The Vampire Shrink(28)
Author: Lynda Hilburn

He paused. "Sure. I just thought maybe you and I had possibilities, but after what I saw, I don't know anymore. What do you think? Do we have possibilities?"

Ah, shit. These are the exact messy kinds of things that I don't want to talk about. The stuff I don't have one clue about

I couldn't keep all the impatience and frustration out of my voice.

I paced around the room. "Can I waffle and say that I'm confused? That I don't even know my name right now, much less what's happening with my love life? Seriously, can we put a bookmark in this discussion?"

Either he decided to humor me or he really caught the vibe. Or, maybe he really didn't care all that much.

"Absolutely. Things are still crazy for me, too. There've been some leads in the Emerald Addison murder case and I don't know when I'll have a spare minute. I'm going to have one of the black and whites drop me off at your place so I can pick up my car. I'll get the clothes some other time. I'm ready whenever you are. Ball's in your court."

I nodded, then remembered he couldn't see me. "Thanks Talk to you soon."

Feeling like I'd just dodged a very large bullet, I willed myself to relax.

I stole one more peek out my window to see if any media types were lurking, didn't find any, and headed into my attached garage. I carefully pulled my car out onto the street and drove to my office, checking out the rearview mirror to see if anyone was interested in my whereabouts. It ap­peared I'd gone back to being unimportant. At least for a little while.

Even something as familiar and comfortable as driving seemed to require extra attention. I caught a glimpse of my eyes in the mirror, half expecting to see a shell-shocked reflec­tion, and was surprised to appear so normal. As if nothing had changed. As if I hadn't lost my mind. As if I still lived in a world where there were no such things as vampires.

I was more comfortable believing I was nuts.

Midnight and Ronald showed up right on time and we spent the next two hours processing the grief and anger they felt about losing Emerald. Neither of them appeared to have slept in a couple of days and their vulnerability tugged on my heart strings.

They asked a lot of questions about what had happened to me—the abduction and waking up in a cemetery—and I gave brief answers. I let them believe a mental patient had lost control of himself and held me against my will. That was easier than getting into what really happened, and I didn't want to give either of them cause to be more concerned about their immediate environment than they already were.

Midnight said she'd returned to her parents' house tem­porarily because she couldn't face Emerald's empty bedroom in their shared apartment. As he had before, Ronald showed great strength and compassion. He sat next to Midnight, kept his arm around her, and had been her constant compan­ion during the last couple of days.

In fact, at one point, they kissed each other on the lips and the sense I got was that it was more romantic than friendly. There was obviously more to Ronald than met the eye. Perhaps Midnight had radically misinterpreted Ron­ald's reaction to her relationship with Bryce. Maybe it hadn't been Bryce he was interested in, after all.

Watching them together gave me a hopeful feeling.

I walked them out to the waiting room, feeling tired but thinking I'd done something useful. I came back in the of­fice, sat down at my desk and rested my head on my arms. I must have dozed off, because a sound caused my head to jerk up and it was no longer light outside.

The sound had been the throat clearing of the individual standing in my doorway.

I hadn't turned any lights on in my office except the small desk lamp, so the room was mostly dark. As had become my careless habit, I hadn't closed or locked my office door, think­ing I would be leaving momentarily. Who knew how long I'd been sleeping.

I definitely had some karmic thing with doors.

The man standing in the entrance was very tall, but stooped over with rounded shoulders. The overhead light in the waiting room provided enough illumination for me to note that my visitor had shoulder-length dark hair with a rap­idly receding hairline. He wore a black suit, white shirt, and skinny black tie. He held his hands together at chest level and twisted them, as if he was continually rolling a ball of clay or batter for a biscuit.

He edged forward, still standing in the doorway, as if reluctant to enter.

"Are you the vampire doctor?"

Chapter Nineteen

I rose from my desk, turned on another table lamp and walked slowly toward him, still straining to make out his shadowy features. My solar plexus began to tingle gently. I rested my palm there while I determined if that familiar sig­nal was simply information or a warning.

