The Vampire Shrink

CHAPTER 22

The next few hours were madness.

While I was in the bathroom with Lieutenant Bullock, the police had sealed off my entire office building.

I didn’t have to imagine the reactions of the other occupants to the news that their Monday-morning schedules had been completely disrupted, because they informed me personally in no uncertain terms.

The normally sedate building manager had bolted up the stairway before the police blocked it off and he was livid. He blustered over to me, shook his head emphatically and wagged his index finger in the air. ‘This won’t do, Dr Knight. Everyone is very upset. This is the second time in a week the police have been called to your office. This is a reputable building and I have other tenants to consider. I’m sorry, but I’m going to have to terminate your lease and ask you to vacate immediately. I haven’t been allowed inside your office yet, but from what I’ve been able to determine, the space is no longer in the same condition as when you rented it. I hope for your sake that your insurance is up to date and sufficient.’

I opened my mouth to protest, but the words died in my throat. He was right on all counts. I just stared at his red face and watched the veins pulse on his forehead as he launched into the second act of his diatribe and felt very sorry for myself.

Two weeks ago I was a successful, respected psychologist with a calm, predictable life. Things might have been boring, but they were sane. No vampires, religious zealots, quest-obsessed FBI agents, mausoleums, dead bodies or ruined offices. Why couldn’t I have taken up yoga or belly dancing? Something that didn’t come with an outrageous dry cleaning bill?

‘Are you the building manager?’ Lieutenant Bullock barked from a few feet away as she marched towards us.

He pursed his lips.

She handed him a business card. ‘If you have complaints about the way this investigation has been handled, please register them at this phone number. Dr Knight was simply being a law-abiding citizen reporting a crime. I think you might want to consult your attorney about the legality of evicting her.’

She turned her attention to me, placed her hand on my upper arm and eased me away from the trembling manager. ‘Please come this way, Dr Knight – some of the clients you had scheduled for this morning are waiting downstairs. One of the officers will walk down with you.’

I didn’t know which amazed me more: her lecture to the building manager, his barely repressed rage or the fact that she was being nice to me.

After giving an explanation to my anxious clients, telling them I’d call to reschedule as soon as I had a new location and facilitating several mini-therapy sessions to ease their immediate concerns, I contacted the rest of the clients I’d scheduled for the afternoon to fill them in on the situation.

In the middle of making those calls, I thought about the two new vampire clients on my schedule for that night. I had no way of contacting them. They’d only left messages on my voicemail informing me of their intention to come.

Maybe I should drop by The Crypt and leave a message for Devereux. Who knew if the place was even open during the daytime?

That would have to wait until later. First, I needed to go back upstairs to check on Midnight and Ronald.

They’d been thoroughly and persistently questioned and now had the dazed appearance of abandoned puppies waiting to be rescued.

Since their interrogation was complete for the moment, Lieutenant Bullock arranged for them to be taken home. I accompanied the couple downstairs and suggested we meet at my townhouse the next day.

They both nodded, and Midnight gave me a quick hug.

As they drove away in the backseat of the black-and-white, Lieutenant Bullock and Alan entered the lobby. He’d retrieved my burgundy handbag and matching briefcase from the hallway and had draped the long strap of the bag over his shoulder. He rested his hand on the top of the bag as if carrying a handbag was a normal, everyday thing. Observing the nonchalance with which he carried the fashion accessory made me chuckle for the first time in hours.

An eternity later, I sat in my living room, stretched out in my incredibly comfortable oversize chair, my lower body attired in the finest orange police-issue trousers, the latest in paper footwear dangling from my toes. I thought about the events of the last few hours.

My trip to the police station had been the second in as many days and I could say with complete certainty that I’d rather be sucked on by vampires than return there again. Well, one vampire, anyway.

The chief hadn’t intervened this time. As soon as we reached her office, Lieutenant Bullock snagged a passing officer, pointed to my trousers and ordered, ‘Get Dr Knight some clean clothes and shoes, show her where to change, bag what she’s wearing, then bring her back here.’

