The Vampire Shrink (22 page)

“What do you mean, Zoë will tell him? How will Zoë know?”

“I have spoken to her, in her mind, and she will convey the message. Come.”

Is he saying they all have such outrageous psychic abilities?

We walked down the set of stairs that led from our cozy booth into the central part of the club. Devereux held my hand and guided us through the crowd, which seemed to flow aside magically, creating an impossible path through the jammed-in bodies. We wound our way near the sarcophagus-shaped bar where the Leather Goddess was entertaining a group of slackjawed males who were enthralled by her bartending talents. At the far end of the bar was an old-looking wooden door. Seated on a stool in front of the door was a large, muscular man with long gray hair, dressed in standard biker gear.

When we approached, the biker guy jumped up off his stool, quickly pushed it aside, and opened the door. Either this fellow had ingested too much caffeine, he was naturally nervous, or seeing Devereux triggered an anxiety attack, because he stared at Devereux with wide eyes. I could almost feel his adrenaline pumping. This guy was afraid.

Devereux said, “Thank you, John,” as we walked through the entryway, and the door closed behind us. We were standing at the top of a long, wide staircase that descended down into the bowels of the club.

“Why was that man so afraid of you?”

He placed his hand on the small of my back. “Some humans seek out that which terrifies them so they can be afraid, which is the only way they know to feel alive—much like watching a movie that causes one to feel fear. John is addicted to vampires.”

Listening to Devereux talk about vampires again definitely took the edge off the lust that had been there just moments ago. It was becoming clear that I'd have to accept his vampire fantasies or I wouldn't be able to see him. And seeing him had become nonnegotiable. I'd never felt so
attached
to anyone so quickly before. It was as if I not only needed to touch him, but wanted to crawl into his soul. Very strange.

I still hadn't made sense out of all the things Alan had told me about Devereux being the leader of a vampire coven. In fact, the information had been replaying in my mind all day, eating away at my logical explanations. Alan was a psychologist, after all. Why would he lie to me? Was he caught up in the delusion as well?

Truthfully, I simply didn't want to think of Devereux as being mentally ill. Why couldn't he just call himself a psychic, which seemed to be true? Why bother with the absurd vampire role-playing?

We walked down the stairs, which led to a long hallway with many doors along each side. I was reminded of Midnight's comment about the lower level being a dungeon by the stone walls and the heavy doors, which looked as if they'd been created to keep screaming prisoners locked away. A cool dampness pervaded, and I was almost surprised to see electric lights instead of torches lining the walls. But even though the place resembled a medieval castle, it really couldn't be that old, because the church itself had only existed for just over a hundred years. Yet there was an ancient feel to it.

Some of the doors were open. As we passed I could see offices, meeting rooms, storage rooms, a lounge area with a movie-screen-size television, and the velvet-curtain-covered entrance to the special gathering place Midnight had told me about during her first session.

Devereux stopped in front of that room and pulled back the curtains. He nodded at me to check out the large group of people gathered inside. “I will introduce you to some of my companions later. Right now I selfishly wish to keep you to myself. You are a precious gift.”

I wasn't used to men paying such attention to me, so I didn't know what to make of all the emotions that swept over me as he said those words. Something about them triggered an old need, and I suddenly felt vulnerable. I gazed up at his beautiful face, and he bent over and kissed my forehead tenderly, as if he knew what I was thinking.

Well, apparently he does know what I'm thinking …

To give myself a moment to regroup, I decided to ask about his abilities. “Can you really read the thoughts of everyone around you? Surely that would take the fun out of getting to know someone. Life could get very boring if you always knew everything in advance.”

He closed the curtains, clasped my hand, and walked me farther down the hallway to a set of ornate double doors. We paused there. “Life can indeed become boring, which is one reason why I mastered the ability to read thoughts selectively. As I have said, your thoughts are private unless I actively choose to listen to them. The constant mental chatter is also very distracting, and often there are other matters that require my attention. I have responsibility for several large businesses, for example.”

