I pushed against his chest with my free hand, forcing him to back up. Yeah, he missed me. That was code for “I need something from you.”
“Dial down the Don Juan routine, Doctor Hollywood. Even if I weren’t already involved with the big cheese, I wouldn’t play slap and tickle with you or Tom Junior. That’s ancient history. So, where’s Zoë? At The Crypt?”
Tom had met Zoë the night we’d gone to Devereux’s club, The Crypt. He’d shown up on my doorstep and invited himself along on my date with Alan Stevens, an FBI profiler working on the serial murder case that almost got me killed. Prior to that, I hadn’t seen Tom for a couple of years and was surprised he was interested in my vampire-wannabe research. That night had been his first exposure to the undead underworld. Obviously, something about the lifestyle appealed to him, because he and the attractive Zoë had taken off for California without even saying good-bye.
Not that I expected anything different. Tom and I shared a profession, and we’d spent a lot of years together as a couple. But Tom’s philosophy was “so many women, so little time,” and we’d parted—not completely amicably—almost three years earlier. It took me a while to heal from the disappointment, but now—aside from a little residual lust—I couldn’t remember what I ever saw in him. He was the poster boy for Narcissistic Personality Disorder. In his mind, the universe revolved around Tom Radcliffe.
He let his arms drop away from me and ran his hands through his long, wet hair. “Uh-huh, she’s using one of Devereux’s extra coffins. I hear he keeps a few vacant to accommodate out-of-towners.”
I nodded. “Yeah, it’s a regular bloodsucking Holiday Inn.”
Tom laughed and pointed to the bathroom door. “Hand me my clothes, will you? They’re hanging on the hook.”
I grabbed his designer jeans and trendy T-shirt. “Why did you need to take a shower? Or, more important, why did you need to take a shower here? Why didn’t you get a hotel room?”
And where’s your underwear?
He tugged on his jeans, zipped up slowly, and smiled. “Well, I came here instead of getting a room because Zoë said Devereux practically lives here, and I do intend to talk to him. I needed a shower because Zoë and I … well, we entertained ourselves, and I needed to freshen up.”
“Oh, yuck! Just exactly where did you entertain yourselves?” I had disgusting visions of DNA stains on my bedding or couch. Or on my carpet! I was going to mention the filmy, blood-colored blotches now decorating his wet chest from his contact with my ruined sweater, but he slid his green T-shirt on before I could form the words.
He frowned. “For your information, I spread a towel on your bed before we used it. Oh, that reminds me. I need to pop that towel into your washing machine. You do have one, don’t you?”
A low, rumbling voice whispered in my mind, “Dispose of this idiot.”
Without any conscious thought, my fingers tightened around the handle of the pistol I still held. I stared at Tom and, for a few seconds, seriously considered shooting him. Some evil part of my brain smiled as it imagined inflicting a scar that would mar the perfection of his face or a wound that would forever alter the lovely lines of his body. I’d just begun to fantasize about him falling to the floor in a spreading pool of his own blood, when he snapped his fingers in front of my face.
“Hey, Kismet. Are you in there?”
I startled, my consciousness snapping back into place like a stretched rubber band being released. Back from where, I didn’t know, but only a second before I could’ve sworn I’d heard familiar laughter.
“What?” I glanced down at the gun in my hand, noticing I clutched the handle so tightly all the color had left my skin, and the weapon was pointed at Tom.
He smirked. “I’m into playing cops and robbers as much as the next guy, but if you’re going to hold me at gunpoint, I can think of better rooms to do it in.” He cocked his head and frowned. “You look like you’ve just seen a ghost, or your credit card was declined. What’s going on?”
I’m losing my mind.
I forced myself to lower the hand holding the gun. I raised my eyes to his, almost afraid my homicidal daydream would commandeer my brain again, but I didn’t experience any more violent urges. He stood, staring at me, the same self-absorbed, thoughtless man he’d always been. I might still harbor some resentment for the way he broke up with me, but we had so much shared history, I’d long since relegated him to the category of old friend. I even enjoyed his company sometimes. Even at my angriest, I’d never had such ferocious thoughts about Tom. Or anyone for that matter. I didn’t know how to answer his question because I had no idea what had just happened. There were two therapists in the room, but neither could help me.