I caught Alan’s trademark smirk as the officer guided me down the hallway.

When I returned to her office in my neon bottoms, Lieutenant Bullock and Alan were in the middle of a shouting match, precipitated, I gathered, by her disclosure about his notebook. They stood nose to nose, enjoying the verbal equivalent of a pissing contest.

After they zipped up and called a truce, I recounted everything I could remember about Brother Luther’s telephone calls, then forwarded copies of the toxic harangues to Lieutenant Bullock’s voicemail. The preliminary lab report came back verifying that the blood in my office didn’t belong to Eric. As before, its origin couldn’t be identified.

We argued for and against various theories and hypotheses, going nowhere fast, until it was obvious that we’d exhausted the productive possibilities for the day and we were all tired and hungry.

Lieutenant Bullock waved us out, said she’d be in touch, and Alan walked me to my car.

‘Well, you’ve had a crappy couple of weeks, wouldn’t you say?’

I shrugged, not sure if he was kidding or attempting to be supportive. ‘I guess the dead people have had a crappier time than me.’

He grunted some variant of ‘huh’ or ‘hmmm’.

I retrieved my keys from my purse and toyed with them, checking out the asphalt near my right foot.

‘So, can I come home with you?’

‘What?’ I was sure my face clearly indicated I hadn’t seen that coming. ‘Why do you want to come home with me?’

‘I think we have stuff to talk about.’ He grinned and stepped closer. ‘Things to clarify. Questions to be answered. You know, the usual. Maybe you’d like to have your back scrubbed in the shower. Or maybe your front.’

I laughed and shook my head. ‘I can’t really blame you for running hot and cold, because you probably think that’s what I did. And I can’t say I don’t find you attractive, in an obsessive-compulsive sort of way, because I do. But I spent four years with a man who kept me very low on his priority list, and something about you reminds me of him. Been there, done that.’

His sapphire eyes darkened and he wrapped his arms around me and planted his very soft, warm lips on mine.

I kept my arms at my sides, but felt my lips opening for his tongue as my mouth welcomed the pressure of his. My body responded to the unexpected move by putting out the chemical welcome mat. I moaned softly.

After a few seconds, he released me and stepped back, leaning against the car next to mine. ‘I’ve known lots of women in my life. I seem to be the kind of guy women make up stories about, attributing my loner tendencies to some kind of yearning that only they can heal. They think if they have sex with me I’ll suddenly be different, not as work-obsessed, not as crazy. But they all find out quickly that what you see is what you get. So I’ve managed to have lots of experience with women, but zero success with relationships. I just don’t know how to do them. I’m not even from Mars.’ He laughed ruefully. ‘There’s no name for the planet I’m from.’

He studied me as if he was waiting for something, and I found myself doing the ‘therapist nod’ – the gentle, slow up-and-down head motion, not unlike one of those toy dogs you see in the back windows of cars, that most counsellors unconsciously perform while listening to someone’s story.

‘I’m not sure why you’re telling me this.’

‘You confuse me.’ He sighed. ‘Sometimes I think I’ve blown it and that you’re unavailable, so I back off. Then other times I get the idea that our attraction is mutual, like the way you just responded to my kiss, so I take a chance. Now I’m just asking, flat-out: do I have a chance with you?’

I decided to be as honest as I could. ‘I don’t know. Right now, I feel emotionally connected to Devereux, though I’m not sure if that’s because I really care about him or if he’s zapping me with vampire juju and I’m a puppet on his string. The truth is that I met Devereux before I ran into you at the hospital. I don’t know why I didn’t tell you. Maybe it was because I thought the whole vampire thing was bullshit and Devereux and you and all my wannabe clients were deluded and confused. It wasn’t until all the insanity at The Crypt that I actually forced myself to accept what my eyes were telling me. I was already interested in him before I met you, but it’s also true that I’m very attracted to you. But I’ve had such poor experiences with men that all this attention has thrown me for a loop. I suck at everything about relationships. So I guess I can’t tell you anything helpful. I simply don’t know.’

