The Vampire Shrink(36)
Author: Lynda Hilburn

Then I remembered Devereux's mental memo.

What had he said about an office?

I closed my eyes and allowed the address he'd imprinted in my memory to resurface. Grabbing my purse and keys, I headed out my broken door, wondering briefly if my guard­ian vampires had really spent the night out in my yard and if it had been Luna who'd carried me upstairs.

Cold chills ran through my body as I imagined myself sleeping and vulnerable as Luna crouched over me, maybe thinking about which vein she'd puncture first.

I drove to the address Devereux had given me, which turned out to be only a block away from The Crypt.

I pulled to the curb. The building was spectacular.

Delightfully old, it had been lovingly restored, remodeled and was the crown jewel of the neighborhood.

A parking garage, built to blend in with the architecture of the antique building next door, sported a sign that said, "Parking For The Crypt and Lady Amara Only."

The building is named after Lady Amara? Devereux's mother?

Come to think of it, Midnight had mentioned that De­vereux lived in a loft near the club. It looked like he owned the whole building.

Damn. I'd been so caught up in trying not to believe Devereux was a vampire, that I hadn't given any thought to the fact he was also a rich vampire.

Deciding not to move my car to the parking garage, I plunked quarters into the meter in front of the lobby en­trance and walked through the wood-framed, stained-glass double doors.

Breathtaking.

Gold etched marble floors stretched out for hundreds of square feet, and just past the bank of elevators stood a large reception desk. Plush leather couches and chairs were scat­tered throughout the room, Devereux's artwork filled the walls, and relaxing music flowed from invisible speakers.

Still gawking at the beautiful lobby, I walked to the re­ception desk and asked for the building manager.

The young woman seated behind the desk smiled brightly and asked my name. Upon hearing it, she rose and held out her hand.

I shook it.

I’m Victoria Essex, building manager, receptionist, trouble shooter, and all-round wunderkind. I've been expect­ing you." She sailed her arm through the air in the direction of the elevators. "Right this way."

The elevator was a mirrored affair. Lovely to look at, but it could be annoying to have nothing to rest your eyes on but yourself during your ride in the box.

Unless, of course, there were other people in there with you, and then you had total license to indulge your people-watching desires to your heart's content.

I'd just given myself permission to study my young com­panion in the mirror, when the ding sounded, the door opened, and we stepped into a lushly carpeted hallway. The ice blue of the floor matched the colors in the elegant, Euro­pean style wallpaper. I could easily have imagined myself in a luxury, old world hotel.

Pausing in front of a hand-carved portal, Victoria slid a key card into a slot near the handle, the red light changed to green, and the door clicked open. There had to be some kind of mistake. This place was big enough and extraordinary enough to be Martha Stewart's Denver corporate office. We wandered through a space that would make a great waiting room, then entered a large, multi-room suite.

Victoria smiled. "Isn't it incredible? Mr. Devereux de­signed the renovation of the building himself and chose the interiors for every suite."

"So, Mr. Devereux owns this building?"

She nodded. "Yes. This one and many others, including the gothic wonderland down the street. Have you ever been to The Crypt?"

''Yes. It's really something. Does he live in this building?"

She cocked her head and raised her eyebrows.

"I'm sorry. Mr. Devereux gave me the impression that you two were close friends. I just assumed you were aware of his per­sonal details. But, then again, he did tell me to answer all your questions. Yes. He keeps the penthouse as his residence."

The charming smile returned to her face. She opened a set of double doors that led to a lovely, full bath. "On the other side of the suite is a smaller bath, which would be perfect for your clients to use. Would you care to see it?"

He must have filled her in about my line of work. I nod­ded and she guided me across the expanse.

"'What kinds of other businesses have their offices here in the building?" I asked.

"All the businesses here belong to Mr. Devereux and his associates. They run several international corporations. Yours will be the only outside business in the building. Well, what do you think? Would you like to move in?"

I chuckled. "You bet. In a heartbeat. But affording the rent is another issue."