“I’m just tired. Too much mud wrestling.”
That elicited a smile from him.
“I need to see this infamous towel.” I marched next door to my bedroom, flicked on the light, and studied the large purple towel covering my bed. Gross. It would definitely need the heavy-duty wash cycle. Repeatedly.
Tom crept up behind me, pressed himself against my body, and rested his chin on my shoulder. He whispered close to my ear, “See? Nothing on the bed. Everything on the towel. Neat and tidy. I’m nothing if not efficient.”
I smiled and shook my head. What an idiot. I couldn’t decide if I wanted to slug him or give him a knee to the balls. In the most friendly way, of course. He was lucky I was too tired to act on either option.
I turned to him and pointed at the towel. “Pick up your mess and come with me.”
He retrieved the towel, holding the corner with two fingers, and followed me downstairs to the washing machine. I was tempted to simply throw it away instead of going to the trouble of washing it, but it was one of the plush towels my parents had given me for my birthday last year and I hated to part with it.
I left him to deal with the remains of his entertainment, detoured over to where I’d thrown Maxie’s parka, and returned the gun to the pocket. Completely wiped out, I shuffled into the kitchen, where I sat at the table, staring off into space. I was too wired to sleep, but so exhausted I couldn’t imagine doing anything else.
Tom ambled into the room, leaned against a counter, and grinned. “You look like hell. And you smell funky—like smoke and … blood. Where were you tonight? Some wild vampire orgy? Wait—you were at some mud-wrestling vampire orgy.” He laughed at his pitiful remarks, as usual, thinking everything he said was stand-up comedy material.
It took him this long to scent the blood? All that recreational snorting must have fried his sense of smell.
He’d actually come pretty close to guessing where I’d been—the vampire orgy part, anyway—but not the way he assumed. Even if I’d been inclined to tell him anything meaningful, which I wasn’t, I couldn’t involve him in Hallow’s madness. Tom was a behavioral psychologist, which meant he believed “reality” was exactly what it appeared to be. Truths equaled quantifiable facts, and were written in stone. In my new world, that belief had proven to be a faulty assumption. I didn’t know how deeply Tom had explored the vampire realm, so since I didn’t have the energy or inclination to reeducate him, I opted for misdirection.
“Just out doing research for my vampire wannabe book.”
He raised his eyebrows. “Still working on that? I would’ve thought you’d be finished by now. Or you’d have progressed to a sexier topic. Wait until I tell you about the deal I’m putting together for a cable program. You’ll be so impressed. I’ll be the most famous shrink in the world.” He frowned. “I just need to take care of something first.”
The man had an ego the size of Jupiter, and it was bloating with age. “What are you talking about? What do you need to take care of? You said you want to see Devereux. Why?” It occurred to me that Tom might intend to ask Devereux for money, since the wealthy vampire was up to his fangs in it. Tom always had a deal cooking that required extra capital. But on second thought, that didn’t make sense because Tom had become quite rich in his own right over the last few years.
He sat across from me at the table, and I noticed again how light his skin was. I couldn’t remember ever seeing him without his trademark tan. During our time together, he’d frequently told me he didn’t believe the sun damaged his skin. He was sure that idea was a myth. I wisely chose not to mention the fact that his skin had begun to appear older than it should. All that sunbathing was turning him into a reptile. But one simply didn’t poke at such deeply held delusions. His regularly scheduled facials, skin peels, and cosmetic surgery procedures had become the focus of his life.
Tom’s parents had set the perfection bar higher than he could ever reach.
He stared at me for a few seconds, playing imaginary piano on the tabletop—something he always did when he was trying to choose the most influential words for his latest manipulation—then beamed a toothy smile. “I’ve decided to become a vampire.”
