The Vampire Shrink

CHAPTER 16

I’m walking through a run-down old abandoned house. The darkness is relieved only by the full moon shining through the large broken windows. There’s an unpleasant musty smell masking something metallic – sweet – something familiar I can’t identify.

I hear a child crying somewhere in the house and I run towards the sound, yelling, ‘Where are you?’ The corridor stretches out ahead of me, extending itself as I stumble along, feeling like I’m wading through tar.

Now the child’s voice pleads, ‘Help me, help me,’ and my feet become heavier with every step. ‘Help me, help me.’ A heart-wrenching cry.

‘Please,’ I scream, ‘tell me where you are. I want to help you.’

My mouth is dry, my heart pounds, and I force myself to keep moving. I open every door along the unending hallway and finally come to a furnished bedroom where a sobbing boy sits on a huge four-poster bed next to a small table where a candle burns. The child reaches out his little arms as if to hug me, and I lean in to embrace him. His arms encircle my neck and he rests his cheek against mine. I rock him gently as he quiets, and then he resumes his chant, ‘Help me, help me, help me . . .’

I ask, ‘How can I help you?’ and he suddenly rears back, exposes long, pointy fangs, and sinks the horrible teeth into my neck. I fight against him, trying to push him off of me, to break his vice-like hold, but he has strength beyond imagining.

Finally I fall back onto the bed, barely breathing, and another voice – a terrible, disgusting voice I’ve heard before – takes up the child’s plea. ‘Help me, help me, help me . . .’I close my eyes, expecting death, and the familiar voice says, ‘Ah, we meet again.’ My dream eyes fly open and I’m no longer lying on the bed in the old house. I’m buried alive in a rotting coffin . . .

‘No! Let me out!’ I screamed, struggling to sit up. My heart raced and my skin felt hot, as if I’d been heated by a fire.

Twin points of pain throbbed on my neck and my lungs ached as I gasped for air. The hideous tones of the voice echoed in my ears and slithered across my skin. The same repulsive voice I’d heard outside The Crypt before my brain shut down. I pushed and fought against the hands holding me as if my life depended on it.

‘Shhh. Kismet, it was only a dream. You are here, safe with me.’

I gasped and forced my eyes open. Devereux was sitting next to me on his bed, holding me down, a concerned expression on his face. I realised I’d been flailing my arms and kicking my legs. My cheeks were wet, and my body trembled.

‘It was only a dream. No one will harm you.’ Devereux pulled me up into a hug, and rocked me as I’d rocked the child in my nightmare.

‘Only a dream. I don’t know what that means any more.’ I didn’t feel normal with my eyes open or closed, and somewhere along the way I’d lost hold of the thread of sanity I’d been clinging to.

I closed my eyes again for a moment and sank into the soothing motion, enjoying being close to Devereux. I burrowed my face into his silky hair, loving the spicy smell of it. I didn’t know what it was about him that felt so right to me, so familiar. In the midst of the madness my life had become, I was almost willing to stop thinking and just trust.

He picked up a bottle of water, cracked the seal, removed the top and handed it to me. I downed half of the water in one long pull and only realised how dry my mouth had been after it wasn’t dry any more. I set the bottle on the table next to the bed and suddenly felt awkward. There I was, in a magnificent bed being held by a blond god and all I could think about was that my sweatsuit was all rumpled and my mouth tasted sour, which didn’t bode well for the state of my breath.

Devereux smiled and stroked my hair. ‘Your breath is fine, but after you rest a while longer, if you wish to refresh yourself in order to feel confident, I can provide everything you need. Now I think you ought to lie back down. You still look pale.’

‘That’s something, coming from you,’ I teased self-consciously, in an attempt to change the subject.

‘Yes.’ He grinned. ‘I suppose you could say I have no need of suntan lotion.’

He put his hand behind my head, grasped it gently, and guided it down towards the pillow. It did feel wonderful to surrender into the soft mattress again. He stretched out next to me, our bodies touching, his head propped on his palm, facing me.

‘Kismet, are you having more dreams lately? More than usual?’

I thought about the child’s fangs in my neck and my skin went clammy.