He pulled me into his arms again and whispered into my hair above my ear, ‘I’ll play my hunch, then.’ He kissed my cheek and said, ‘Cover your back, Dr Knight.’

By the time I reversed my car out of the space and turned to wave goodbye, he was already gone.

I tuned in to the local evening news on TV for the company, poured a glass of wine and sat at my desk. It was time to make a new plan.

Even if the building manager didn’t evict me, it would be quite a while before the police would let me back inside my office and even longer for the space to be repaired. I’d have to check online for cleaning companies that specialised in bloodstains. Was there such a thing?

In the meantime, I needed to find a place to meet with my clients. Having a home office wasn’t appealing at the best of times, and I certainly wasn’t going to give a blanket invitation to every vampire in Denver. Even if Devereux said the needing-to-be-invited-in thing was a myth, I wasn’t taking any chances. Just because Devereux could come and go as he pleased didn’t mean that other vampires could. He seemed to be the Grand Pooh-bah.

Hearing my name mentioned on the news jarred me out of my thoughts. I picked up the remote control and turned up the volume. The station was airing a story about the body found in my office. They replayed a video clip from my last trip to the police station while the voice-over speculated about my ‘alleged vampire clientele’. At the end of the story, the reporter gave us his best stern expression and said, ‘This reporter wonders how Dr Knight always appears to be involved in these murders. Maybe the police should be checking her alibi.’ His lips spread in a lopsided horse-smile. ‘Wes Carter, live in Denver. Back to you in the studio, Bob.’

‘Thanks, Wes. It sounds like there’s more to Dr Knight than meets the eye. We’ll be following the story 24/7 until we get to the truth.’

If you find out the truth about me, I hope you’ll tell me.

I jumped up and made sure all the doors and windows were locked and the blinds and curtains tightly closed. The police had been great about keeping the media at bay, but what would happen if something more pressing occurred and they had to leave?

Just then somebody pounded on the door between my garage and kitchen. ‘Shit! Did some reporter sneak in?’ I said, wishing my trusty intuition had put in its two cents a bit earlier. I hurried over. ‘Who is it?’ My midsection tingled.

‘Oh, get over yourself. Open the door.’

The voice was familiar. I unlocked the door and cracked it just enough to see X-rated Luna standing in the garage, unaccompanied by reporters, cameras or microphones. The light in the garage was motion sensitive so I could view her in all her vampiric glory.

‘Luna?’ I swung the door open. ‘This is a surprise.’

She was dressed in a low-cut black top, tight black jeans and pointy-toed black high-heeled boots. Vampire dominatrix. The dramatic makeup artistry on her pale skin was even more striking than the first time I saw her. Her silver eyes were embellished with Cleopatra-like wings. Very exotic.

‘Yeah, well, don’t count on it ever happening again. The sooner he tires of you, the better. But I told him I’d come to your house and that I wouldn’t just pop up in your living room, so here I am. He can’t give me any more grief about you. It was a pain in the ass avoiding all those humans cluttering up your street. I’ll never get why anyone would be interested in you.’

Luna’s distaste for humans, and me in particular, was easy to read, even without my intuition.

‘And to what do I owe this honour?’

‘You’ve got that right. I have a message from the Master. He has serious business he must attend to tonight and he won’t be able to see you, but he said he’ll visit your dreams and explain. He said I had to tell you that you’re in danger and not to let anyone remove your protective necklace.’

‘What does he mean, I’m in danger?’

‘Hey, I just deliver the messages, I don’t explain them. But I will tell you that something’s up – vampires are swarming into Denver in droves, and some of them make even us tough vamps nervous. Something dark and heavy is in the air, so to speak.’

‘Where’s Devereux?’ I asked.

She glared at me. ‘Not that it’s any of your miserable human business, but he’s off on some kind of inter-dimensional rescue mission. He’s always saving somebody.’ She pursed her lips and brought her face closer to mine. ‘He simply can’t resist a hard-luck case.’ She stepped back. ‘I’m guessing it has to be something big for him to tear him away from his human plaything.’ Her lips relaxed into a wicked smile, displaying fully descended fangs. ‘But who knows? You might get snatched away by the Dark One again and I won’t have to hear about you any more. Wouldn’t that be great?’

