Crimson Psyche (5 page)

I licked my lips and cleared my throat, finally shepherding my wandering thought sheep into a herdable mass. “Why
did
he want to talk to me? I’ve only been involved in the vampire community for a few months. I’m no expert — yet. Why focus on me?”

“That’s a good question. Wish I had an answer. One thing’s certain: he wasn’t telling you the whole story, and somehow you’re involved, whether you want to be or not.” She paused, studying me. “I guess being the love muffin of the most powerful vampire in Denver has its downsides, eh? You probably had no idea about all the undead drama you’d get tangled in. I’d be willing to bet nothing in your education or training even remotely prepared you for the last six months.”

I thought about responding, then pressed my lips together, still watching her. Victoria was giving me an opportunity to vent some of my frustrations, to share my confusion with someone else involved in all this freak-show weirdness. Working as a therapist was a lonely occupation to begin with, and choosing such a “unique” clinical focus meant I couldn’t even consult with colleagues, except for occasional phone calls with FBI profiler Alan Stevens or brief meetings with Ham the hypnotherapist and Michael the half-vampire clinician, who all knew the truth. It was getting harder and harder for me to censor myself with my own therapist, Nancy. I was certain she would be sending for the men in white coats if I really leveled with her. Having no ongoing healthy outlet for my own issues was a recipe for professional disaster.

And it wasn’t as if I didn’t like Victoria. From the first moment we’d met, the day I came to see the office Devereux offered, she and I had clicked — our Inner Children had bonded. However, something made me hold back. Maybe it was just my suspicious nature, but since she worked for Devereux, discussing my lover with her felt like crossing a mental field strewn with hidden psychic land mines.

She chuckled. “I hope you’re not a poker player, because your face reflects every emotion you feel. You wouldn’t last ten minutes at the gaming table. Of course, I’m more perceptive than most, but you’d be a lamb to the slaughter.” She smiled softly. “I just want you to know that I’m available anytime you need a shoulder or a pal. Yes, I do work for Devereux, but my first allegiance is to myself. I’m a very loyal friend. And I do happen to know Himself very well, warts and all. I’m aware of his intense personality. He’s been a powerful immortal for so long that it doesn’t usually occur to him that others might have different needs and desires. He tends to wear people down — like charming Chinese water torture!”

I relaxed and smiled. That was a perfect description of how Devereux continued to behave with me, even after our long discussions about his domineering nature and
healthy
ego a couple of months ago. I hadn’t yet come to terms with all the dissonant emotions his gentle bulldozing caused, so maybe it wouldn’t hurt to share a little.

“Charming Chinese water torture? What a great description of Devereux’s communication style. You know, he’s wonderful in so many ways — handsome, intelligent, creative, thoughtful — the man of my dreams, who just happens to be a walking corpse. But he wants me to acknowledge that I’m his long-awaited
mate
, and he isn’t shy about pushing me in that direction. For some reason, my acceptance of that title is incredibly important to him — far more important than it should be. I don’t understand why it’s such a big deal.” I shook my head. “Why can’t he just let our relationship develop slowly, so I can get used to it?”

“I don’t think the word
wait
is in his vocabulary,” she said kindly. “At least not in regard to you.” She lowered her voice and bumped my shoulder gently with hers. “What’s he doing, girlfriend?”

I smiled at the unfamiliar word, and appreciated her for it.

“Oh, just the usual. He’s always popping in unannounced, doing his best to convince me that his plan for the evening is better than mine. I know he’s gorgeous, and he smells good, and the sex is
great
. And there’s no question that traveling through thought is amazing. But he’s so... so
bossy
! He’s always digging up yet another thing I need to be protected from or coming up with one more reason to treat me like his fragile possession. He just lifts that magnificent chin and makes proclamations as if I have no right to have any opinions of my own. Most of the time I can’t decide whether I want to jump on him or run screaming into the night.”

Victoria snickered, fanning herself.

I paused, realizing I’d said more than I meant to. Apparently I really did need a friend to talk to. My therapeutic persona was definitely in danger of springing a leak. “I’m sorry,” I said ruefully. “I really do know better than to keep all my emotions bottled up. It’s messy when they finally spill out. Being a therapist is easy for me because my role is clear. It’s strictly defined. Dealing with the rest of my life — well, that’s a problem. And I’m definitely not myself today.”

She met my eyes and took my hand in hers. “You’re so hard on yourself. If you think that controlled bit of self-disclosure was messy, remind me never to call you in the midst of one of my PMS-driven chocolate-fueled pity parties. You’d have me locked up! Hey, I know. You should come to one of my coven’s rituals. A little wild, sweaty dancing around a fire would do wonders for you.”

I swallowed loudly. “Uh...”