‘It isn’t that I’m having more dreams. I always dream. It’s that the dreams, the nightmares, are horrible. Graphic and bloody and violent. Completely unlike my usual dreams. Why do you ask?’

‘The same thing is happening to me and many others of my kind – an increase in dark visions and nightmares.’

I lifted my head, stared at him. ‘Are you saying that vampires dream?’

He opened his eyes wide and raised a brow. ‘That is the first time you have referred to me as a vampire. Do you realise that you have just accepted what I am? What has happened to change your belief?’

‘Well, it was mostly because of talking to Alan. And what I saw at your club last night.’

At the mention of Alan, a heavy feeling settled in my stomach. Chinese food with a side of Guilt poured over Shame. I hoped Alan was still sleeping soundly on my couch. I didn’t know if Devereux was aware of my sexual interlude with Alan earlier, but I knew Alan wasn’t aware of my relationship with Devereux.

What a tangled web we weave . . .

‘Yes.’ Devereux responded to my thoughts. ‘I am aware of your time with Alan, but you are a grown woman and able to make your own decisions. As much as I wish I could have been there for you this morning, that was not possible. I am glad someone was. Of course, you will never find yourself in such a predicament ever again, so there will be no need for you to turn to anyone but me.’ Then he chuckled. ‘Feeling guilty? You surprise me. I would not have expected such a thing from a modern woman. Why would you feel guilty? You did nothing wrong.’

‘Well, Mr Mind-reader, I don’t really. It’s just old programming, cultural baggage. Most women have some of it – the idea that we’re bad if we express our sexuality freely. I know all the therapeutic reasons why guilt isn’t useful, but I still feel it anyway.’ I sighed. ‘Yesterday Tom walked in on me in the bathtub and if he hadn’t behaved extremely badly, I might have had sex with him. Then last night I just about tore your clothes off at the club, and today I was with Alan. After two years of celibacy, that’s a lot to deal with. I really don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’m usually so repressed.’

His voice wrapped me in aural fur as he stroked my cheek with the side of his finger. ‘It is not necessary for you to be so hard on yourself. You have had a lot of changes to integrate and understand. Being in the presence of a vampire has altered your normal behaviours. As I mentioned before, we have that effect on humans.’

‘What do you mean? What effect?’

‘Expanded appetites of all kinds. So turning to Alan for comfort was a natural thing to do. You had been through a terrible ordeal.’ Anger flashed in his eyes. ‘An ordeal that will never happen again, I promise you. You are mine to protect now.’

I felt the air crackle and my skin tingled. Wow. He’s capable of some impressive mood swings himself. This probably isn’t a good time to talk about the ‘mine to protect’ thing.

He took a slow breath and his eyes returned to their calm, magical turquoise.

The corners of his mouth curved gently. ‘But we were talking about dreams. You asked if vampires dream. Yes. We have access to levels of consciousness that are unavailable to most mortals, and when we turn inward during the daylight hours, our minds – or souls, if you will – journey to other realms, dimensions that cannot be explained with words, worlds that exist beyond the waking and sleeping dreams that humans know. Are you willing to share your nightmare with me?’

‘I thought you could read my mind. Why do you need me to tell you the dream?’

‘For some reason, I can only sense it as a series of emotional impressions – fast-moving pictures. If you tell me what you experienced, perhaps I can help you understand what it is trying to communicate to you. That is what psychology teaches, yes?’

‘Yes, that’s true, but I still don’t understand why you want to know.’

‘Honestly, I am not sure. I simply feel compelled to find out. Unless it is too unpleasant to recount again so soon?’

‘No. I believe that dreams are metaphorical messages, so I might as well figure out what this one really means.’

I gave him all the details of the nightmare, along with all the feelings it triggered in me. He listened quietly, his brows contracted, his lips compressed.

‘We must make time very soon to discuss the symbols in your dream. It is fascinating that so many are having similar visions. It is also important for us to have a conversation about vampires and what acceptance of us will mean for you. I wish we had time to begin the dialogue now because I would have preferred to explain tonight’s ceremony to you in greater detail, but we must hurry.’

‘Wait a minute.’ My stomach tightened. ‘I don’t care for the sound of that. What will this ceremony consist of? What would you have explained?’