With that she laughed and vanished.

I wasn’t sure what to make of her attitude towards me. Clearly she didn’t have much use for me, but I knew she’d follow Devereux’s orders. I was sure she wouldn’t hurt me. Probably.

Leave it to Devereux to choose a pissed-off beauty queen for his personal assistant. No bug-eating, rotted-tooth Renfield for him.

I relocked the door and returned to my desk.

The next task on my list was to contact all my clients, cancel or reschedule any appointments set for the next couple of days and assure them I’d be functioning again as quickly as possible. I spoke with all but a handful and left general messages for the ones I hadn’t reached, asking them to contact me.

Tired, I rubbed the back of my neck to ease the tight muscles. I shuffled over to my comfortable chair, found the remote control and clicked through the channels, searching for mindless entertainment.

I landed on a well-known national discussion programme. The show’s host was an abrasive, politically dogmatic, argumentative bully who only had guests to give him someone to shout over. I usually didn’t have much time for television, and this show was particularly worth avoiding, but something about the topic caught my attention.

A diverse panel was talking about the end of the world. Normally discussions about that topic have a decidedly religious flavour and don’t appeal to me, but this group appeared to be comprised of all kinds of people: scientists, psychics, spiritual leaders, law-enforcement officials and politicians: quite an unexpected amalgam of opinions.

An old white-haired woman on the panel moved to the podium and spoke. ‘The world is being contaminated by a growing darkness, a cumulative negative energy so strong that it’s eliciting the worst from all the Earth’s inhabitants. The idea that thoughts and emotions hold certain vibrations is no longer speculation. According to the Law of Attraction, like attracts like, and we are witnessing clear evidence of that all over the world today.’

Where had I heard that before? It sounded so familiar. Then I remembered – Cerridwyn the tarot-reader had said almost exactly the same thing. I hadn’t realised the end of the world had become such a hot topic.

The speakers droned on and I listened to the panel’s discussion, waiting for the voices of ridicule and condescension that usually follow such proclamations, but none came. Everyone on the panel had a unique angle on this ‘growing darkness’ to share.

My ears pricked up when they mentioned Denver as one of the cities on the leading edge of the escalating negativity. According to a dark-skinned man wearing a turban, unexplained deaths and all forms of violence had increased in these cities at a higher rate than the national average. They devoted the next few minutes to comparing ideas about why those particular cities and areas of the country had become the focus of evil, and decided it had something to do with a psychic buildup of toxic human emotions: hate, fear, blame, guilt, rage, shame – conditions that prepared the ground for increased violence, manipulation, intolerance, control and destruction.

The white-haired woman explained, ‘People’s focus on fear, hatred, and violence has caused a greater vibrational accumulation of those emotions in places across the country where there are powerful concentrations of hopeful, optimistic, and enlightening energy. In other words, everything and its opposite exists equally – and in these locations, they are both increasing.

‘We are called to make a choice between love, compassion and tolerance and hate, fear and war. A true archetypal Armageddon.’

The discussion sounded so New Age, I was shocked by the host’s uncharacteristic lack of reaction. Strange. I’d never heard him be polite with anyone before. I guessed his behaviour was as clear an indication of the impending end of the world as anything. Or maybe hell had frozen over.

I thought about the reading Cerridwyn had given me and all the weird situations I’d found myself in since then. I was no longer the same person who had concrete answers about what was and wasn’t real. Maybe I should go and visit her again.

Wow. Did I just seriously consider going to a psychic on purpose?

The programme went to commercial and a group of children in costumes screamed, ‘Trick or Treat!’ as an advertisement for Hallowe’en candy filled the screen.

Hallowe’en? Was it Hallowe’en already? I didn’t even know what day of the month it was, although I’d vaguely been aware it was October. Turned out today was the thirtieth, so tomorrow was Hallowe’en.