My head automatically began the up-and-down motion I used to stall for time, which also functioned as an entry ramp into the silence that would encourage clients to spill their guts. “I see.” I had the feeling I knew where this conversation was going.
He stopped pretending to tickle the ivories, scowled, and splatted his hands palms down on the table. “I see? That’s all you have to say? I share a life-changing decision with you and that’s all I get?” He leaned in and raised his eyebrows, waiting.
I cleared my throat, really not wanting to have this discussion. Going to bed sounded so much better. So much more normal. “Well, it isn’t as if I don’t hear that every day.”
The thick vein on his forehead that always throbbed when he was angry pulsed right on cue. “You’re comparing me to your pitiful wannabe clients? I’m being lumped in with those lost souls you counsel? You’re going to treat me like some f**ked-up …”
I thrust my hand up in a stop gesture, and held it in front of his face. “Okay. Tell me.” I surrender. The faster I get this over with, the quicker I can crawl under my covers and pretend my excursion with Maxie was only a bad dream—or a vampire-created hallucination. Then I can figure out why I almost shot my ex-boyfriend. I’m too young for menopause.
He relaxed in his chair, maintaining eye contact. “I’m not sure where to begin. Meeting Zoë that night you took me to Devereux’s club changed everything.”
Here comes a long, tedious Tom tale.
“How did meeting Zoë change everything? You mean because she’s a vampire and you were certain no such things existed?”
“Yeah, her being a vampire was certainly the big news, but initially I had other things on my mind. At first, it was just the obvious. She’s a fabulous-looking woman with a great body and I’m a guy. After we danced for a while, she suggested we go to one of the small private rooms up on the second floor and get to know each other better. She was definitely playing my tune. I’m always up for a quick tumble with a gorgeous woman.” He winked.
Yeah, that’ll happen.
“Anyway, we got na**d and she started talking about being a vampire. I figured she was nuts, but I humored her. It wasn’t like I was going to let something as lame as her vampire delusion interfere with my orgasm.” He waggled his eyebrows. “I guess I can be a little self-absorbed sometimes.”
“You think?” I laughed so long he raised his voice to regain my attention.
“Ahem. Okay, okay. She said she was going to show me she was a vampire, and she let her fangs descend. All this time she’d been staring into my eyes, making me feel like I’d had a few tokes of good Mexican, and just as I was about to have the best cl**ax I’d ever had …” He stopped and patted my hand. “No offense meant, of course. Our sex life was great, too.”
I laughed again, snorting a time or two. He was so pitifully self-obsessed. “No offense taken. Go on with your story. I’m all ears.” I was so tired I couldn’t even work up any annoyance at his density.
He frowned. I could almost see the wheels in his brain turning as he tried to figure out what was so funny. “So, best cl**ax, etcetera, and then she bites me. Chomps down on my neck with her sharp teeth. For a couple of seconds it hurt like hell, but then it felt—well, I’m sure you know how it felt, since you and Devereux …”
Multiple orgasmic body rushes, soul-melding transcendence, toe-curling ambrosia.
“Yes, I know how it felt. Then what?”
“Well, after she convinced me she was really a vampire, we sat and talked until dawn. She told me how she’d been turned, and how lonely she’d been until she joined Devereux’s coven. Evidently, he’s held in high regard by the vampire community. She says he’s strict but fair—something that isn’t common in their world. The vampire who ‘sired’ her is a wuss, so consequently, she isn’t as powerful as she would have been if someone like Devereux had brought her over. But, apparently if she drinks Devereux’s blood, she gets stronger. I guess that’s one of the things he does for his coven members.”
I sat up straighter in my chair. I’d never heard that. Devereux was very close-mouthed about his coven. He shared his blood with them? I guessed that made sense, although something about it made me feel uncomfortable. What bothered me about it? Was it the intimacy of it, or the fact that he hadn’t told me? I pushed those questions out of my brain and turned my attention back to Tom. Too much to think about.