“Oh, I see.”
So even though he can use his abilities all the time, he expects me to believe he doesn't.

He used an old-fashioned key to open the door and ushered me into a huge room filled with lovely antiques, tapestries, and artwork. The room was big enough to contain my entire town house with space to add a garage. Along the walls were beautiful candelabra holding lit candles, which, combined with the prisms of light shining from an overhead chandelier, gave the room a soft illumination. The stone walls must have created natural soundproofing because I couldn't hear the music from upstairs anymore. The silence was rich.

I scanned the room and noticed that all the modern office equipment one could need was there—computer, fax machine, printer—built into antique desks, armoires, and tables interspersed among colorful couches and chairs. One half of the room was obviously used as a library, the walls lined with bookshelves holding thousands of books, some of which appeared to be very old.

“Welcome to my private office.” Devereux bowed. “Make yourself at home.”

“Wow, this is amazing,” I said, mostly to myself, as I wandered around the room, exploring. He had marvelous taste in furnishings and a remarkable sense of color. Appreciating the care he'd put into creating his workspace made me remember my own sparsely appointed office, and I vowed to give it more attention. If it was true that someone's outer world reflected his inner world, then Devereux was indeed a complex and multifaceted person.

When I turned back to him, it occurred to me that I hadn't seen him in bright light since he'd come to my office to interrupt Bryce's attack. As attractive as he appeared upstairs in the dim lighting of the club, now the combination of his shining blond hair and luminous blue-green eyes was almost overwhelming. He wore leather pants that were a dark version of the color of his eyes and a silk shirt of nearly the same shade. His boots had a full heel that made him even taller than he already was, which caused his lean, muscular body to look even more impressive.

I moved over to him, stood with our bodies almost touching, and gazed up at him. “What do you want from me?”

“Everything.” He pulled me against him, and his lips reclaimed mine.

My body came alive with sensations and desires. The longer we kissed, the more I became convinced I wouldn't survive the intensity of the feelings I was experiencing. My knees were weak, and all my pleasure centers throbbed with need. I felt him hard and thick against the front of my blue jeans. He made sounds that were part moan, part growl.

My heart was pounding so loud and fast it took me a minute to figure out that both of our hearts were beating together in a synchronized rhythm. I could almost hear the blood pumping through my veins.

He suddenly jerked away from me and retreated a step, observing me from beneath his dark eyelashes. Throwing back his head, he ran his tongue over his top lip and gave me a quick glimpse of fangs.

I gasped in surprise, still lost in the web of desire we'd spun.

He closed his eyes and breathed out a heavy sigh. As he did that, the long canines retracted back up into his gums.

When he opened his eyes again, he studied me, his expression serious. “It has been many years since I have lost control of myself that way. You do indeed have great power over me. I hope I did not frighten you.”

I knew that I'd just seen Devereux's teeth do the same curious thing Bryce's had when he forced me to put my finger on his tooth in my office, and I didn't have any better explanation now than I had then, but I really didn't care. I kept feeling that I should care, but I just didn't. I'd either have to accept his strange role-playing or walk away.

“You didn't frighten me,” I whispered.

“Come. There is something I wish to show you.”

He took my hand and drew me over to one of the bookcases, where he ran his fingers along the inside panel and pressed something that made a slight clicking sound. The large bookcase swung backward, creating the entrance to an adjoining room. Devereux eased me through the opening in the wall of books into that other space, which was roughly half the size of the huge area we'd left, but still very large.

To say this was the most extraordinary room I'd ever seen would be an understatement. The floor was white marble etched with Celtic, astrological, alchemical, and other magical symbols in patterns of various colors. False walls of rich wood had been constructed over the natural stone, and paintings, which appeared to be the work of the same artist, covered most of the available space. The air held a subtle fragrance, a combination of incense and herbs. On one side of the room was a large antique bed, with bright-colored bedding. Not a coffin in sight. At least he wasn't quite that delusional.

