The Vampire Shrink

CHAPTER 11

Tom’s shocked face leaned in towards me. ‘Kismet?’

Whatever had happened wasn’t finished yet, and I was having a hard time concentrating on the fact that I needed to focus on the audience we’d suddenly acquired. I vaguely recognised Tom but couldn’t place the women standing on either side of him.

A woman’s voice said, ‘She’s entranced.’

‘Do you mean she’s drugged? Did this guy put something in her drink?’ Tom demanded, his voice dripping anger.

‘No. She’s not drugged. She’s bespelled,’ said a different woman’s voice.

‘I seem to be missing something here. If someone doesn’t clue me in right now, I’m going to cause a scene,’ Tom yelled. ‘Kismet! What’s going on? Where’s Alan?’ He jerked his head towards Devereux. ‘Do you know this guy?’

I squinted up at Tom, nodded yes and buried my face in Devereux’s deliciously scented hair.

‘I do apologise. You must be Tom. We have not been properly introduced yet. I am Devereux, the owner of The Crypt. Please excuse our rudeness in not acknowledging you sooner. I take full responsibility. We were doing a little . . . experiment . . . and we got distracted.’

The fog began to clear in my brain and I started to grasp that I was sitting on Devereux while Tom and two strange women gaped at me. I remembered making the decision to leap into his lap, but for the life of me I couldn’t recall why I’d do such a thing.

Devereux whispered in my mind, ‘That was wonderful. I await the opportunity for us to continue our experiment.’

He effortlessly lifted me up and set me in the booth next to him. The sounds of the room began to swim back into my consciousness and my eyes rediscovered the ability to focus. I wanted to ask him a thousand questions about what had happened, but it didn’t appear I was going to have the chance.

‘Please join us.’ Devereux waved his arm through the air over the booth.

Tom and the two women sat. His eyes shifted rapidly back and forth between Devereux and me. ‘Kismet, what’s the matter with you? I’ve never seen you do anything like that before.’

‘Give her a moment,’ urged the woman sitting next to him. ‘She’s not herself yet.’

She turned her attention to me. ‘I’m Zoë, Tom’s new friend. I remember the first time I was taken under. It’s almost too amazing for words.’

‘Taken under? What do you mean, “taken under”? What the hell is going on here?’ Tom glared around the table.

I ignored him and focused my eyes on the woman speaking to me, and recognised her as the tall brunette who’d waylaid Tom on his way to the men’s room. She appeared very dynamic with her dark hair, pale skin, and large, distinctive eyes. The lighting was too dim for me to see the colour, but they looked unusual. I became momentarily fascinated by her eyelashes, which were the longest I’d ever seen.

Finally retrieving some of the ability to speak, I mumbled, ‘It’s nice to meet you.’

Devereux touched my arm and pointed to the other woman who’d joined us. ‘This is Luna. She is one of the managers of the club and my personal assistant.’

I hadn’t noticed through my brain fog earlier, but Luna was an exceptionally attractive woman. In fact, finding out that this femme fatale was Devereux’s personal assistant bothered me way more than a little. I hardly knew Devereux, and a few passionate kisses shouldn’t cause me to feel this jealous of another woman. Especially a woman who might not be interested in Devereux at all.

Yeah, right. Not interested in Devereux. Welcome to Denial Central.

Luna’s silver eyes studied me like a specimen in a lab. She leaned across the table, shifted from side to side for a better view, and I got the sense she’d have prodded me with a stick if she could.

‘So you’re the one. You’re the human who’s caused all the fuss.’ She twirled a strand of her long, straight, jet-black hair. ‘I expected more. You’re very pretty, and I see what he means about your eyes, but I still don’t understand the obsession.’ She turned to Devereux. ‘What is it about her?’

The two of them stared silently at each other for a moment, and then Luna sighed. ‘Yes, yes, I know. I’ll be good. But I don’t have to like it.’

She returned her gaze to me. ‘Have Devereux take you on a tour of the rest of the club. I’m sure you’ll find it illuminating.’ She stood, nodded at Devereux, and walked away, moving like a sleek panther on the prowl.

Devereux said in my mind, ‘Luna does not understand my interest in humans. She does not share my desire to remain connected to the human community. She believes it is dangerous for us to risk exposure by allowing ourselves to be known. There is no reason for you to be jealous of her – she and I have never had an intimate relationship.’

I frowned at him and sent the thought, ‘I’m not jealous.’

