The Vampire Shrink (44 page)

I'd just given myself permission to study my companion in the mirror when the ding sounded, the door opened, and we stepped into a lushly carpeted hallway. The ice-blue of the floor matched the colors in the elegant European-style wallpaper. I could easily have imagined myself in a luxury old-world hotel.

Pausing in front of a hand-carved portal, Victoria slid a keycard into a slot near the handle, the red light changed to green, and the door clicked open.

There had to be some kind of mistake. This place was big enough and extraordinary enough to be Oprah's Denver corporate office. We wandered through a space that would make a great waiting room, then entered a large, multiroom suite.

“Isn't it incredible?” Victoria beamed, her peridot eyes sparkling playfully. “Devereux designed the renovation of the building himself and chose the interiors for every suite.”

“So Devereux owns this building?”

“Yes.” She nodded. “This one and many others, including the gothic wonderland down the street. Have you ever been to the Crypt?”

“I have. It's really something. Does he live in this building?”

“I'm sorry.” She frowned. “Devereux gave me the impression that you two are close friends, so I just assumed you were aware of his personal details. Then again, he did tell me to answer all your questions, so yes, he keeps the penthouse as his residence.” The charming expression returned to her face as she opened a set of double doors that led to a lovely full bath.

“On the other side of the suite is a smaller bath, which would be perfect for your clients to use. Would you care to see it?”

He must have filled her in about my line of work. I nodded, and she guided me across the expanse.

“What other kinds of businesses have their offices here in the building?” I asked.

“All the businesses here belong to Devereux and his associates—they run several international corporations. Yours will be the only outside business in the building. Well, what do you think? Would you like to move in?”

“You bet.” I chuckled. “In a heartbeat. But affording the rent is another issue.”

“Devereux told me you'd say that—he said to tell you he'll discuss the details of the rental agreement with you personally, and I should assure you that you can easily afford the space. I'm going to leave you here for a few minutes by yourself so you can get a feel for the place.” She took a couple of steps toward the door, spread her arms wide, and spun in a circle, pointing around the empty space as she twirled. “Start imagining where your furniture will go. Enjoy the view of the mountains from your windows.”

“Thank you.”

“Oh, by the way, he also asked me to tell you that you can have the suite unfurnished or furnished. He has a huge warehouse full of couches, chairs, desks, tables, lamps, anything you might desire. Exceptional pieces. He said to let him know what you require, and it will be delivered immediately.”

She stopped spinning, walked through the suite, and closed the door behind her.

I laughed out loud at her joyful free-spiritedness and threw my arms out as she'd done, then let them return to my sides. If I'd ever managed to learn how to turn cartwheels in elementary school, I'd have been tempted to turn one now.

I strolled through the spacious rooms.

Of course, it was out of the question. There was no way in hell I could afford this place. The bathroom fixtures alone must have cost more than I paid for my town house.

But wouldn't it be great if I
could
afford it? Furnished or unfurnished? I hadn't even started to figure out how I was going to acquire new furniture to replace the broken stuff in my office. My insurance would probably reimburse me, but that could take months.

On the downside, if I moved into Devereux's building and let him give me a rent break, I'd be obligated to him. I was sure that's what he wanted. Where was the line between taking advantage of a good deal and losing my autonomy? What happened if I decided I didn't want a vampire boyfriend? What if Luna was right and he dumped me? I'd have to move again.

Thinking about all that made my head hurt.

I glanced down at my feet, which had sunk deep into the rich pile of the carpet, and wondered if a rug this thick had to be vacuumed or mowed.

Then the view out the windows drew me like a magnet. From this suite's row of windows I had a panoramic view of Colorado's Front Range, the mountains that skirted the metro area all the way from south of Colorado Springs up to the Wyoming border. Wind clouds hovered along the tops of the peaks, signaling that the Denver area might be in for some of our famous one-hundred-miles-per-hour window-rattling, roof-lifting air blasts. If this building had been here as long as I suspected it had, it wasn't likely to get blown away anytime soon.

Giving in to temporary insanity, I'd just dropped down onto the floor and was flailing my arms and legs and giggling, making a snow angel in the carpet, when Victoria reentered and clapped her hands.

“I knew you'd love it!”

I was outrageously embarrassed. I was halfway to my feet when I realized she was lying on the floor with me, following my example. We laughed at ourselves and each other, spent a couple of minutes being five years old again, and finally got off the floor. Then we grinned at each other. After all, our inner children had bonded.

She handed me the keycard and a business card with her information on it.

“Devereux said I should give you the keycard so you could spend as much time in the suite as you wish before you decide one way or the other.” She started toward the exit, then turned, a wide grin on her friendly face. “I think he really likes you. I look forward to having you here. If you need anything just call me, any day, anytime. Blessed be.” She waved and left.

Blessed be? That was a Wiccan greeting and parting, wasn't it? Of course Devereux had a witch as his office manager.

Did she know everything about Devereux? He must have told her something to justify the fact that he was never here during the daylight hours. He did tend to surround himself with people who were devoted to him. Maybe he secretly slept in a coffin in the basement?

I wandered around the suite for a few more minutes, stared out the window, then forced myself to head back out to the hallway. I'd apparently decided to take him up on his offer. Providing, of course, the true cost wasn't higher than I was willing to pay.

Halloween. The big news story in town was the yearly bash, which turned out to be called the Vampires' Ball. How could I have lived here so long and never heard of it?