I had expected the bed to be our destination, and I felt both nervous and aroused about the prospect, but to my surprise, Devereux guided me to the other end of the room, which was filled with shelves and tables full of strange bottles, odd substances, and peculiar items. In addition, there were candles of every color, shape, and size. Farther along the wall was an artist's easel, many canvases, and some paint supplies.

Devereux walked over to the easel. “I want you to know me.” He held out his hand.

I joined him at the easel and let my eyes take in the lovely scene of a sunrise that was partially completed. He pointed to the rising sun in the picture. “Perhaps we all want what we cannot have?”

“All these paintings are yours? You're an artist?”

“Painting is one of my passions.”

I moved around the room, closely inspecting the paintings hanging on each wall. There was a mix of breathtaking outdoor scenes alongside portraits of people dressed in clothing from other centuries. As amazing as the landscape scenes were, the portraits were even more spectacular. It was as if he'd captured the essence of each person's soul and added that mystical element to the final painting in some magical way.

“They're beautiful. You're very talented.”

He bowed. “I have had a very long time to practice.”

One painting in particular drew me, and I walked over to stand before it. The woman in the picture had the same hair and eyes as Devereux. She was dressed in a flowing white gown that made me think of angels, and around her neck she wore an exquisite pentagram on a silver chain.

“That was my mother,” he said, coming to stand beside me.

I noted the “was” in his statement. “I'm sorry. Did you lose her recently?”

“No.” He turned to me and smiled sadly. “She died very long ago, but I still miss her. She taught me everything I know. She was a powerful woman.”

He walked back over to the shelves and tables of unusual objects.

“What's the stuff in the bottles? What do you do with all those candles?” I asked, moving over to explore the strange objects.

“Magic.”

“Magic? You mean magic tricks, like a magician?”

He pivoted to stand in front of me and met my eyes with his.

“They are not tricks, but yes, ‘magician' is one of the names those such as I have been called throughout the ages. We are also referred to as magus, shaman, or wizard. I have a particular fondness for the title ‘wizard' because it honors the Druid lineage from which I descend.”

“What? You're a Druid?” I thought about the documentary I'd seen featuring robe-clad pagans celebrating the summer solstice at Stonehenge in England. Maybe that was where his role-playing originated. “Wow. I thought the Druids died out after the Romans. Your family must go back forever.”
He thinks he's a Druid. Can he tell the different between reality and fantasy?

He winked. “Yes, I can tell the difference.”

Annoyed, I crossed my arms over my chest. “Stop reading my thoughts. It's rude. And you might hear things you won't like.”

“I apologize, and you are correct. I often hear thoughts I do not like. But in this case I could not resist. Your doubts about me are very strong. They scent the air. In response to your statement, my family
is
very old, and it is a commonly held mortal belief that the Druids disappeared after the Roman era. But many hidden tribes of Druids continue to thrive into the present, our existence unknown to human historians.”

“Unknown to historians.” I relaxed my arms. “No offense, but that sounds pretty convenient.”

“Perhaps, but it is the truth, nonetheless. When we have been together longer, I will tell you tales of my life.”

“I see. When we've been together longer. It sounds like you have ambitious plans.”

He just smiled. My heartbeat stumbled, and I felt suddenly hot.

This is not normal.

I fanned myself as his smile broadened. “Er, what was it you said about wizards? You mean like the guys in the pointy hats in the fairy tales about King Arthur or Harry Potter?”

His expression turned serious, which surprised me and made me anxious. I shifted my gaze and nervously studied his collection of New Age paraphernalia on the nearby table.

“Ah, my dear Kismet, as a psychologist, you should know that all fairy tales contain a grain of truth. The actual stories of wizards are not commonly known, but they were indeed powerful beings. I do not expect you to believe everything—or perhaps even anything—that I will share with you, but I do ask that you keep an open mind. I want you to know why I am so drawn to you. Long before I became a nightwalker—”