She hooted out a laugh and squeezed my hand. “Or maybe not. Since you just looked as horrified as if I’d asked you to run naked through the Sixteenth Street Mall, I’ll assume your dance card for strange experiences is currently all filled up. Perhaps we’ll put off your visit to Witch Central for a while longer.”

“Thanks, Vic.”
Whew. That was close. Barely dodged another bizarro bullet.

“Here’s some unsolicited advice about Devereux,” she said. “He’s one of the most terrifyingly powerful creatures on the planet, but he’s got a loving soul. And he’s trainable. If you let him manipulate you, he will. That’s human — and vampire — nature. If you say
no
, he’ll have to deal. Stop being so nice!”

She put my hand back on my lap and patted it maternally. “In short, don’t take any of his shit!” Giving a theatrical witch’s cackle, she stood and waved her arms to indicate her territory. “I’m always here, and my circle’s always open to you.”

“You should’ve been a therapist.” I said, standing. “You’re pretty good at this interpersonal stuff.”

“I
am
pretty good at it, but therapy has too many rules. It’s too restrictive. I’m the Healer and Seer for my coven, so I get plenty of opportunities to build my skills. It’s more fun to make things up as I go along. I hope this is only the first of many conversations we’ll have. Remember: take no shit!”

“You’re right. Take no shit!” I yelled, thrusting my fist into the air over my head and realizing it felt good to get into the spirit of things. It had been a while since I’d simply had fun. Professional persona be damned!

Victoria’s eyes went wide and she clamped her hand over her mouth. She was staring at the area behind me and I followed her gaze. Hesitating just inside the glass entrance door a number of people were huddled together. They appeared more inclined to bolt out of the building than to make the trek across the lobby.

My first client of the day, her fiancé and both sets of parents were right on time.

Shit.

The view from the bank of west-facing windows in my office was spectacular. I stood watching as the sun gracefully descended behind the high peaks of the Rockies, making its daily journey into the archetypal underworld: a solar Persephone, honoring its pledge to rendezvous with the darkness. Surreal colors arced across the sky, creating otherworldly designs, like angelic Rorschach blots.

Watching the amazing light show unfolding above the mountains helped me to put life — both mine and my clients’ — into perspective. This enjoyable ritual gave me a few minutes to weave the threads of the day into a larger tapestry, to cling to the illusion of control.

Remembering the expressions on the faces of my client Deborah, her fiancé Scott and their parents I’d so startled in the lobby after my conversation with Victoria made me smile. I could’ve made up some excuse for the behavior they’d witnessed, but I decided to follow the first rule of psychotherapy: when in doubt, say nothing. I’ve developed the “therapist nod,” that gentle up-and-down head motion performed by all counselors, into an art form. It’s like a compassionate invitation to surrender, offering the quintessential soft place to fall. There is something to be said for silent, unconditional, positive regard.

In the midst of my decompression daydream, my inner radar suddenly engaged and I sensed the change in the room’s energy even before I heard the faint
pops
that indicated the arrival of vampires.

I tensed. My next appointment wasn’t due to arrive for a while, and since that client was always punctual, and came alone, I prepared myself for unexpected company.

“Hey, doll — er, Dr. Knight.”

“Hello, Dr. Knight.”

I spun to face the voices. “Chain? Lucille?” My shoulders relaxed and I released the breath I’d been unconsciously holding. Comparatively speaking, the arrival of two members of the Fear of Fangs group was a lot less terrifying than any of the millions of other possibilities my brain had immediately projected onto my mental movie screen. “What are you doing here? You’re not on my schedule for tonight.”

“There was no time to make an appointment. We need your help bad,” Chain said. As always, his trademark chains were looped through his baggy blue jeans, wrapped around his biker boots and encircled his wrists. The tall vampire’s long, stringy black hair framed a thin, pale, scarred face. Flat grey eyes stared from beneath bushy eyebrows and lashes so light they were almost invisible. He wore his Harley jacket, as always.

“What do you mean? What’s wrong?” I couldn’t remember them sharing any crises at the last group meeting.

“We need to get married, Dr. Knight,” Lucille replied in a quiet voice. She twisted her hands and chewed on her lower lip with her descended fangs. Her vibrant green eyes held a sheen of tears.

“Married?” I knew they had a sexual relationship, but I hadn’t realized they were an actual
couple
.

Lucille must have been highly stressed because she usually dressed provocatively in short, tight clothing with theatrical-grade makeup and towering hair, but tonight she was acting out one of her schizophrenic religious delusions by wearing an orange Buddhist monk’s robe. Her brown hair was secured in a tight bun at the nape of her neck.

“Yeah,” Chain replied with a deep sigh, frowning. “We gotta.” He threw one arm across Lucille’s shoulders and pulled her against him.