She nodded and smiled. "Mr. Devereux told me you'd say that. He said to tell you he'll discuss the details of the rental agreement with you personally, and I should assure you that you can easily afford the space.

"I'm going to leave you here for a few minutes by yourself so you can get a feel for the place." She took a couple of steps toward the door, spread her arms wide and spun in a circle, pointing to the empty space as she twirled. "Start imagining where your furniture will go. Enjoy the view of the moun­tains from your windows.

"Oh, and by the way, he also asked me to tell you that you can have the suite unfurnished or furnished. He has a huge warehouse full of couches, chairs, desks, tables, lamps, any­thing you might desire. Wonderful pieces. He said to let him know what you require and it will be delivered immediately."

She stopped spinning, walked through the suite and closed the door behind her.

I laughed out loud at her joyful free-spiritedness and threw my arms out as she'd done, then let them return to my sides. If I'd ever managed to learn how to turn cartwheels in elementary school, I'd be tempted to turn one now.

I strolled through the spacious rooms.

Of course, it was out of the question. There was no way in hell that I could afford this place. The bathroom fixtures alone cost more than I paid for my townhouse.

Wouldn't it be great if I could afford it? I hadn't even started figuring out how I was going to acquire new furniture to replace the broken stuff in my office. My insurance would probably reimburse me, but that could take months.

But, if I moved into Devereux's building and let him give me a rent break, I'd be obligated to him. I was sure that's what he wanted. Where was the line between taking advantage of a good deal, and losing my autonomy? What happened if I de­cided I didn't want a vampire boyfriend? What if Luna was right and he dumps me? I'd have to move again.

Thinking about all that made my head hurt.

I glanced down at my feet, which had sunk deep into the rich pile of the carpet, and wondered if a rug this thick had to be vacuumed or mowed? The view out the windows drew me like a magnet. From this row of windows I had a panoramic view of Col­orado's Front Range, the mountains that skirted the metro area all the way from south of Colorado Springs up to the Wyoming border.

Wind clouds hovered along the tops of the peaks, signalling that the Denver area might be in for some of our famous one-hundred-miles-per-hour, window rattling, roof lifting air blasts. But, if this building had been here as long as I suspected it had, it wasn't likely to get blown away anytime soon.

Giving in to temporary insanity, I'd just dropped down onto the floor and was flailing my arms and legs and giggling, making a snow angel in the carpet, when Victoria re-entered and clapped her hands.

"I knew you'd love it!"

Outrageously embarrassed, I was halfway up, when I glanced over to find her on the floor with me, following my example. We laughed at ourselves and each other, spent a couple of minutes being five-years-old again and finally got off the floor. We smiled at each other. After all, our inner children had bonded. She handed me the key card and a business card with her information on it.

"Mr. Devereux said for me to give you the key card so you could spend as much time in the suite as you wish before you decide one way or the other."

She started toward the exit then turned, a wide smile on her friendly face.

"I think he really likes you. I look forward to having you here. If you need anything just call me, any day, any time.

"Blessed be." She waved and left.

Blessed be? That was a Wiccan greeting and parting. Of course Devereux had a witch as his office manager.

Did she know everything about Devereux? He must have told her something to justify the fact that he was never here during the daylight hours. He did tend to surround himself with people who were devoted to him. Maybe he secretly slept in a coffin in the basement?

I wandered around the suite for a few more minutes, stared out the window, then forced myself to head back out to the hallway. I'd apparently decided to take him up on his offer. Pro­viding, of course, the true cost wasn't higher than I was willing to pay.

Halloween.

The big news story in town was the yearly bash, which turned out to be called The Vampires' Ball. How could I have lived here so long and never heard of it? The event was the topic dujour on the radio. According to the legend, twenty years ago, in the foothills west of Denver, an eccentric billionaire built a monstrously huge hotel that was designed to resemble the rich guy's favor­ite Scottish castle.

