The Vampire Shrink (34 page)

As I peeked out I noticed several men dressed in military-type clothing standing in a line between the street and my front door. What the hell? Who'd called out the marines? Did Devereux's influence reach that far? This entire situation was getting out of control.

I tore myself away from the window and did another walk-through of my house, calling Alan's name loudly, but I got no response.

Still trying to figure out the mystery of the missing FBI agent, I absentmindedly went through the motions of making coffee and then remembered the phone. I hadn't checked the messages yet, and if Alan'd had to leave quickly, he might have called. Plus I'd contacted Midnight and Ronald and had left—or been snatched—before they could call me back.

While the coffee brewed and sent its heavenly aroma directly into my nostrils, I punched in the retrieval code to listen to my business messages; then I checked my cell phone.

There were several from media outlets, a few from concerned clients wondering about my safety, and one from a friend in Paris who laughingly said she'd seen a report on CNN about a flaky psychologist in Denver who worked with vampires. So much for my career.

Midnight had left a message saying she and Ronald were not dealing with Emerald's death very well, and they were worried about me. She wanted to know if I could possibly see them for a joint appointment on Sunday.

I was just about to hang up so I could call her when I heard the first couple of words of the next message and the hairs on the back of my neck rose.

Brother Luther's familiar southern-accented voice screamed out of the earpiece. “I know what you did. I know where you've been. Consorting with foul creatures of the night! You'll be punished! You'll burn in the fires of hell! Unholy Jezebel! Whore of Babylon! Suffer not a witch to live! No one can save you from the wrath of the Almighty! I am the messenger. You have been marked. You will burn.”

My eyes and my mouth were wide open, and after the message ended I felt slimed, contaminated, as if someone had thrown a bucket of psychic manure on me through the phone. The negative energy of the call hit my stomach like a fist. My knees went weak, and I grabbed the edge of the counter for support. Was this sick fanatic stalking me? Was he dangerous?

I saved his hateful tirade because it was definitely time to report him to the police. The call had to be some form of harassment, at the very least. Thankfully, he wasn't my client, so I didn't have to walk any ethical fine lines.

Finally, there was a message from Alan. He spoke in a very soft, subdued voice, as if he'd just awakened. “Kismet? You're probably going to think I'm insane, if you don't already, but I'm home and I don't know how I got here. The last thing I remember is being at your house and seeing Devereux appear in your living room. It's Sunday morning, the sun just came up, and I'm still wearing your pink sweats. I went outside to look for my car, and it isn't here. I think I left it at your house—along with my clothes—but I don't remember. You're probably thinking I had some kind of blackout, or breakdown—and maybe I did—but I'd appreciate if you'd call me when you get this and help me figure out what the hell is going on.”

I disconnected, set the phone down, and poured a cup of coffee. Then I plopped into one of the kitchen chairs. Sometimes there's just too much information for a brain to process.

Postponing the inevitable, I allowed myself the luxury of sitting still while I finished my first cup, then poured another and picked up the phone. I was so tired of all the drama. I punched in Midnight's phone number and got her answering machine. “Midnight? This is Dr. Knight. I'm sorry I wasn't able to get back to you sooner. I had to take care of some personal business. There are no words to express my sadness about Emerald. I'm absolutely available to meet with you and Ronald. You have my cell phone number—call whenever you get this message, and we'll schedule a meeting. Talk to you soon.”

Next, I dialed Alan's cell phone, and he must have been using it because my call went directly to voice mail. “Alan, I don't think you're crazy. In the midst of everything that's going on, you might be the only sane person I know. Your car is still here, along with your clothes. I have a client session later, so just give me a call when you get this, and we can arrange a time to get together. See you soon.”

I'm sure my voice sounded as tired as my spirit felt.

What I wanted more than anything was to do absolutely nothing. To sit quietly without thinking. Without trying to interpret, understand, or accept. Without being afraid.

Since none of that was likely, I rinsed out my coffee mug and went back upstairs to take a shower, carrying my newly charged cell phone with me.

The view of my face in the bathroom mirror caused me to laugh out loud. I'd really done a job of spreading the mascara around my eyes and upper cheeks, and I looked like a child had scribbled on me with a black Magic Marker.

Gorilla breath and raccoon eyes. See what happens when you stay at the ball past midnight?

I momentarily wondered if I'd made myself this appealing a sight before or after my pale knight dropped me off. Or should I say, my pale bloodsucker? I'd better get used to telling the truth. At least to myself.

As attracted as I was to Devereux, I wanted to keep my distance from him for a while, to pretend to be normal again. But how did one remain distant from something that could come and go through thought? Something that moved through time and space like walking from room to room? Something that didn't give a shit about anyone else's boundaries or needs?

I turned on the spray, dropped my robe on the floor, pulled the necklace over my head, laid it on the counter, and stepped into the shower.

After blissing out for a few moments, letting the hot water cascade down my body, I poured shampoo on my hair and piled the soapy mass on top of my head. I picked up the plastic bottle of body gel and was spreading it across my breasts when my hand slid over something on my chest. The necklace. I'd forgotten to take it off.

Wait. No. I hadn't forgotten. I
did
take it off. I had laid it on the counter.

I tugged aside the shower curtain, squinted through the fog that the hot water had created in the small room, and scanned the counter. No necklace.

I placed my hand back on the pentagram, and Devereux's voice whispered in my mind, “This necklace is your protection. You must never remove it.”

