The Vampire Shrink (35 page)

I waited a few seconds for the authorities to get into place, then walked through the adjoining door from the kitchen to my attached garage, which opens onto a paved alley. I had no idea how many reporters were back there. I got into my car, clicked the door opener, and startled a handful of men and women sitting on the driveway, playing cards, their recording equipment stacked up around them like an electronics garage sale. I revved the car motor as several officers arrived, and luckily the squatters didn't stick around long enough to discover if I would have rolled over them. They scattered, yelling to their colleagues out front. One brave soul jumped on my hood with his video camera and managed to film a few seconds of me smiling and waving before the officer who came to my door pulled him off.

Even something as familiar and comfortable as driving required extra attention. I caught a glimpse of my eyes in the mirror, half expecting to see a shell-shocked reflection, and was surprised to appear so normal. As if nothing had changed. As if I hadn't lost my mind. As if I still lived in a world where there were no such things as vampires.

I was more comfortable believing I was nuts.

My office was just a few minutes away, and I managed to get there with only a small caravan of journalists on my tail. The parking lot across from the building was filled with the same assortment of vehicles and people as the street in front of my house. I had to drive a block down to find a place to park. I locked my car, grabbed my briefcase, and made a dash for the entrance. Officers swarmed from all directions, holding everyone back and giving me the opportunity to make it inside the lobby, where it was strangely quiet.

Midnight and Ronald showed up right on time. Neither of them appeared to have slept in a couple of days, and their vulnerability made my heart ache.

“How are you holding up?” I asked.

Midnight started to cry, and Ronald put his arm around her. “Not very well. We just can't get a grip on how anyone could hurt someone as sweet as Emerald. She was the most easygoing, laid-back person we've ever met,” Ronald answered. “Do you know if they caught the killer yet?”

“I don't think so,” I said, “but every cop in the state is on the case—they'll find the sick person who killed Emerald and the others.”

Midnight pulled a tissue from the box and blew her nose. She had to clear her throat a couple of times before she could speak. “I can't help but think this is all my fault. If I hadn't left her alone, she wouldn't have been hurt to begin with.” She gave a frustrated scream, which startled both Ronald and me. “I'm so pissed off, and I feel so helpless. The police aren't going to be able to find the one who killed her. It was a vampire. But they're not even taking that into consideration. How could a human drain all the blood from a body?”

That's a good question. Most humans can't.

“We're going to the Crypt tonight to talk to Devereux and ask him to find the vampire who hurt my friend.”

“I hope he can help.” I met her gaze. “But Emerald's death isn't your fault, Midnight. She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time. If you'd been there with her, maybe both of you would have been harmed.” I paused. “It's normal for you to be angry—that's one of the stages of grief. But you couldn't have known what would happen to her. There was nothing you could have done to prevent it.”

“That's what I told her,” Ronald said, squeezing Midnight's shoulder. We spent most of the rest of the time processing the grief and anger they both felt.

They asked a lot of questions about what had happened to me—the abduction and waking up in a cemetery—and I gave brief answers. I told them the truth: that I had no idea who had taken me there or what had happened.

Devereux said I'd been taken by a vampire, a dark spirit, but I had no comprehension of what he meant.

Midnight said she'd returned to her parents' house temporarily because she couldn't face Emerald's empty bedroom in their shared apartment. As he had before, Ronald showed great strength and compassion. He stayed close to Midnight and had been her constant companion during the last couple of days.

In fact, at one point they kissed each other on the lips, and the sense I got was that it was more romantic than friendly. There was obviously more to the soft-spoken guy than met the eye. Perhaps Midnight had radically misinterpreted Ronald's reaction to her relationship with Bryce. Maybe it hadn't been Bryce he was interested in after all.

Watching them together gave me a hopeful feeling. I walked them out to the waiting room, feeling tired but thinking I'd done something useful. I came back in the office, sat down at my desk, and rested my head on my arms. I must have dozed off because a sound caused my head to jerk up, and it was no longer light outside.

The sound had been the throat clearing of the individual standing in my doorway.

I tensed.

I hadn't turned any lights on in my office except the small desk lamp, so the room was mostly dark. As had become my careless habit, I hadn't closed or locked my office door after Midnight and Ronald left, thinking I myself would be leaving momentarily. Who knew how long I'd been sleeping?

I definitely had some karmic thing with doors. The man standing in the entrance was very tall, but he stooped, and his shoulders were rounded. The overhead light in the waiting room provided enough illumination for me to note that he had shoulder-length dark hair with a rapidly receding hairline. He wore a black suit, white shirt, and skinny black tie. My visitor held his hands together at chest level and twisted them, as if he was continually rolling a ball of clay or dough for a biscuit.

He edged forward, still standing in the doorway, as if reluctant to enter. “Are you the vampire doctor?”

CHAPTER 19

I
rose from my desk, turned on another table lamp, and walked slowly toward him, still straining to make out his shadowy features. My heart pounded, and my stomach began to tingle gently. I rested my palm there while I determined if that familiar signal was simply information or a warning.

I kept a couple of feet of space between us. “I'm Kismet Knight. I'm a psychologist.”

“Yes. You're the one. Can you help me?”

“I don't know.”
I don't even know what that means anymore.

Since I wasn't picking up any negative reaction from my sensing system and his uncomfortable, nervous gestures gave me the odd notion that he was more afraid of me than I was of him, I forced myself to relax. I pointed to the interior of the office. “Would you like to come in?”