What? No way! That usually means a pregnancy, but these are vampires. Could it be possible?

Lucille burst into tears. She covered her face with her hands and started sobbing loudly.

Have we slipped into an episode of a 1950s sitcom?

“Both of you, come over here and sit down.” I pointed at the couch. They sat and I took the chair opposite them. “What do you mean,
you gotta
get married?” Wondering if I was about to hear something that would completely rewrite my knowledge of vampire physiology, I sat tensely on the edge of my seat.

But wait. If vampire pregnancy is possible, what does that mean for me and Devereux?

“It’s really a downer, Dr. Knight,” Chain whined. “Both alternatives really stink.”

Tell me, already!

“Concentrate, Chain. Why do you have to get married?”

“It’s a sin, Doctor!” Lucille wailed.

“No it isn’t, Lucille. You’re really fulla shit.” Chain jumped up and started pacing.

Oh. My. God! What the hell
is
it?

“Sit down, Chain. Just tell me the problem.”

He begrudgingly took his place on the couch again. “She won’t put out, Dr. Knight. She’s derailed the nooky train. It’s
awful
.”

“What?” I didn’t know whether to laugh or scream.

“Every time she gets freaked out about something and goes all schizo, she puts on one of her religious costumes. One night she’s Mother Theresa, then the next night the Pope, or Joan of Arc, then Moses — and when she’s dressed like that, she says screwing is a sin. So half the time I’ve got blue balls. Now she says she won’t come across at all unless we get married. You gotta talk her out of it because I’m too young to be tied down forever.”

Speechless, I just started at them, outrageously relieved that my small understanding of vampire reproduction — that they only made more of themselves by biting — remained intact. And that there would be nothing additional to worry about in my relationship with Devereux. I took a breath and cleared my throat, fighting against laughing out loud. “It sounds like the idea of marriage is upsetting for you, Chain. We definitely need to talk more about that. Lucille,” I shifted my gaze to her. “I hope you’ll share your feelings about this situation. Did something happen to frighten you?”

Lucille sniffled, reached for a tissue, then blew her nose. “I started having more visions, Doctor. I keep seeing myself burning in Hell. They started right after Chain caught me having sex with one of my human donors, when he pulled the guy off me, drained him and called me a whore.”

Hold on — he drained him?

“Chain! You killed a human?” I couldn’t keep the shock off my face or out of my voice. “You know Devereux’s policy about feeding on humans. You can’t kill them—”

“No! Keep your panties on. I didn’t drain him. She’s lying, as usual. But I admit I sucked his ass almost dry. He was alive when I threw him out the door and I saw him a few days later at the Crypt, so I know he’s okay.”

Shit. These vampires are going to give me a heart attack.

“But you called her a whore? That’s pretty harsh. I know that neither of you are sexually exclusive. Why would you say such a terrible thing to her? No wonder she had a psychotic episode. We’ve talked about this in group. You know better.”
And why does that word only apply to women?

Chain sank down into the cushions and pulled his jacket over his head, covering his face.

“Lucille, why do you think you need to marry Chain? Do you love him?”

She rubbed her puffy, red eyes. “I have to marry anyone I have sex with, whether I love him or not.”

Great. Guilt and shame for eternity.

“Anyone? Will you marry them one at a time or all at once?” I couldn’t believe the ridiculousness of that question, but I wanted to shake her out of her anxiety trance.

She paused, tilted her head and stared. “I never thought of that. Since I have sex with lots of people, I guess marrying all of them would be pretty messy.” Her expression went dead. “I remember being called a whore when I was a mortal. It wasn’t even true then, but I was punished. The word scares me.”

Chain pushed the coat off his face. “Well, shit, Lucille. I didn’t mean to hurt you. I only got mad because I wanted to have sex with you right then and you were already busy. It pissed me off.” He leaned over and kissed her cheek.

Lucille squealed with delight, stood and wiggled out of the orange robe then, naked, jumped, onto Chain. “I guess we don’t have to get married if you won’t call me that name any more.”

He licked one of her nipples and smiled. “Okay. Let’s go screw. Bye, Dr. Knight! See you at group!”

“Yeah, bye!” Lucille said.

They vanished.

“Yeah. Glad I could help.” I said to the empty couch. “Drop in any time,”

I rose and walked to the window, shaking my head. Had that bloodsucking mini-session been any more clinically alarming than many of my human appointments? Truthfully, no. I could count on the fact that all my clients, dead or undead, would come up with one preposterous thing after another. But at least the humans couldn’t physically pop into my office. I made a mental note to remind myself to strengthen my boundaries with my nocturnal clients.

But all that aside, I had to admit, on a theoretical level, that contemplating the possibility of a vampire pregnancy had been exciting: the scientific discovery of the century. If I could ever tell anyone, of course.

