

My hands reached out for the chalice, and he gave it to me. It was warm. I raised it to my lips, stared into his astonishing eyes over the rim, and drank. For some reason I'd imagined blood would taste like tomato juice. It didn't. But by the time I discovered that the taste was thick and unpleasant, I'd choked and swallowed the entire gulp. I coughed and sputtered and finally stuck my tongue out, maybe thinking that would dissipate the taste.

Definitely a dream. I'd never drink blood if I was awake. Nothing to worry about. Just a dream.

He mouthed the words “thank you,” retrieved the chalice from me, and drank the remainder of the blood. Saying more of those unfamiliar words, he held the cup out in front of him, and it vanished.

The chanting grew louder and another portion of my consciousness drifted away.

Devereux stood, pulled me out of the chair, wrapped his arms around me, and kissed me passionately. I made an effort to hold on to him, but my bones had mysteriously dissolved, and all four of my limbs were now only useful as paperweights.

Bending me over backward he whispered, “No harm.” He kissed his way down from my mouth and along my neck, finally resting his lips on the fullness of my breast. The part of me that wanted to roll around with Devereux sighed contentedly. He planted little kisses on my skin; then there was a flash of pain, followed by the most blissful feeling I'd ever experienced.

After a few seconds he lifted me into his arms, brought his lips to mine, and held me. I briefly wondered how someone who drank blood could have such sweet-smelling breath, but I decided to add that to the list of things to think about later.

Besides, this is my dream, and I'm not likely to give my lust object stinky breath, right?

He returned me to the chair, kissed my cheek, and walked out toward the vampire chorus. The chanting immediately ceased.

That was too weird. I'd sung in lots of choirs, and I knew how hard it was to get people to all stop singing at exactly the same moment. There was always at least one person not paying attention or something. This was downright eerie, as if sound itself had disappeared.

Just as before, as soon as they stopped chanting I began to come back to myself. Not that I knew where I'd been prior to that, but I didn't know how else to explain it.

Immediately I noticed that my breast was throbbing with pain. One quick glance solved the mystery. Standing out against my very white skin were two neat puncture marks surrounded by a sea of traumatized red tissue, which would soon be a colorful blue-green-purple.

Amara, who still stood next to the chair, took my hand again. She inspected my chest. “I will heal that for you before I leave. There will be no lasting mark. Devereux will explain.”

My eyes darted to her neck to see if her bite marks looked as bad as mine, but there was nothing to see. Her skin was smooth, white, and flawless.

She nodded once. “Exactly so.”

I didn't know if it was a flaw or a virtue, but I'd always had an innate need to be polite, to be a nice person. I couldn't blame Amara for what her son had done, but I had to turn away from her because it was temporarily impossible for me to pretend that I wasn't seething with rage. Something about the physical pain had jolted me into awareness.

Damn it to hell! This isn't a dream. It's a wide-awake nightmare. I can't believe the bastard bit me. He actually bit me. I'm probably going to turn into a vampire now.

Amara stepped in front of me, her eyes hard and serious. “No. It is not that easy to become a vampire. It requires intention.” Her gaze went to the bite on my breast. “This was merely a symbolic gesture. I wish there had been more time to help you understand, but no harm has been done. You will be as you were.”

I scanned the area for Devereux. He'd retrieved his duster and was moving slowly around the inside of the circle, pausing occasionally. Some of the words he spoke sounded like English, and I picked up the phrase “guardian of the four directions,” along with a few others. I got the idea that each place he paused in the circle represented east, south, west, or north.

He pulled a gem-studded wand from the pocket of his coat and held it in the air at each cardinal point. A burst of brilliant white light emanated from the tip at each location and hovered, forming a vertical line floating in space.

I was tempted to rub my eyes because I couldn't believe what I was seeing, but I remembered how much mascara Nola had insisted on plastering on my eyelashes, and I hesitated at the last moment. I didn't want to look like a raccoon.

By the time Devereux completed the circle, there were four beams of luminescence.

At a signal from him, all the vampires in the inner circle took a step forward, which put them in line with the hovering lights. As soon as the radiance touched the vampire closest to it, the glow began to spread around the circle, flowing out to each circle in turn. Soon the white incandescence transformed into multiple colors, shifting and changing every few seconds. The mini-fireworks put out by the candles became more pronounced, and the medallion around Devereux's neck sparked like a floodlight.

I lowered my eyes to shield them from the bright glare but was able to squint enough to see that all the vampires in the circles had clasped hands. As they did that, the light began to pulsate and writhe, creating bursts of color that completely enveloped everyone in the circle until there was only pure energy.

Devereux turned in my direction and held out his hand.

I looked anxiously at Amara.

My feet had a mind of their own, and I found myself standing and inching over to where he waited. I stretched out my hand, and the moment our fingers met there was a sharp sound that reminded me of the crack of a whip. The light exploded and engulfed us.

Then there was nothing.

CHAPTER 18

I
woke up naked in my bed. Naked except for the pentagram necklace. At least I assumed it was my bed, because I couldn't open my eyes. I raised my hands to investigate and found the source of the problem. All that mascara I'd worn the night before had somehow congealed into gummy clumps and hermetically sealed my upper lashes to my lower.