I’d loved the holiday as a child. It didn’t take a psychologist to figure out what metaphor I was acting out by dressing up as a princess every year. Damn those Disney fairy tales!

In graduate school, I studied Samhain, the old pagan holiday that pre-dates our current consumer-driven observance; it celebrates the time of year when the veil between the worlds is most transparent – when magic is afoot.

Unfortunately, our culture became suspicious of true magic and has shrouded the holiday in fear, superstition and nonsense. I’d attended a Wiccan coven’s ritual once and walked around hearing bits of people’s thoughts for a week afterwards. Powerful stuff.

I’d read something in the newspaper recently about a big party or gathering on Hallowe’en, a yearly event. Not that I intended to go – my life was bizarre enough without voluntarily adding more occult madness.

A sudden pain shot across my forehead and my stomach seized.

The lightbulbs in both the overhead fixture and the table lamp simultaneously exploded, leaving the room illuminated only by the eerie glow of the large TV screen.

‘Harlot! Whore!’

The screeching voice from behind me startled me so badly I leaped out of the chair and landed on top of the coffee table, knocking over my glass of wine.

Creeping towards me, circling in front of the table I was crouching on, was an emaciated-looking male. The sunken cheeks of his white, cadaverous face appeared blue in the shadowy light and his floor-length black coat hung loosely on his tall, wiry frame. His head was a luminous egg, hairless, with crisscrossing veins. His coal-black eyes were rimmed with swollen red tissue, something foul and thick oozing from the corners. He looked like an experiment gone wrong. A body in search of its grave.

He pointed a finger at me, the elongated fingernail ragged and stained. In his other arm he clutched a huge battered black book. He snarled, displaying yellow and brown teeth. And fangs. I recognised the Southern drawl from the phone calls.

Is this Brother Luther? He’s a vampire?

The degree to which I’d missed the boat blew me away.

‘Evil Jezebel!’ he screeched. ‘You will burn in eternal damnation! Consorting with Satan’s minions!’

His breath was horrible, reeking like a sewer. It provided nauseating contrast to the rancid odour wafting from his clothing.

I scanned the area, weighed my options and the distance to the nearest phone, then leaped off the table, landing as far away from him as possible.

There wasn’t any way I was going to make eye-contact with him, so I focused on his nose, which was a mass of bumps and missing skin. ‘Are you Brother Luther? What do you want?’ I asked, using my least threatening therapy voice. My heart was running a marathon.

As if he hadn’t heard my question, he continued slinging vile epithets. ‘Whore! Sinner! Evil temptress!’ He stared at me with his glassy dark eyes, tiny droplets of spit flying as he ranted.

Shit! What the hell’s going on? How can this be Brother Luther? I thought he hated vampires.

Simultaneously, I reached for the cordless phone and he lunged at me. I grabbed the phone, managed to punch in nine one, then lost my grip on it when he jerked me towards him by the fabric of my blouse.

My eyes watered as he held me close to his face. It was almost impossible to breathe while being bathed in the noxious stink radiating from his mouth. I pushed against him and had the clear impression that my wrists would break before I’d budge him an inch.

He was staring at me but his eyes were unfocused.

My bowels threatened to liquefy and I fought to turn my head to get away from the worst of it.

‘She must be punished,’ he bellowed in my face, gathering more of my shirt in his grasp. His head suddenly jerked down, his vacant eyes locking on something he now held in his palm. He screamed as the necklace Devereux had given me lit up the room, burning his hand. He dropped his book and released me, and I fell to the floor.

I speed-crawled a few feet away from him and slowly stood.

Evidently the necklace had done more than scorch him, because he put both hands on his bald dome and whimpered in a weak, shaky voice, ‘Don’t hurt me, don’t hurt me, please don’t hurt me, help me, help me . . .’

Something about his words reminded me of the dream I’d had about the child in the house.

He lowered his arms, then clutched his stomach and rocked up and down, sobbing loudly.

I became momentarily confused and almost made a move towards him.