I kept a couple of feet of space between us. "I'm Kismet Knight. I'm a psychologist."

"Yes. You're the one. Can you help me?"

"I don't know."

Since I wasn't getting any particularly negative reaction from my sensing system and his uncomfortable, nervous ges­tures gave me the odd notion that he was more afraid of me than I was of him, I felt myself relax.

I pointed to the interior of the office. "Would you like to come in?"

He nodded and lumbered—as if moving his body around involved concentrated effort—over to the couch and sat.

I hesitated for a moment, watching him.

So, should I leave the door open because I don't know anything about this fellow, or should I close it to give him privacy? Should I lock it so no one else can surprise me today? Which would also mean I’ll have to quickly unlock it if I need to get out fast. I can't believe I’m talking to myself about doors. In all my years of private practice, I’ve never' given the door one thought. Never felt threatened. I guess I can kiss those days goodbye.

I gently closed the door, leaving it unlocked, and eased over to the dimmer switch on the wall. Rule number one: Never make quick moves with a frightened client.

"Would you mind if I turn on a bit more light?"

He lifted his chin from where it had been resting nearly on his chest, finally giving me a glimpse of his full face. "I don't mind."

I turned up the watts and claimed the chair nearest to him.

He had a thin, cadaverous face, dotted with deep pock-marks from a rough case of acne and lined with scars that brought to mind the sewn-together monster in "Franken­stein." His nose was hawk-like and took up lots of facial real estate. His eyes were a dull, washed-out gray, and were small and close together, which made his dark unibrow stand out starkly against his light skin.

He lowered his head again, twisting his hands in his lap.

I leaned forward slightly. "How can I help you?"

"I heard that it's safe to talk to you. That you won't tell anyone about us."

I sat back. "Who's ‘us'?"

He raised his head and cocked it. The unibrow contracted in the center. He pulled back his upper lip so I could see his long canines. "Why, vampires, of course."

Okay, Kismet. Either' there are vampires or there aren't, and after last night, there's really no doubt. You didn't think you'd be treating actual vampires, but you did ask them to come on down.

I tensed. "Uh, yes, of course. You can talk to me. How can I help?"

That explains the solar plexus tingle.

The hand-twisting escalated, and he lowered his head again. "I have an unusual problem. You know that vampires drink blood, right?"

I cleared my throat, wondering if this was a trick ques­tion. "Yes, I'm aware of that."

This is so amazingly ludicrous. How can I sit here and talk about drinking blood with a vampire? Where am I supposed to put this in my brain? Is my intuition out to lunch? Am I in danger?

He swiveled his head around, scanning the room, as if he wasn't sure we were alone.

"Well, I find the sight of blood disgusting." His shoulders sagged and his chest became even more concave than it had been. He almost whispered, "I avoid looking at it as much as I can. It's revolting."

Holy shit Somebody help me. A vampire who doesn't like blood. Is this a joke? Am i being secretly filmed for some reality show?

But suddenly I remembered Devereux's mind reading tendencies and how he'd told me that all vampires are tele­pathic. Even if this was an individual of a different "species" sitting across from me, I didn't want to have my rude thoughts announced through the vampire radio network. I needed to ask some questions and set some ground rules.

I held up my hand in a "stop" gesture, and he brought his eyes to mine briefly before lowering them again.

"I'm sorry. I don't know your name."

He nodded, and spoke in a clear voice. "Yes. I suppose you would need that. I'm Apollo."

I raised my eyebrows before I could catch myself. "Apollo? Like the Greek god?"

He nodded. "Yes. The very same. I know I don't match my name very well—being decidedly un-god-like—but it was actually my last name when I was alive. Anthony Apollo. My human ancestors were originally from Greece. In the vampire world, catchy names are preferable to mundane, human-sounding ones, so I go by Apollo. Besides, it gives everyone quite a chuckle."