He'd even had a portion of the Celtic original disman­tled and shipped here for his masterpiece, in the hopes that a ghost or two might tag along for the ride. There are lots of stories about those ghosts, which might have contributed to the failure of the hotel as a successful en­terprise. Or maybe the hotel went belly up because the billion­aire lost interest in it and didn't continue all the maintenance and upkeep required for a castle in the foothills of the Rocky Mountains. Whatever the reason, the castle languished. Until ten years ago, when it was purchased by yet an­other eccentric billionaire and transformed from a hotel to an event site.

Specifically, the site for The Vampires' Ball.

Gee. I wonder if I know any eccentric billionaires who might be at­tracted to a ghost-filled castle as the location for a celebration dedicated to vampires? Hmmm. Let me think.

It wasn't enough that Devereux was a vampire who could move through thought, a wizard who travels to other dimen­sions, and a gorgeous hunk of god-like masculinity. Now I had to deal with the fact that he's rich and owns half the world. I didn't know whether to laugh or scream. But, whether or not Devereux was involved, the gala sounded like it would draw every vampire, vampire wannabe, and fan of the paranormal on this side of the Mississippi. It occurred to me that the ball would be a great place for the police to use me to capture Brother Luther.

Or whoever the hell he is.

But why would I want to do that? I wasn't the brave type. If I couldn't use my therapy skills to solve a situation, I was pretty much out of my league. Now that I'd actually seen him up close and personal, and witnessed his madness first­hand, why would I want to put myself in danger again?

Because until he was caught and put away, I was a pris­oner. He could show up any time and destroy as many offices as I could move into. In fact, that reminded me I needed to talk to Devereux about whether or not he really wanted me in there if his beautiful building could be wrecked by Vampire Satan at any time.

But still, weighing all the pros and cons, I thought it was worth a phone call to Lieutenant Bullock.

Chapter Twenty-Four

Within minutes of pulling into my garage, both the handyman and cleaning crew showed up, and my townhouse was a flurry of activity. While the professionals put my living quarters back to­gether, I sat at the kitchen table, deleting and saving voice mail messages. I'd made the big time.

In amongst the calls from current clients, prospective cli­ents, babbling psychotics, New Age seekers, Anne Rice fans, hopeful romantic partners—mostly prisoners or the recently released—and local media, there were messages from all the major networks.

I'd been invited to appear on every late-night, early-morn­ing, afternoon and prime time interview program on the TV schedule. The segment would probably be called, "Let's ridicule, harangue and generally humiliate the allegedly pro­fessional woman calling herself The Vampire Psychologist."

I definitely thought that all advertising wasn't good ad­vertising. The one exciting message was from a well-known publisher, asking if I'd consider writing a book. That was definitely a keeper. Tom would be so proud of my fifteen minutes of fame and fortune. Thinking about Tom's shallow tendencies reminded me I hadn't heard from him since Zoe pulled him onto the dance floor at the Crypt several nights ago.

I would've said disappearing that way wasn't his style, but I really didn't know him well enough anymore—if I ever did—to guess what he would or wouldn't do. Especially if there was a woman involved. In fact, now that I thought about it, taking off with a gorgeous female was exactly some­thing Tom would do.

I saved all the messages from the national media, just in case I ever did finish the book about vampire wannabes—or was it about vampires now?—and needed some New York and Los Angeles contact numbers. Being productive felt good. I called all my current cli­ents, told them I'd have a new location soon, and arranged for telephone counseling sessions in the meantime.

The prospective clients were willing to wait until I set up my new office. I was surprised by how many of them hadn't been put off by the gruesome publicity surrounding me. In fact, thanks to the national obsession with celebrities, some of the callers sought me out because they'd seen my face on the local news. Maybe I'd come out of this mess with some parts of my life still intact.

By late afternoon, the new door was installed, the living room sparkled, and silence reigned supreme.

I'd left a message for Lieutenant Bullock, outlining my offer to be bait tonight at The Vampires' Ball, and hadn't heard back from her.