Suddenly he jerked upright and rose to his full height, which looked taller than before, and held his arms out on either side of him. He closed his eyes and slowly let his head drop back, his mouth falling open.

It wasn’t possible, but it looked as if the coat that had hung loosely on him moments before now stretched taut across his chest, shoulders, and upper arms. As he spread his arms out, the coat flapped open, exposing his scarred, festering naked frame. His chest was a mass of oozing sores surrounded by coarse, filthy body hair, which trailed down to a thick patch sprouting a huge reddish erection.

His head snapped up as if a spring had been released and the black coals in his eyes ignited into flames. He eased his hand down his abscessed stomach, grasped his penis and began stroking its length, groaning.

‘Come to me. Touch me.’ He gave the worst smile I’ve ever seen. Thrusting his foul erection towards me, he laughed, his voice burrowing holes in my ears, making my knees weak.

I backed as far away from him as I could.

What just happened? What is this thing? Why does his voice sound familiar? Where’s his Southern accent? Why does he look different? He obviously did something to cause me to believe he’s physically bigger than he was just a few moments ago. Some mind-control ability. And what about the protection ritual? I guess it didn’t work.

He began moving the hand on his penis faster and became momentarily distracted by what I guessed was an approaching orgasm. I didn’t want to be standing in front of him when he got to that point.

I dropped to the ground, crawled towards the front door as fast as my hands and knees would carry me, and cringed when I heard him scream his release. The cry sounded more like pain than pleasure. Almost immediately I felt myself being lifted up by the waistband of the orange bottoms.

That hideous laugh washed over me again. Just as I was wondering if my death would be quick and painless or drawn out and torturous, the front door burst open and a whole flock of vampires swept into the room.

Several of them leaped on my captor, causing me to be flung against a wall, where I sat, semi-dazed, watching my vampire cavalry getting thrown around like sponge toys.

What the hell is going on? Is he some kind of vampire demon?

Brother Luther, if it really was Brother Luther, seemed to be able to control vampires as well as humans with his mind, but there were too many for him. Or else he simply lost interest. He threw down the hulking vampire whose neck he was sucking on, turned his red eyes to me and shrieked, ‘Soon.’

Then he either disappeared or moved so quickly there wasn’t even a blur, because one moment he was there, the next he wasn’t.

The vampires lay around the room, scattered like bowling pins after a strike.

The silence was broken by a deep male voice saying, ‘Get the fuck off me,’ as a short, rotund man sprang up.

I didn’t recognise any of the blood-covered warriors except one, the last one I expected to see. Still in shock, I crawled over to a woman sprawled out on the floor between the living room and the kitchen. Her long black hair was matted with blood from several head wounds and two large holes gaped at the top of her left breast where fangs had torn the skin. The wounds had already begun to heal.

‘Luna? Is that you?’

‘No, it’s the Avon lady. Are you always this dim?’

‘What are you doing here?’

‘Saving your unimportant ass.’

I nodded and smoothed a clump of her long hair away from her frowning face. ‘Believe me, I appreciate that, but how did you know that – whatever he was – was here?’

She slapped my hand away. ‘Devereux expected trouble tonight and ordered me to keep watch on your house as well as the vampires he already had guarding you. He said I should bring more reinforcements, just in case. I thought he was overreacting because of his unfathomable attachment to you, but I hung out, watching you through the window. I saw the skuzzy guy appear, summoned the others, and the rest is history.’

She sat up. I tried to help her, but she slapped my hand away again.

‘Who is that guy? Or, better yet, what is that guy?’

She shrugged. ‘I don’t know – he was your gentleman caller, not mine – but whoever he is, Devereux’s going to rip him a new one. I hope I get to watch.’

‘How was he able to control you and all the other vampires like that? I thought mind control only worked on humans?’

She nodded while tapping her index finger on her chin in thought. ‘It usually does only work on humans. It takes one hell of a powerful vampire to control other vampire minds, and the only one I’ve ever seen do it is Devereux. He’s definitely going to go ballistic. Whoever the guy with the boner is, he’s gonna find out what happens to vampires who mess with the Master’s property.’