His lips quirked. He thought, ‘As you wish.’

‘Hey, what’s going on?’ Tom asked. ‘Why is everyone just staring at each other? I think I missed the beginning of this movie. Are you going to tell me what you were doing in this guy’s lap?’

I lifted my chin and locked eyes with him. ‘Even though I don’t owe you an explanation and you’re sounding ridiculously like a jealous boyfriend, I’ll tell you. Devereux and I have a special relationship. We are very attracted to each other. That’s all you need to know. I’ll sit where I wish, and I’ll kiss whomever I choose!’ I said, giving him a stern look.

Although it was totally out of character for me to say all that out loud, it felt good to do it.

‘Okay.’ Tom scrunched down a little in his seat. ‘I hear you. I was just worried about you – you’ve been acting funny all night. Where’s Alan?’

‘He was called to the police station. There’s been another murder.’

His eyebrows rose. ‘A murder?’

‘Yes, it’s the case he’s working on. He told you about it in the car, remember?’

‘Oh, yeah.’ He frowned. ‘The vampire thing. So how are we supposed to get home?’

You could always count on Tom to think about himself in the midst of whatever else was happening.

‘He said he’d come back for us as soon as he could.’

Zoë reached over, pinched Tom’s chin between her fingers, and guided his face to hers. ‘Who knows, Tommy Boy, maybe you won’t want to go home. The night is young. Come on, let’s dance.’ She pulled him out of the booth towards the dance floor.

‘Don’t leave without me!’ Tom called back over his shoulder.

‘Your friend is an interesting person.’ Devereux chuckled. ‘Seeing you with me caused quite a storm of emotions inside him. He is concerned that he was wrong to let you go. He is reconsidering.’

‘Are you jealous?’ I blurted, without thinking. What was I, a fourteen-year-old?

He snuggled in close and enveloped me in that wonderful spicy scent again. His eyes shimmered in the dim light and his voice flowed like music. ‘No. I am not jealous. I am certain of your feelings for me. What you and I have is beyond petty human emotions.’

I briefly thought about insisting that I had no feelings for him, but I had no clue what was going on with me. Saying I didn’t have any feelings about him would be a lie, and how could I fool someone who appeared to have the ability, whether I liked – or believed – it or not, to know what I was thinking and feeling? Was that every woman’s dream or worst nightmare?

Instead I asked, ‘If I stare at your eyes again, will I jump back into your lap?’

He laughed, a full-throated sound that washed over me like warm honey. ‘No. You may look at me and remain in your seat.’

I locked eyes with him and thought, ‘Kiss me.’

‘Your wish is my command.’ He pressed his soft, warm lips against mine and plunged me once again into that deep, blissful, timeless universe where only the two of us existed. The sounds in the room receded into the background. Everyone else in the club disappeared. He gently teased his tongue into my mouth, exploring me, and I returned the favour. I heard myself making little moaning sounds. He spoke in my mind, ‘I want you.’

My body ached with desire for him. Maybe it was the buildup of sexual need during the last two years, or maybe it was my reaction to his incredible kiss, but I couldn’t think about anything except having mad, passionate sex with Devereux. And, at the same time, I knew that even having that thought was totally abnormal for me.

We reluctantly pulled apart.

‘Come. Let me show you the rest of my club.’

He stood and held his hand out to me, and I took it, feeling both anxious and excited.

I slid out of the booth, rose up on my toes, and scanned the room. ‘I should tell Tom where I’m going. Not that he deserves it. It’d serve him right if I just left him here to fend for himself.’

Devereux cocked his head. ‘The two of you had a disagreement?’

‘Sometimes, even though I know better, I let his arrogance get to me. In a sick way, he’s sort of like family. He’s one of the few people I ever trusted.’

‘Ah. Well, not to worry – Zoë will tell him you are with me.’

‘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 cosy 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 slack-jawed 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 grey 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 adrenalin 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 non-negotiable. I’d never felt so attached to anyone so quickly before. It was as if I not only needed to touch him, but I 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 mediaeval 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 further 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 townhouse 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 any more. 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 colourful 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 marvellous taste in furnishings and a remarkable sense of colour. 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 trousers that were a dark version of the colour 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 centres 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 synchronised 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 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 book-cases, where he ran his fingers along the inside panel and pressed something that made a slight clicking sound. The large bookcase swung backwards, 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 colours. 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-coloured 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 colour, shape, and size. Further 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 practise.’