The event was the topic du jour on the radio. According to the legend, twenty years ago, in the foothills west of Denver, an eccentric billionaire had built a monstrously huge hotel that was designed to resemble the rich guy's favorite Scottish castle. He'd even had a chunk of the Celtic original dismantled and shipped over for his masterpiece, in the hopes that a ghost or two might tag along for the ride.

There are lots of stories about those ghosts, which might have contributed to the failure of the hotel as a successful enterprise. Or maybe the hotel went belly-up because the billionaire lost interest in it and didn't continue all the maintenance and upkeep required for a castle in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. Whatever the reason, the castle languished—until ten years ago, when it was purchased by yet another eccentric billionaire and transformed from a hotel to an event site.

Specifically, the site for the Vampires' Ball.

Gee. I wonder if I know any eccentric billionaires who might be attracted to a ghost-filled castle as the location for a celebration dedicated to vampires? Hmmm. Let me think.

It wasn't enough that Devereux was a vampire who could move through thought, a wizard who traveled to other dimensions, and a gorgeous hunk of godlike masculinity. Now I had to deal with the fact that he was rich and owned half the world.

I didn't know whether to laugh or scream.

Devereux's involvement aside, the gala sounded like it would draw every vampire, vampire wannabe, and fan of the paranormal on this side of the Mississippi. It occurred to me that the ball would be a great place for the police to use me to capture Brother Luther.

Or whoever the hell he is.

But why would I want to do that? I wasn't the brave type. If I couldn't use my therapy skills to resolve a situation, I was pretty much out of my league. Now that I'd actually seen the monster up close and personal and witnessed his madness firsthand, why would I want to put myself in danger again?

Because until he was caught and put away, I was a prisoner. He could show up anytime and destroy as many offices as I could move into. In fact, that reminded me—I needed to talk to Devereux about whether or not he really wanted me in there if his incredible building could be wrecked by Vampire Satan at any moment.

Still, weighing all the pros and cons, I thought the idea of my participation in the capture was worth a phone call to Lieutenant Bullock.

CHAPTER 24

T
he first thing I noticed when I returned home was that the media and police were still missing in action. What kind of monster could cause humans to run in fear just from his physical presence? Why didn't I feel whatever had made the others head for the hills?

Within minutes of pulling into my garage, the cleaning crew showed up, and my town house became a flurry of activity.

While the professionals put my living quarters back together, I sat at the kitchen table, deleting and saving voice-mail messages.

I'd made the big time.

In among the calls from current clients, prospective clients, babbling psychotics, New Age seekers,
Twilight
fans, hopeful romantic partners—mostly prisoners or the recently released—and local media, there were messages from all the major networks.

I'd been invited to appear on every late-night, early morning, afternoon, and prime-time interview program on the TV schedule. The segment would probably be called “Let's ridicule, harangue, and generally humiliate the allegedly professional woman calling herself the Vampire Psychologist.”

Turns out that not all advertising is good advertising after all.

The one exciting message was from a well-known publisher, asking if I'd consider writing a book. That was definitely a keeper.

Tom would be so proud of my fifteen minutes of fame and fortune.

Thinking about Tom's shallow tendencies reminded me I hadn't heard from him since Zoë pulled him onto the dance floor at the Crypt several nights ago. From past experience I would've said disappearing that way wasn't his style, but I really didn't know him well enough anymore, if I ever did, to guess what he would or wouldn't do. Especially if there was a woman involved. In fact, now that I thought about it, taking off with a gorgeous female was exactly something Tom would do.

I saved all the messages from the national media, just in case I ever did finish the book about vampire wannabes—or was it about vampires now?—and needed some New York and Los Angeles contact numbers.

Being productive felt good. I called all my current clients, told them I'd have a new location soon, and arranged for telephone counseling sessions in the meantime. The prospective clients were willing to wait until I set up my new office. I was surprised by how many of them hadn't been put off by the gruesome publicity surrounding me. In fact, thanks to the national obsession with celebrities, some of the callers sought me out because they'd seen my face on the local news. Maybe I would come out of this mess with some parts of my life still intact.

By late afternoon the living room sparkled, and silence reigned supreme. I'd left a message for Lieutenant Bullock outlining my offer to be bait tonight at the Vampires' Ball but hadn't heard back from her. Taking advantage of the quiet, I drifted into a catnap on the couch and was startled when the doorbell chimed me into wakefulness.

I bolted up, heart pounding, and immediately checked the window for signs of sunlight. I was relieved to find the sun hadn't gone down yet. I was safe. Maybe. It wasn't healthy to make assumptions about the limitations of the undead, but I hoped the not-being-able-to-go-out-in-the-sun thing was true.

I crept over to the door and yelled, “Who is it?”

“It's your trusty FBI agent.”

I huffed out the breath I'd been holding and stared through the peephole. Alan's smiling face filled the view.

The vampire handyman had installed additional locks on the door—not that locks would keep undead visitors out, but at least it was something—and going through the unlocking process took a bit longer than before.

“Hey, you added more locks.” He pointed back over his shoulder. “Where are all the news vans and cop cars?” He hugged himself, running his hands up and down his arms, as if he were cold. “Shit. I don't know what the hell is going on, but as soon as I pulled in front of your house, my stomach cramped, and I had a strong urge to jump back in my car and drive as far away from this place as fast I could. I almost did. It felt like something really horrible would happen if I got any closer.” He pressed his palm to his chest. “Damn. My heart's going nuts. What the fuck?”