The Vampire Shrink (20 page)

“It appears we're going to be the oldest people there,” Tom noted with a hint of annoyance.

“Especially you,” I teased, smiling sweetly. Okay. Just because I'm a psychologist doesn't mean I can't be as nasty as anyone else. I knew Tom was sensitive about his age and that he'd avail himself of every plastic surgery procedure possible in order to stave off the ravages of time. Not that I was above a little nip and tuck myself in the future.

We finally found a place to park several blocks away and walked back to the Crypt, the club where I'd seen Devereux on the stairs after my first session with Midnight. It was huge, taking up almost the same space in square feet as it did in height.

The club had its own personality. The closer we got to it, the more ominously powerful it felt. I could hear music throbbing on the airwaves.

The first thing I noticed about the building was its eyes—the stained-glass windows that filled half of each wall. Extraordinary colors and shapes formed pictures and abstract patterns in each window. There were images of angels and demons, religious symbols, Celtic crosses, and spirits rising from graves. I could imagine how amazing they'd look with the sun pouring through them. The windows were brightly lit from behind, and the rainbow colors splashed down onto the dark sidewalk, bathing everyone in etheric hues. The architecture was gothic, with ornate towers and archways. The upper level had many nooks and crannies, and standing guard at various outposts were large gargoyles.

As we approached the crowd gathered in front of the main entrance, the smell of marijuana permeated the air, and I felt a heavy, pulsating rhythm moving up through the soles of my feet.

We climbed up the stairs leading to the entrance and passed through the massive double doors, which were made of heavy wood with elaborate carvings. A wall of sound hit me when the doors opened, and the intensity of the vibration took my breath away. At the far end of the club, a rock band commanded the aural landscape with screaming guitars, booming bass notes, and primitive rhythms, the musicians cavorting wildly on the large multilevel stage. The acoustics were such that the sound exploded as it poured from the mounted speakers. A smoke machine was pumping out a continuous layer of fog that hovered near the floor. It had a life of its own, curling and twisting like a ghostly serpent.

A bouncer stood inside the door, blocking our entrance to the rest of the club. He was extremely tall, very thin, and deathly white. He didn't seem to give much credence to the idea of personal space, because he bent down very close to say, “Welcome to the Crypt. ID, please.”

His breath was hot, with an odd, sweet scent. He reached out a hand with long, dirty fingernails, and I jumped back, without even thinking, and stepped behind Alan while I retrieved my driver's license from the pocket of my jeans. It'd been a long time since anyone had carded me.

Apparently not offended by my reaction to his hygiene, he spread his lips in what I assumed was a smile, showing discolored fangs, and waved us inside with a sweep of his arm. “Enjoy.”

Tom tapped me on the shoulder and pointed at the bouncer. His expression telegraphed distaste. “Is he one of your clients? It appears he could use a little help.”

I glared at him. “Very funny. I just might give him one of my business cards. He could be a perfect case study for my book.”

Down, girl. I don't have to justify myself to Tom or anyone else. This is starting to feel like a nasty little case of sibling rivalry—not that I have any idea how sibling anything would feel.

“Hey, you two—check it out.” Alan pointed to the interior of the club.

The entire place was decorated like a cross between a graveyard and Dracula's castle, and it was big enough to hold hundreds of people, most of whom had already arrived.

We maneuvered our way over to the main bar, which ran along an entire wall and was shaped to resemble a long wooden sarcophagus. Standing there, waiting to catch the attention of the bartender, Alan leaned toward me and shouted in my ear, “I forgot to tell you—never look vampires in the eyes. They'll entrance you.”

I started to say something about that being ridiculous, but that was too many words to scream over the music, so I nodded and mouthed, “Okay.”

Judging by the expression on his face, Tom was already in lecher heaven as he scrutinized the nubile, bouncing female body parts on the dance floor. I didn't think a grin could get any wider. He reminded me of the Joker character in one of the
Batman
movies. He turned back to the bar to put in his order and caught sight of the bartender. “Holy shit.”