There was another
pop
and a rich voice spoke. “Good evening, Dr. Knight.”

My hand extended, I moved toward the elegantly dressed man who’d appeared in the center of my office. He clasped my hand in his. “Hello, Mr. Roth. It’s good to see you. Perfectly punctual, as always. Please, be seated.”

He gave a brief nod before settling himself in the middle of the nearest couch and arranging his ever-present briefcase next to his feet on the carpet. Then, as was his habit, he closed his eyes in meditation for a couple of minutes before speaking.

I used the time to shift from dealing with the chaos of Chain and Lucille to Mr. Roth’s sedate dignity.

A successful Denver attorney, he wore a handsome grey, Italian-designed business suit, a crisp white shirt and a red tie. His short black hair was slicked back from his wide forehead, Bela-Lugosi-style, and his dark brown eyes shone with intelligence underneath thick, arched brows. His nose was slightly too small for his slender face, and his chin a bit too large, almost as if he’d been taken apart and put back together using the wrong parts.

Although he gave the impression of being serious and businesslike, I’d discovered his sense of humor during our first session, when I’d asked about his decision to practice law after decades of being a vampire. He’d said it was natural for a bloodsucker to be an attorney. In fact, he’d said, the words were synonymous.

Since vampires had no need of lawyers, he represented the worst kind of human perpetrators — murderers, rapists, child molesters, mortal monsters of all varieties. When I asked why he represented the dregs of humanity, he told me he enjoyed the game, and corrected me when I wrongly assumed he meant the legal game. For him, it was all about winning the case, and seeing the person set free, before taking matters into his own fangs and draining him dry.

Justice, vampire-style.

Let’s hear it for instant karma.

He’d come to therapy after resisting the urge to drain one of his fouler clients. He was afraid that had set an unhealthy precedent. We’re currently exploring the issue.

I’d wondered how he managed his profession in the day-based legal world, but he told me he had a human colleague. His inability to function during normal business hours was inconvenient, but it wasn’t an insurmountable problem. Apparently, Denver has a busy night court system.

I gathered my writing pad and pen before sitting in my usual chair.

He opened his eyes and lifted his index finger. “Before we begin tonight, Doctor, I must apologize.” He paused dramatically. The combination of his entrancing vampire voice and the skills he’d perfected while orating before human juries when he was still mortal was impressive. It took all the grounding techniques I knew to remain unaffected. I didn’t think anyone could resist his arguments. He had one of the most persuasive voices I’d ever heard, and tonight it was especially hypnotic.

I got the chills.
Whoa. Is he apologizing for something he did, or something he’s going to do? Sometimes I wish religious symbols really did affect vampires. It sure would be convenient to hide behind a cross or a Buddha statue once in a while.

“Apologize, Mr. Roth?” I smiled to mask my reaction to the sudden tingling in my solar plexus. He’d never done anything out of order, but he
was
a vampire and I’d be a fool to forget that, even with my enhanced protections. After all, nothing could mute the normal biological reactions triggered by being in the vicinity of a predator.

He shook his head, folding his hands in his lap. “Ah, now I must apologize twice. First for needing to cut our session short this evening due to a rash of unexplained deaths, and second for allowing my distress over those deaths to cause my energy to become so intense that I made you uncomfortable. Please forgive me.”

My deodorant just said “fuck it.”

I wouldn’t even bother to claim I hadn’t been afraid. He’d obviously sensed — or maybe
scented
— my fear, and I’m sure my heart was pounding loud enough for him to dance to.

“Devereux told the members of his coven your mind can no longer be read. He said it is to protect your brain because the elders hold you in high regard, and they intervened on your behalf. He asked us to do nothing to cause your emotions to spike, which might render the extra protections useless. So for the third time, I do most sincerely beg your pardon. I would not want to do anything to harm you. I rather enjoy our sessions. You’ve been exceptionally helpful.”

Holy shit! Devereux told his coven — some of whom are my clients — my personal business? What’s wrong with him? Oh, wait, remember who I’m talking about. He simply does whatever he wishes.

“There’s nothing to forgive.” I shook off the annoyance Mr. Roth’s revelation had triggered and willed the corners of my mouth to rise. “I’m happy the sessions are beneficial to you.” Whatever I’d felt from him earlier had dissipated and my radar quieted. “Tell me about these deaths.”

He gave a brief nod of acknowledgment and crossed his legs. His brow furrowed. “It’s all very strange. Most vampires, especially young, weak ones, have little control over their appetites and impulses. Their world is violent, harsh, and dark. It isn’t until we survive beyond the first few years that our true personalities emerge once again, and we start to have choices. Most of us can’t even regulate our heart rate, breathing or body temperature for centuries.”