The Vampire Shrink (9 page)

Through the cotton candy that had taken up residence in my brain, the voice in my head screamed
NO
! but my mouth said, “I guess I could give you a few minutes. Please come inside.”

Please come inside? Hey, wait a minute—that isn't what I meant to say. Where'd that come from?

I backed away from the door, drawing it open so he could enter, leaving it ajar so he wouldn't be encouraged to make himself too comfortable.

I was about to invite him to sit down when I noticed he'd already seated himself in the chair I normally used. I realized he had no way of knowing that was “my” chair, but it still annoyed me.

“Would you mind filling out a little paperwork for me?” Force of habit had me handing him a packet of papers on a clipboard.

He took it. “My pleasure.”

I sat across from him and studied him while he wrote. His hands were artistic looking, with recently manicured nails trimmed close. He had very pale skin with a lovely translucent sheen to it, which gave him an ageless quality. It wasn't often that I encountered someone with skin lighter than mine. His bone structure brought to mind the word
chiseled
. Perfect features. Almost too perfect.

Midnight was right: his eyes were extraordinary. They were indeed aqua and beautifully shaped, with long, dark eyelashes. I was surprised that his eyebrows and eyelashes were dark because his hair was so light, but the combination was very appealing.

His thick, lovely hair flowed down over his shoulders to midchest. It looked soft and silky and very touchable. And his mouth … Studying his soft, full, generous lips caused a visceral reaction in me. I imagined the feel of them against mine.

What the hell? Take a breath, Kismet. You're in your office. This is a professional situation. Have you lost your mind? What you're imagining is beyond inappropriate. Stop daydreaming about what you want to do to those lips and pay attention.

As I raised my gaze from his mouth to his eyes, I found him watching me with an amused expression, apparently finished with the paperwork. Embarrassment warmed my face as I reached for the clipboard. For some reason, I couldn't take my eyes off him long enough to even glance at the forms he'd filled out.

Why am I acting so weird?

I took a slow breath and struggled to regain control of myself. “What concerns you about Midnight?”

“Before we speak of that, would you mind if I ask you a question?”

“Well, you can ask. I can't promise I'll answer.”

“Do you believe in vampires?”

“What?” Surprise radiated up my spine, and I stiffened in my chair. The buzzing in my ears got louder, and I was suddenly very thirsty.

He toyed with a beautiful antique medallion on a chain around his neck. “Do you believe what Midnight has been telling you?”

Okay. Maybe he has a suggestion about how to help Midnight move beyond her vampire fantasy. He might be crazy, but maybe he can help.

To steady myself, I stood and walked over to the small refrigerator in the corner of the room and selected two bottles of water. I set one of them in front of Devereux, opened the other for myself, took my seat, and drank deeply.

Breathe. Just breathe. This can't be hot flashes. I'm too young.

“I can't discuss anything that Midnight may or may not have talked to me about—it's all confidential. But generally speaking, I can tell you that I've never seen any evidence to support the existence of vampires or any other supernatural beings.”

“Ah.” The corners of his lips quirked up. “You are a scientist. Do you wish to see evidence?”

I was getting that claustrophobic feeling again. Maybe this handsome man really was a nutcase, and I'd allowed myself to be distracted by his obvious assets instead of following my professional instincts. I switched into the noticeably calm voice I used to soothe disturbed clients. “Is it important to you that I believe in vampires?”

He threw back his head and laughed with pure delight. “I have never been called insane in such a lovely way ever before. I can assure you that it is of no importance whatsoever to me if you believe in vampires or not, but I think the information could prove useful to you. What if I told you that everything Midnight has shared with you is absolutely true?”

Oh geez. He's a loon.

“Since we can't talk about anything Midnight might have said, I can only suggest that you tell me directly what you want me to know.”

“I am a vampire.”

Uh-huh. Of course you are.
“Tell me about being a vampire.”