She was spectacular: a leather fantasy right out of the centerfold of a men's magazine. Her hair was cut short, and it stood up in stubby little spikes all over her head. It was hard to tell under the dim lights, but the color appeared to be pink, or maybe orange. Her eyes were almond-shaped orbs. She leaned over the bar and plopped her considerable assets in front of Tom. “What's your pleasure?”

After a few seconds, he finally raised his eyes up to hers and stared, his mouth slowly relaxing and hanging open.

Alan shook Tom's shoulder and snapped his fingers in front of his face. “Wake up!”

Tom came back to himself with a start, shook himself, and peered at Alan. “What happened?”

Alan explained. “Never look a vampire in the eyes.”

We all stared at the goddess behind the bar. She smiled at us, displaying a fine set of fangs.

Tom laughed. “Yeah, right.” But he looked rattled.

We ordered Bloody Marys—the house special, natch—and went in search of a table.

The interior of the building had many small rooms, raised platforms, and cozy hideaways for customers seeking privacy for one activity or another. Miraculously, we happened to be in the right place at the right time and were able to snag an intimate circular booth in a raised area off the main room. The walls enclosing the booth muted the volume of the music, and we could talk without yelling. From that vantage point, we could see almost the entire club while remaining unobtrusive ourselves.

Tom, who'd been very quiet since his close encounter with the centerfold at the bar, expressed the need to find the restroom. He started the long process of wading through a sea of humanity to reach the other side of the club. I watched him go, and about halfway across the room he was hijacked by a tall brunette who pulled him onto the dance floor.

“Hello, Alan.” A familiar voice enveloped me, velvet in my ears. I shivered.

Alan rose from his seat. “Devereux, please join us. It's nice to see you again.”

Devereux sat next to me in the booth, lifted my hand to his lips, and kissed it. He gave a slow blink of his turquoise eyes. “Hello. I am Devereux, the owner of this establishment.”

The touch of his lips on my hand caused a strong reaction in several parts of my body. I couldn't sort through my emotions fast enough to say anything, so I was relieved when Alan spoke.

“This is Kismet Knight. She's a local psychologist. I've been consulting with her about the missing girl.”

“It is a pleasure to meet you,” Devereux said aloud, while whispering in my mind, “I am very happy to see you. Alan does not need to know that we have already met.”

I just stared at him and said nothing, because I was overcome by a desire to crawl into his lap and cover his mouth with mine. I'd never experienced such a strong series of emotions before, out of nowhere, and until I was sure I wasn't going to make a fool of myself, I sat very still.

What was it about Devereux? Every time he came near, I turned into a hormonal teenager—maybe his pheromones were communicating with mine in some mysterious way. Clearly, either the man was a master hypnotist or insanity truly was contagious. Or, more likely, I'd just been dazzled by the obvious.

No doubt about it, he was a beautiful man—a work of art. There was no other way to describe him. His face was masculine yet soft at the same time, and it made me want to touch him, to run my fingers over his pale skin and through his long, silky hair. I shifted my head and tried to avoid his sparkling eyes, not because I feared he'd entrance me, but because I was afraid of what he might see in mine.

“Yes, I desire you as well,” Devereux murmured in my mind, the words caressing some invisible part of me.

Alan's cell phone rang. He lifted it out of his pocket and answered, “Stevens.” There was a brief pause and then, “Shit, I'll be right there.” Turning to me, he explained, “They've found a body—I need to go to police headquarters.”

I started to get up, but Alan put a hand on my shoulder. “I'm afraid I can't take you with me, Kismet. You'll have to wait here. I'll come back for you and Tom as quickly as I can.”

I didn't care for the sound of that. I just wasn't the type to sit waiting for someone to chauffeur me around, and leaving me here with Devereux made me anxious in ways I couldn't even understand.

Devereux turned his attention to Alan. “I will look after Dr. Knight and her friend until you return.”

Alan stroked his hand down my cheek, then stood. “I won't be gone long.” He headed for the door.