He nodded and lumbered—as if moving his body around involved concentrated effort—over to the couch and sat.

I hesitated for a moment and watched him.

So should I leave the door open because I don't know anything about this fellow, or should I close it to give him privacy? Should I lock it so no one else can surprise me today? Which would also mean I'll have to quickly unlock it if I need to get out fast. I can't believe I'm talking to myself about doors. In all my years of private practice, I've never given the door one thought. Never felt threatened. I guess I can kiss those days good-bye.

I gently closed the door, leaving it unlocked, and eased over to the dimmer switch on the wall. Rule number one: never make quick moves with a frightened client.

“Would you mind if I turn on a bit more light?”

He lifted his chin from where it had been resting nearly on his chest and finally gave me a glimpse of his full face. “I don't mind.”

I turned up the watts and claimed the chair nearest to him.

He had a thin, cadaverous face dotted with deep pockmarks from a rough case of acne and lined with scars that brought to mind the sewn-together monster in
Frankenstein
. He sported a beak-like nose that took up lots of facial real estate. His washed-out gray eyes were small and close together, which made his dark unibrow stand out starkly against his light skin.

He lowered his head again and twisted his hands in his lap.

“How can I help you?” I asked.

“I heard that it's safe to talk to you. That you won't tell anyone about us.”

“Who's ‘us'?” I sat back.

He raised his head, brows contracting in the center. He retracted his upper lip so I could see his long canines. “Why, vampires, of course.”

My breath caught, and I straightened in my seat. “Uh, yes, certainly.”

Okay, Kismet. Don't panic. He's a vampire. A real vampire. You didn't think you'd be treating actual vampires, but you did ask them to come on down. That explains the stomach tingle.

I licked my suddenly dry lips. “You can talk to me. How can I help?”

I hope this isn't the stupidest thing I've ever done.

The hand twisting escalated, and he lowered his head again. “I have an unusual problem. You know that vampires drink blood, right?”

I cleared my throat, wondering if this was a trick question. “Yes, I'm aware of that.”

This is so amazingly ludicrous. How can I sit here and talk with a vampire about drinking blood? Where am I supposed to put this in my brain? Is my intuition out to lunch? Am I in danger?

He swiveled his head around and scanned the room, as if he wasn't sure we were alone, then started, “Well, I find the sight of blood disgusting.” His shoulders sagged, and his chest became even more concave than it had been. He almost whispered, “I avoid looking at it as much as I can. It's revolting.”

Holy shit, somebody help me. A vampire who doesn't like blood—is this a joke? Am I being secretly filmed for some reality show?

Suddenly I remembered Devereux's mind-reading tendencies and how he'd told me that all vampires are telepathic. Even if this was an individual of a different “species” sitting across from me, I didn't want to have my rude thoughts announced through the vampire broadcast network. I needed to ask some questions and set some ground rules.

I held up my hand in a “stop” gesture, and he brought his eyes to mine briefly before lowering them again. “I'm sorry. I don't know your name.”

“Yes,” he said in a clear voice, “I suppose you would need that. I'm Apollo.”

My face showed surprise before I could catch myself. “Apollo? Like the Greek god?”

“The very same. I know I don't match my name very well—being decidedly un-godlike—but it was actually my last name when I was alive. Anthony Apollo. My human ancestors originally came from Greece. In the vampire world, catchy names are preferable to mundane, human-sounding ones, so I go by Apollo. Besides, it gives everyone quite a chuckle.” He smiled for the first time and relaxed his hands in his lap.

I returned his smile, pleased to see a lighter side of him, and hopeful that letting him into my office hadn't been yet another bad decision.

“So, Apollo, you probably know that working with vampires is a relatively new thing for me and I'm still finding my way around. I'd appreciate it if you could answer some questions. Would that be all right?”

He nodded. “If I can.”

“I'd like you to tell me what powers you have. I mean, can you read my thoughts? If I look into your eyes, will I be entranced? That sort of thing.”

“I'm pathetically weak for a vampire. I haven't been one long—less than fifty years—and the vamp who turned me was rather insipid himself. You probably know a vampire is only as powerful as the one who created him. Add in my little ‘problem,' and I can honestly say that I don't bring much to the vampire gene pool. But to answer your question, I can read some thoughts—specifically, strong emotions. If you're worried about what you've been thinking so far, I can tell you it's all gone over my head. Same with the eyes. Although I can probably give you a headache if I really concentrate.”

I pressed my lips together, trying not to smile because I didn't know him well enough yet to decide if he'd be pleased I'd gotten his humor or offended that I found him amusing. In any case, I was impressed by his way with words. So many articulate vampires. Who knew?

“Well then, let's deal with the largest issue. You said that you've heard I'm safe, that you can talk to me. I want to know if I'm safe with you. How likely is it you'll become interested in my neck?”

Gee, Kismet, that was graceful.

He laughed awkwardly for several seconds, then surrendered to full-out laughter, deep lines creating bizarre shapes out of some of the pockmarks on his face, which appeared to be unaccustomed to that much frivolity.

“Forgive me for laughing, but if you'd heard the warning Devereux gave the coven about anyone harming you in any way, you wouldn't even ask the question. Trust me—no one wants to have Devereux as an enemy. I think you will find that most of us have tremendous self-control. That is one thing I can say about myself, so you can rest assured you are safe with me.”