“As you wish.” Still clearly amused, he gave me the full weight of those eyes again, and my breath caught in my chest. “Until I can convince you of the truth of my words, I will be the good therapy client and follow the rules.”

He seemed to find me very amusing.
Hmmm. Inappropriate humor. That's a symptom in several diagnoses. I wonder what he's basing his role on? I've never seen a movie vampire who goes around
telling
people he's a vampire. Isn't that the point? To avoid the stake-in-the-heart thing? Maybe that's why he hangs out with teenagers: he's mentally unbalanced. Maybe I could just rattle his delusion a little bit.

“Why do you want me to know you're a vampire? Isn't that supposed to be a secret?”

His gaze was stilled locked on mine. “I want you to know about me because I have a feeling about you. I believe you have a crucial role to play in my life.”

My stomach clenched, and I broke eye contact.
A crucial role in his life? This sounds like stalker material.

This was definitely getting out of hand. Maybe I should rework my idea about counseling vampire wannabes. These folks were much more delusional than I thought, and it wasn't going to be as simple as I first imagined. I'd assumed all my pretend vampires would be similar to my alien abductees: creative, needy, acting out, and harmless. I hadn't considered the possibility that this subculture might be populated by psychotics. That would require a totally different treatment plan.

No problem. This is good. I need to know what I'm dealing with.

I glanced over at the clock, thinking of ways I could gracefully end the conversation.

“Shall I show you one of my vampire abilities?” he asked, his voice deep.

“I don't know.” My stomach tightened. “What kind of ability is it?” I half expected him to tug a long scarf out of his fist or spread a deck of cards on the table.

“Simple telepathy. Allow me to tell you what you have been thinking.”

He repeated back all my thoughts about things getting out of hand, reconsidering how I'd work with vampire wannabes, that he was being delusional, and my wanting him to leave. Word for word.

My body rode a roller coaster of emotion.

How could he possibly know that?

I immediately felt embarrassed that he'd somehow known what I really thought about him, which was then made even worse by the humiliating possibility that he'd been aware of my earlier appreciation of his physical attributes. But then I got angry. The buzzing in my ears had morphed into a headache, and I was rapidly approaching some inner line in the sand. I hadn't given him permission to read my energy or to inconvenience me with his unexpected presence or his sideshow antics. Since I had no intention of taking him on as a client, I felt justified in letting myself have a reaction.

I held on to the arms of the chair so tightly that my fingers blanched whiter than normal.

“That's quite a clever parlor trick. Are you a mind reader? A psychic?” There was more heat in my voice than I'd intended.

Something is very wrong here. I've never had this reaction to any client, ever. I've never gotten angry at a client before. I've never been so attracted to a client before. This is unnatural. What's happening?

“You are angry. Once again, I apologize for upsetting you. It is my nature to be able to read the thoughts and sense the emotions of others. It has always been that way for me, even before I was born into darkness. I cannot be other than I am. All old vampires have the potential to be telepathic, but not many are as skilled as I am. It is one of my gifts. As you might imagine, being bombarded by constant mental chatter can be tedious, so I've taught myself to pick up an individual's thoughts only if I choose to. I now receive specifically what I focus on and nothing more. I can teach you to shield your thoughts, if you wish.”

“Can't you just stop whatever it is you're doing?” I demanded, much louder than I'd meant to. I couldn't honestly say I believed he'd read my mind, because how could that be possible? I'd never met anyone with keen enough psychic abilities to actually know another's thoughts, word for word. This was new territory. Not being able to explain it made me nervous.

His lips curved, and he gave another bow of his head.

“With most humans, there is little pull to their thoughts. Their minds are filled with ordinary, meaningless details, and I can easily turn my attention elsewhere. But your mind is very powerful and you have your own abilities, which you have not yet acknowledged. That is a very strong attraction for me. But I will do my best not to intrude.”

“Thank you,” I said, and stood up, struggling to hold myself together.
What abilities? What's he talking about?
“We need to stop now.”