“He is attracted to you,” Devereux said, nodding in the direction of Alan's retreating form, “and you to him. But you are also attracted to me. And there are some confused—intense—emotions about your friend on the dance floor.”

I frowned and studied his face. What arrogance! But, more important, how did he do that? He'd been uncomfortably accurate. His psychic skills must be off the charts.

“I thought you promised me you wouldn't try to read me.”
Obviously his abilities are much more reliable than mine.

“Yes, of course. I apologize. You are quite right. I do not wish to spoil the mystery between us. You look especially lovely tonight.”

“Thank you. So do you.”
Perfect, Kismet. Tell the man he looks lovely. What a dweeb. I suck at small talk.
“Er, how long have you owned this club?”

The corners of his mouth quirked up in a gentle smile, and his eyes softened, as if he sensed my discomfort. “I purchased the old church when I arrived in America. The vampire craze had been reignited by Anne Rice's books, and I allowed myself to be convinced that an occult-themed dance club would be a profitable venture. It has proven to be so.”

Hmmm. Okay. Good. Maybe he really is just playing a role …

“Do you own other clubs?” I looked around the crowded room. “I imagine it would take a lot of patience to hang out in such a busy, noisy place every night. I don't think I could do it.”

“No.” He shook his head. “I own no others. The Crypt is unique. And I quite agree with you about the chaotic environment. In fact, I rarely spend time in the main area. If I am here at all, I am likely downstairs with friends and colleagues. Most of my business still takes place in Europe, so I am often there.”

“What part of Europe are you from? You have a very interesting accent.” I studied the lines of his handsome face.

“Ah.” He smiled, gazing into my eyes. “I have lived in many places—France, England, Ireland, Scotland, Spain, Russia, Germany, South America, and more.” He laughed. “I even lived in Transylvania for a short time while I did research for the décor of this club. I suppose you could call me a world traveler. My accent remains strong because I frequently converse in other languages. Many of the places I work are non-English-speaking, so there has been no reason for me to Americanize myself. I seem better suited to days gone by than to modern times. It is only recently that I have discovered sufficient motivation to remain in this country.”

There was something magical about the sound of his voice, and his words held me like aural arms. I found myself completely relaxed and at peace in a way I'd never experienced before.

“What motivation?” My heartbeat accelerated.

“You.” He angled toward me, waiting, his lips close enough to kiss. I breathed in the soft, spicy fragrance of him and closed the gap between our mouths before I even had a conscious thought about doing it.

We kissed long and deep, our tongues exploring, melting into each other. It was as if our physical bodies merged together and we shared the same heartbeat—the same life force. Every cell in my body desired him, and there was no one else in the room except the two of us. All the noise disappeared, and we floated in a private universe.

When we finally pulled apart, I gazed into his eyes, which glittered like jewels.

Kissing him had been wonderful. Pure pleasure. But why had I done it? How was it that Devereux could override my nerdy shyness? I clearly wasn't myself around him. I didn't know if that was good or bad.

He whispered, “My gaze will not entrance you tonight.”

“What?” I didn't care about making sense of that. I only wanted to drink him in with my eyes, to touch him, to kiss him again. In fact, in that moment, nothing else mattered. Then I asked myself,
Why doesn't it matter? What's wrong with me?
It wasn't like me to indulge my physical desires in public. Why was I suddenly so uninhibited?

“Why am I so fascinated by you?” I asked, running my fingers along his cheek.
Did I say that out loud? I'm acting drunk, but I've only had a couple of sips of my drink.

“We have that effect on some humans.” He took my hand in his. “I am very pleased you feel that way about me. I hope to fascinate you even more.”

I got distracted watching his mouth for a moment.

“Kismet?”

“Huh?” I pulled away from him and blinked a couple of times to rouse myself. “See? That's what I mean. Why do you have that effect on me?”

“Do you remember when you asked me what Bryce had done to you, and I said he had altered your brain waves?”

“I remember you said that, but it didn't make any sense to me. How can someone alter my brain waves just by staring at me?”