What the hell?

Expecting him to pop in, I looked around, but nothing happened. I thought vampires couldn't go out in the sunlight, so where'd the voice come from? But then, after what I'd seen, I could testify that there was no rule book for what Master Devereux could or couldn't do.

I lifted the necklace over my head again, and in the nanoseconds it took me to do that, the pentagram returned to rest between my breasts.

The same words floated through my mind. “This necklace is your protection. You must never remove it.”

Apparently, Devereux had somehow implanted a message in the talisman that replayed anytime the pendant lost contact with my skin.

Well, to hell with it. I'd leave the damn necklace on. It was just another way that Devereux had reached out to intrude on my life, and I wasn't going to give it one more moment of attention than I had to.

I finished washing and rinsing, wrapped up in a towel, and stepped out of the shower.

My cell phone rang—Midnight calling to schedule a time to meet. We set the appointment for two hours later, which gave me time to get dressed and eat something. My empty stomach echoed like an abandoned cave.

I made a sandwich, sat in the living room, and turned on the TV. I clicked through the channels until I came to a live news broadcast featuring an interview with my favorite detective.

“Lieutenant Bullock, can you give us an update on the case everyone is calling the 'vampire murders'? Do you have any leads? Any suspects? Are you close to an arrest?” the young reporter asked.

“We're following several leads,” a very tired-looking Lieutenant Bullock said. “I'm not at liberty to give any specific information at this time.”

“Is it true that the bodies were drained of blood? What kind of serial killer does that? Do you have any evidence that the killer actually drinks the blood?”

“That's sensational speculation, young lady, not good journalism. All we know now is that five people are dead.”

“Do you know how psychologist Kismet Knight is involved in the murders?”

“No comment. When we have more details, we'll schedule a press conference. That's all for now.” With that, Lieutenant Bullock stalked away from the camera.

Great. I'm a star.

I clicked off the TV, reflecting that Lieutenant Bullock was as rude to everyone else as she'd been to me. But she looked exhausted. She'd probably been working around the clock since the murders began. Five people dead. I wondered what Emerald had in common with the other victims. Alan probably knew. I'd have to ask him. The comment Officer Colletta made in the squad car came back to me, the one about the killer possibly being one of my clients. Chills raced up my body. What if it was true? I didn't know some of my new vampire-wannabe clients. Could one of them be responsible?

I pushed the thought away and went back upstairs to finish getting dressed. A short time later, I'd just picked up my briefcase and purse to head out the door when my cell phone rang again.

This time it was Alan. He sounded a lot more solid and had retrieved his usual cocky attitude. He launched right in. “So did I imagine it, or did Devereux plant a passionate wet one on you when I was there yesterday?”

“Uh, I seem to recall something of that nature.”

“You want to tell me what's going on?”

“No.”

“What?”

“Sorry, I don't mean no, I don't want to tell you, I mean not right now. I need to get over to my office for an appointment. Besides, I'm seriously burned out on talking or thinking about all the weird crap that's been going on. I'm running on empty. Could we discuss it later?”

“Sure.” He paused. “I just thought maybe you and I had possibilities, but after what I saw, I don't know anymore. What do you think? Do we have possibilities?”

Ah, shit. This is exactly the messy kind of issue I don't want to discuss. The stuff I don't have one clue about.

I couldn't keep all the impatience and frustration out of my voice as I paced around the room. “Can I waffle and say that I'm confused? That I don't even know my name right now, much less what's happening with my love life? Seriously, can we put a bookmark in this discussion?”

“Absolutely.” His voice became more formal, less friendly. “We'll talk later. Things are still crazy for me, too—there've been some leads in the Emerald Addison murder case, and I don't know when I'll have a spare minute. I'm going to have one of the black-and-whites drop me off at your place so I can pick up my car. I'll get the clothes some other time. I'm ready whenever you are—ball's in your court.”

Either he'd decided to humor me, or he really caught the vibe. Or maybe he really didn't care all that much. Then the confusing possibility that he cared too much raised its scary head and gave me brain overload.

“Thanks.” I nodded, then remembered he couldn't see me. “Talk to you soon.”

Feeling like I'd just dodged a very large bullet, I willed myself to relax.

I stole one more peek out my window to see how many media types were lurking before I made my escape. There weren't quite as many as the day before, but the remaining reporters appeared to be hunkered down for the duration. Officer Colletta had told me yesterday that my office was surrounded, and I assumed the situation there hadn't changed either. I needed a little help.

Cautiously I stuck my head out the front door. Various media representatives jumped to their feet and started yelling questions again; onair personalities brushed dirt off the seats of their slacks. The military fellows were gone. One of the officers looked my way when the chaos started, and I signaled him to come over. He trotted up to the door.

“Is there a problem, Dr. Knight?” He removed his sunglasses. “Do you need something?”

“No problem, Officer. I have to go to my office to see a couple of clients. Could you help me get out of my garage without running over any cameramen or TV anchors? And could you alert your associates at the office building that I'm headed their way?”

“We'll take care of it. Will you return to your residence after that? We have orders to stay here indefinitely.”

Really? Indefinitely? I wonder what they'd do if they found out all this was because of a vampire whispering in the chief's ear.

“Yes, I'll be back after that. I really appreciate your help.”

“We'll clear the way.” He replaced his glasses and headed back to the line of police cars.