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 an amazing 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 honours 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 for ever.’ 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 apologise, 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 offence, 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—’

I looked up from the crystal ball I’d been gazing into. ‘A nightwalker?’

‘A vampire, the undead, an immortal.’

I took a breath, preparing to ask more questions, but he held up a hand to stop me. ‘Please. Let me finish.’

I nodded and picked up a crystal-encrusted wand.

‘Since my human birth, I was schooled in the art and craft of magic. Generations of my family had apprenticed themselves to the witches and wizards who came before, and the skills and abilities of each ancestor were passed along the bloodline. By the time the gifts came down to me, they were extremely potent.’

He clasped his hands behind his back and paced to and fro, as if he were delivering a speech.

Why do I find his mannerisms so charming? If Tom did the same thing, I’d be irritated.

I followed him with my eyes. ‘It sounds like you had an unusual childhood,’ I said.

‘Yes, in some ways. And in others it was perfectly normal. I was very fortunate. I had parents who loved me and who raised me in a beautiful place. In addition to my talents in the realm of the magical arts, I also inherited artistic abilities, which revealed themselves very early. It was not long before my ability to see the future blended with my love of painting to give me an extremely potent tool for expressing the prophecies and visions I sensed in my deepest mind. I became a seer.’

‘A seer? Do you mean a psychic?’

He gave a quick nod. ‘I suppose the word seer is old-fashioned and people today would call themselves psychic, or perhaps clairvoyant. My gift was only visual at first. I could enter into altered states and view the probable future. Now I have access to all the channels: visual, auditory, olfactory and others.’

‘Wow,’ I said. ‘What’s it like to be able to do that?’ If he really could do all those things – and I was still a long way from believing he could – he had to be the most powerful psychic I’d ever heard of.

Sadness shadowed his features. ‘Not as wonderful as you might imagine. The longer I have existed, the harder it has become to be aware of what is coming, to accept the poor choices made by most of humanity. My journey has been challenging. Lonely. Unfortunately, I cannot always see what is ahead for me – my vision dims when I focus it on myself. Had I known the true reality of becoming immortal in the beginning, I might not have made the same decisions.’

He suddenly looked like the lost, wounded child I had assumed he was when Midnight first mentioned him. My heart ached for the pain he had experienced. The loneliness. Obviously he’d had some trauma or crisis that precipitated his paranormal role-playing. I had just taken a step towards him to comfort him when he strode over to a large wooden cabinet and opened the wide double doors. Inside were scores of painted canvases, lined up next to each other like dominoes. He reached in and selected one particular canvas and drew it out of the cabinet, holding it carefully along the edge.

He carried the painting back to me, turned it around for me to see and held it up with both hands.

I gasped, staring. It was a portrait of me.

‘Devereux! That’s so beautiful. When did you have time to paint this? How could you have memorised my face so perfectly in the short time I’ve known you?’

I stood, speechless, taking in the details of the portrait. As I examined the exquisite artwork, something began to tug at my consciousness. There was something odd about this painting. I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was until it rolled over me like a wave.

‘My necklace.’ Suddenly I felt tense. ‘You’ve never seen this necklace. In fact, this is the first time I’ve ever worn it, yet it’s in the portrait. How can that be? And my blue blouse. How could you have painted me as I look tonight?’

But he did say he’s psychic.

He propped the canvas on an easel. ‘When I created this portrait, I did not know the woman in the picture or why I was compelled to adorn her with that particular piece of jewellery. As always when I am in the midst of a prophetic vision, I simply painted what I saw. Unlike the other visions that had been born on my canvases, this one would not release me after the image was complete. The woman in the portrait haunted me. She filled my dreams until I was sure I would go mad. She spoke to me in my mind and repeated one word, over and over again.’

‘What word?’

He pointed to some writing at the bottom of the painting and I leaned in to read that single word.

Kismet.

‘I thought the word meant the woman in the painting was my fate, my destiny. I waited patiently for her to find me, and after a time I locked the painting away. Until now.’

He closed the distance between us and grasped my upper arms. ‘It was not a word at all. It was your name.’

I shook my head, searching the depths of his eyes for some clue to what he was talking about.

‘I don’t understand. Are you saying you didn’t paint this recently?’

‘Yes. Far from it.’

‘When, then? When did you paint it?’

‘More than eight hundred years ago.’