I spent a couple of minutes prying them apart, opening and closing my lids to test the equipment, and then discovered I'd apparently rubbed my eyes at some point, because there was a big black stain on the side of my right index finger. I knew the mirror would present me with even more delightful news.

But thankfully, I was in my own bed. Staring up at the ceiling, I listened to the sounds floating in through the window and appreciated the evidence that, for some people, normal reality still existed. Lawns were being mowed, dogs walked, greetings called out from yard to yard, and cars driven. Music still blared from the radios of passing vehicles, and children were playing. The everyday world that I used to belong to—that I took for granted—evidently continued as if nothing earth-shattering had happened.

Memory fragments from the night before bobbed like apples in the tub of my brain, waiting for me to capture one and take a bite.

Bite.

I bolted up, filled each hand with a breast, and warily lowered my eyes, afraid to see what might be there. Instead of the torn, bruised, and traumatized skin I'd anticipated, there was nothing but the white, lightly blue-veined expanse I'd always had.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I watched the patterns of sunlight play across the wall in front of me and felt numb.

There were only two possible explanations for what was happening to me. Either I was in the midst of a psychic meltdown, maybe even a psychotic break, and the entire sequence of events had only unfolded inside my fevered, twisted mind, or I had truly entered a monstrous world where vampires drank blood, levitated in the air, read your mind, and seduced your body.

Quite frankly, I didn't know how to deal with either option.

My mouth was as dry as the lunar landscape, and it tasted as if I'd scoured the floor of an ER with my tongue.

A wisp of memory floated into my brain and opened a Pandora's box of horrible possibilities.

There was no way in hell I'd drunk blood. Not one chance in this or any other universe. Not even if someone held me down and forced my mouth open. Yuck, yuck, yuck.

I raised the palm of one hand in front of my mouth, breathed into it, and almost gagged.

No. I must have just eaten something funky. Something gross. I hoped I hadn't shared this breath with anyone I actually liked.

The digital clock on my nightstand showed 1:00 p.m. That information didn't really tell me much, because I wasn't even sure what day it was. Panicking, I picked up the TV remote control and clicked on CNN, assuming the data panel on the bottom of the screen would have the correct date. Sunday. Relief swamped me. I hadn't lost any more time than I already knew about, and, more importantly, I hadn't missed any client appointments.

I swiveled my head around, stretching the tight muscles of my neck and shoulders, then swung my legs over the side of the bed. Turning off the TV, I forced myself vertical and walked over to the closet to fetch my comfortable pink robe. As I slipped it on and tied the sash, a sparkling blue fabric caught my eye. The lovely dress I'd worn the night before hung neatly in the closet, and on the floor underneath it were the matching shoes. I found the corset and stockings draped across the rocking chair in the corner. I hoped it had been Devereux who'd brought me home, undressed me, and tucked me into bed. The startling possibility that it might not have been him, or that things I didn't want to know about might have happened, froze me like a statue.

Laying a hand against the wall to brace myself, I closed my eyes and sent my awareness through my body. I'd always been able to use my intuition to test the state of my physical health, and recently that ability appeared especially heightened.

Whether I wanted to know about it or not, I needed to find out if there'd been any sexual activity—either consensual or forced. I steeled myself for possible bad news and asked the silent question. None of my usual indicators fired a warning, so I asked again, just to make sure.

As before, calm silence.

I'd learned to trust the subtle yes or no reactions of my body and felt relatively confident that I hadn't been physically harmed while I was sleeping. Or unconscious. Or whatever I'd been.

Relief washed over me, and I straightened, tightened the sash on my robe, and headed downstairs for desperately needed coffee.

Halfway down the stairs I remembered that the last time I'd seen Alan, he'd been sacked out on my couch. It had been eighteen hours since I'd left him sleeping there. I couldn't imagine he'd still be snoozing. Then I remembered how his unnatural sleep came to be and decided that rational rules wouldn't necessarily apply. I figured he'd be rightfully confused and probably angry, and he'd want to know where I had gone.

Sure enough, the couch was empty. I walked around the room, checking for a note, but there was no sign of one. I scanned the whiteboard in the kitchen. Nothing.

Recalling that his clothes had been in the washing machine, I lifted the lid, and there they were, still wet. He hadn't even transferred them to the dryer.

Why would he have gone out in those ridiculous pink sweatpants? Unless he got another call from the police and had to hurry out. But even so.

I went over to the front window, lifted one of the slats in the blinds—just in case the media circus still had its tent erected—and tried to find Alan's car. It was still there, right where he'd left it yesterday. And, unfortunately, so was the media. Not only had they not gone away, but there were more of them than ever lining the street. It was probably incredibly naive of me to hope they'd find something even more sensational to cover, that I'd be yesterday's news. Fat chance when anything vampire was involved.

Noticing the large police presence circling my home, part of me thought it was a waste of taxpayers' money for so many officers to be on guard duty, but mostly I was grateful. I knew the reporters wouldn't stay behind the barricade without strong incentives.