He smiled and relaxed his hands in his lap.

I returned his smile, pleased to witness a lighter side of him, and hopeful that letting him into my office hadn't been yet another bad decision.

"So, Apollo, you probably know that working with vam­pires is a relatively new thing for me. I'm still finding my way around. I'd appreciate if you could answer some questions. Would that be all right?"

He nodded. "If I can." I'd like you to tell me what powers you have. I mean, can you read my thoughts? If I look into your eyes, will I be entranced? That sort of thing."

He shrugged. "I'm pathetically weak for a vampire. I haven't been one long—less than fifty years—and the vamp who turned me was rather insipid himself. You know a vam­pire is only as powerful as the one who created him. Then add in my little 'problem' and I can honestly say that I don't bring much to the vampire gene pool. But to answer your question, I can read some thoughts. Specifically, strong emo­tions. If you're worried about what you've been thinking so far, I can tell you it's all gone over my head. Same with theeyes. Although I can probably give you a headache if I really concentrate."

I nodded, trying not to smile because I didn't know him well enough yet to decide if he'd be pleased I'd gotten his humor, or offended that I found him amusing. But I was impressed by his mind and his way with words. So many ar­ticulate vampires. Who knew?

"Well then, let's deal with the largest issue. You said that you heard I'm safe. That you can talk to me. I want to know if I'm safe with you. How likely is it you'll become interested in my neck?"

Gee, Kismet. That was graceful.

He laughed awkwardly for several seconds, deep smile lines creating bizarre shapes out of some of the pock marks on his face, which appeared to be unaccustomed to that much frivolity.

"Forgive me for laughing, but if you'd heard the warning Devereux gave the coven about anyone harming you in any way, you wouldn't even ask the question. Trust me. No one wants to have Devereux as an enemy. I think you will find that most of us have tremendous self-control. That is one thing I can say about myself, so you can rest assured you are safe with me."

Said the spider to the fly.

He pulled a tissue from the box on the nearby table and dabbed at his eyes, wiping away the gleeful moisture, and shook his head. "Ah, that felt very good. It's been quite a while since I laughed out loud."

I gave him a few seconds to collect himself. I'm glad the laughing felt good. Perhaps we can encourage you to do more of it. And thank you for explaining about what Devereux said. I'm pleased to know I'm safe with you, otherwise we wouldn't be able to work together."

Get a grip, Kismet This isn't just another client you're setting boundaries with. This is a being who sucks the blood of people exactly like you. Is there no end to your political correctness?

"I noticed that your . . . er . . . fangs are descended. I understand that some vampires can will them in and out of their gums. Can you do that?"

"No. Unfortunately, I don't have that kind of power or control. My fangs remain in this position all the time. He raised his hand to cover his mouth. "I hope that doesn't con­cern you?"

I shook my head. "No, it doesn't." He lowered his hand again.

I cleared my throat. "Forgive the rudeness of this ques­tion, but I don't understand where vampires get the financial resources to come to a therapist. I'm pleased to speak with you this evening, but I usually require appointments in ad­vance and some kind of payment arrangements. Will that be a difficulty?"

Aha! An escape hatch!

He smiled broadly and raised his eyes to mine. "No. The members of Devereux's coven are well taken care of. Money is the least of our concerns. I'll pay cash. The fee is irrelevant."

Well now. Aren't those words that cause a therapist's heart to flutter?

"Thank you. Let's talk about your issue. How does your disgust at the sight of blood complicate your . . . experience?" I'm afraid I'm going to have to be quite graphic. Are you sure you're willing to listen to this?"

I swallowed the lump that had formed in my throat. No! "I'll do the best I can"

I feel like a newbie, a brand new therapist sitting with my first cli­ent, trying not to screw up. Trying to convince the boogieman under the bed that there's no boogieman under' the bed.

"Since you're the vampire psychologist, you probably know there are people who enjoy hanging around vampires because they want to have their blood sucked. They crave it."