“Yes.” He stood as well and smiled at me. “Of course. I am grateful for your indulgence. Midnight holds you in high regard, and I am pleased that she will be spending time with you. She has most likely told you that she is involved with another vampire she met at my club. This … individual … is dangerous, and I wish to discourage their relationship. She is most upset with me, but I must be firm on this. I hope that as you learn more about him, you will agree with me. Perhaps she will listen to one of us.”

He has such interesting, old-fashioned speech patterns. I feel as if I've fallen into a time warp. Or into one of my old roommate's taped episodes of
Dark Shadows.

There were many questions I wanted to ask him, since he'd started talking about Midnight, but I didn't want to encourage him, or breach her privacy, so I kept my face pleasantly blank and said nothing.

“May I have your permission to come and visit you again?”

Ah, the vampire wannabe is tapping at my window, wanting in.

“Is there something you wish to talk to a therapist about? Because I believe I've made it clear that I can't discuss Midnight with you, so it might be best if I refer you to another clinician.”

“There are many topics I wish to explore, but only with you. Would you come to my club sometime, as my guest?” he said, his voice smooth velvet again. “It would give you an opportunity to see the world Midnight lives in.”

What was it about that voice? Why was it causing me to have very un-therapist-like thoughts? It seemed to generate actual heat in my body. I gathered my professional aura around me like a protective cloak. “I don't think that would be appropriate, but I appreciate the kind offer. If you decide you want to start seeing a therapist, I'd be pleased to refer you.”

I guided him into the waiting area, and he turned to me, lifted my hand, and kissed it, his mouth lingering just a bit longer than necessary.

His aqua gaze locked onto mine. “Please allow me to give you a parting gift.”

Before I could answer, he placed his index finger gently on the skin between my eyes and made a circular motion. I jumped as if he'd burned me. The touch had tingled like a mini–lightning bolt.

I gasped. “What did you do to me?”

“I provided a layer of protection over your third eye—your sixth chakra—so you will no longer be overwhelmed by what I am. Your symptoms should already be subsiding.”

My symptoms? Third eye? I've got to get this handsome madman out of my office.

“Until next time.” He turned and left as quietly as he came in.

I rubbed my forehead, half expecting to find a gaping wound, and was pleasantly surprised to feel nothing out of the ordinary. In fact, I was almost clearheaded again. I suspected I was right about him being a hypnotist, because he certainly understood the power of suggestion. Regardless of why the fuzziness, buzzing, and pain had gone away, I was relieved they had.

I closed and locked both the doors, noticing that my legs were shaking and my knees were dangerously close to bailing on me. I shuffled over to the couch, flopped down, and stretched out along it, then kicked my shoes into the air as I surrendered into the soft cushions. I could still feel his kiss on my hand, and I was very aware that my hormones were threatening to run amuck.

That was, without a doubt, the weirdest experience I'd ever had. A good-looking man expressed interest in me, and I handled it poorly. Gee. What a surprise.

After lying there for a few minutes, trying to figure out what had just happened, I sat up and reached for the information sheet he'd filled out, noticing that he hadn't answered many of the questions. He listed the club downtown as his address and phone number, and under date of birth he'd written August 8, 1172, and October 31, 1201.

Oh, I get it.
In keeping with his story, he'd given me both a human birth date and a vampire birth date. Very clever. According to this, he was twenty-nine years old when he was “brought over.” So something must have happened to him when he was twenty-nine that caused him to retreat into this masquerade. Since he didn't appear to be much older than that, it couldn't have been very long ago.

I suddenly felt sad. What a shame that this obviously intelligent and unquestionably gorgeous man was caught up in such a bizarre pretense. Or, even sadder, that he was mentally ill enough to actually believe he was a vampire. But there was still that business about him guessing what I'd been thinking. How could he possibly have such an extraordinary level of skill? I remembered reading an article about mental illness and enhanced psychic abilities—the intuitive equivalent of a savant. I'd have to do some more research on that topic.