Master’s property?

I was way too exhausted and traumatised to open up that coffin of worms, but Devereux and I were definitely going to have to come to an understanding.

‘Wait a minute,’ I said, glancing towards the front door. ‘How could you use my front door without the media seeing you?’ I listened to the heavy silence. ‘Where are they? Where are the cops? We should have been invaded by now.’

‘Yeah, that’s another weird thing about the bald guy. As soon as he materialised inside, the mortals ran away. Gross dude has one helluva nasty vibe. It saturated the air and terrified the poor little humans. They shot outta here like missiles, and they won’t even know why they bolted.’ She gave an evil laugh. ‘I’ll bet they all pissed their pants.’

I know the feeling.

During the short time we’d been talking, the wounds on all of the vampire bodies had healed, and if you didn’t count the blood splashed all over every part of my living room, you wouldn’t have known a life-or-death situation had just occurred. That I’d almost been dinner for a crazed vampire zealot.

How can Brother Luther have festering sores on his body? Why doesn’t his body immediately heal them? Why didn’t it occur to me he could be a vampire? Not too bright, Kismet!

There was blood all over my living room.

A trashed office and a living room that smelled like a used sanitary pad.

Luna rose in a fluid motion, without the aid of bones, and brushed off her black ensemble.

I scrambled to my feet, not nearly as gracefully, and noticed all the vampire eyes staring at me.

I was in room filled with vampires. Blood-drinkers. Children of the night.

Well, hell. What am I supposed to do with a roomful of vampires?

I couldn’t offer them coffee and bagels. Should I offer them the use of my shower? My washing machine? Should I open up a vein?

The problem was solved when one of them – the huge one the crazy vampire had sucked on – stalked over, bowed from the waist and said, ‘We serve the Master. We will hide ourselves outside again and keep watch over you until sunrise. I will send someone to replace your door lock.’ He raised his hand, made a ‘come on’ gesture, and a dozen undead walked out of my front door.

Luna surveyed the wreckage of my living room and said, ‘Do you want to stay here, or would you rather spend the rest of the night at The Crypt?’

On automatic pilot I’d already started picking up papers and books that had fallen off my desk. I was too emotionally wiped out to deal with her prickly attitude. If anyone was in dire need of psychotherapy, it was Luna. Anger and hostility rolled off her in toxic waves. It was a good thing there were rules against doing therapy with someone you know, but even if there weren’t, I wouldn’t be caught dead having her as my client. Oh, wait. Bad choice of words. I probably would be dead.

I sighed, my voice shaky. ‘I’ll stay here. There’s no blood upstairs and I need a shower.’

‘Then I’ll stick around, too. Devereux would stake me if I left you alone tonight.’

Swell.

She walked to the kitchen door and looked around. ‘Where’s your washer and dryer?’

I pointed, and reached down to retrieve another pile of papers. When I turned to see if Luna had figured out how to operate the washing machine, she was walking back into the living room, naked.

She put her hands on her hips. ‘Do you mind if I take a shower first if you’re going to clean up down here?’

‘Uh, sure. That’s fine. Make yourself at home.’

And it just keeps getting weirder.

I heard the little popping sound that indicated some vampire or another had just made an unscheduled arrival or departure, and then the sound of the shower running.

What was up with all the naked vampires? Was nudity a requirement to join the club?

The mentally ill sometimes act out childhood shame issues by getting naked and being sexually aggressive. Masturbation as an anxiety-relieving and self-soothing technique was common. That didn’t surprise me.

And I wasn’t a prude. I’d spent as much time as any other woman in health club locker rooms, making small talk with other naked women. Still, a naked vampire built like a silicone enhanced supermodel calmly cruising around my kitchen was a little out of my comfort zone.

It was natural to be curious about a body that perfect, but actually gawking at it had to be out of the question. What was I supposed to look at while I spoke to her? I wondered how many times Devereux had seen her naked. Geez. Together they’d look like a god and goddess.

Insecure? Me?