A knock sounded at the door and a petite five-foot-nothing twenty-something woman stepped into the room. She looked more pixie than vampire, at least until she spoke and exposed very visible, highly distinctive fangs. She had bright red hair that curled around her shoulders, large brown eyes, and she wore a sheer black dress under which was, apparently, nothing but skin.

‘Master, it is nearly time for the ceremony. The others are arriving.’

Master?

Devereux acknowledged her and she backed out of the room.

He climbed off the bed, stood next to it and held out his hand to me. ‘I swear to you that no matter how strange the ceremony may appear to you, no matter how unfamiliar, no harm will come to you. A ritual of protection is one of the oldest, most potent types of magic. In its simplest form, it is a focusing of intention that surrounds the one who needs protection with a powerful aura of well-being that repels all energy unlike itself. It will be as if you are floating in an invisible bubble of safety. Not very different from current pagan rituals.’

Pagans with fangs?

I sat frozen on the bed, my mind spinning out ever-more-gory, blood-soaked scenarios about the mysterious ceremony. No matter how logical his explanation, I barely knew Devereux and had no reason to trust him. He was apparently a vampire, and I was at his mercy. What I’d observed about Devereux and his colleagues didn’t fit into any reality I knew about. I had no frame of reference. I was completely at sea with no map or compass, and the lifeboat I’d been floating in up until then had sprung a leak. I had no idea if there were sharks in the water.

My stomach contracted so tightly I could barely breathe.

‘No harm.’ Devereux bent down and met my eyes. ‘I swear.’

I gazed into his blue-green depths and believed him. So the Head Shark just said he won’t eat me. Should I laugh or scream?

The door opened again. Several women, none of whom I’d ever seen before, entered the room and lined up a few feet away from the bed.

Devereux indicated them with a sweep of his arm. ‘My companions have come to assist you with dressing. They will prepare you for the ceremony.’ Then he kissed me lightly on the lips and turned to walk away.

My throat tightened and my voice came out like a squeak. ‘Wait! What do you mean, they’ll prepare me for the ceremony?’

Why does this remind me of the cartoon where the cannibals have a huge pot boiling on the fire, waiting for the hapless hunter to arrive?

I didn’t see any ropes, chains, or anything else that could be used to restrain me. No cooking utensils or objects with an edge that could cause bleeding. But my imagination was working overtime, creating scary and unspeakable possibilities.

‘Ah, my apologies. I forget that you have not yet given yourself permission to read my thoughts – although it is true that reading vampire thoughts takes practise, even for someone with natural talent. It is as if we are on a different frequency from humans. We will be able to share the ability in the future, but for now, there is no hurry. In the meantime, my associates are here to help you select one of the beautiful dresses and to make sure you have everything you need.’

He pointed to a tall, slender woman with long brown hair and golden eyes. Her rangy body was encased in a unitard, those one-piece body suits that were only worn for exercising until the disco era, when shiny skintight numbers showed up on the dance floor, along with six-inch platform shoes and big hair. Hers made her look like she’d been dipped in a glittering rainbow, since every colour imaginable was present. The form-fitting garment left no doubt about her voluptuous shape.

‘This is Nola. She will see to your hair and makeup.’

I ran a hand through my tangled hair. The disco queen will see to my hair and makeup? ‘My hair and makeup? I don’t think so.’ I rolled off the bed and walked a wide circle around the women standing between me and the door.

Devereux repeated his disturbing habit of suddenly appearing in front of me, gave me serious eyes and laid a hand on my arm. ‘Why do you object to being adorned? You usually wear makeup.’ He said the last with impatience in his voice. I guess my resistance had unpleasantly surprised him. Maybe he wasn’t used to anyone saying ‘no’ to him. I wasn’t the only one who had a lot to learn. I summoned my best no-bullshit facial expression. ‘You need to fill me in on what’s happening here. I’m not going anywhere or letting anyone do anything until I’m clued in.’

He heaved a heavy sigh and shook his head. ‘As I have said before, you are the most stubborn woman I have ever known. Are you never willing to be spontaneous? Must you be in control at all times? Are you unable even to sense the truth of my words?’

Well, that stopped me. He’d managed to trespass into my psyche and find the hottest buttons to push. I’d often been accused of lacking spontaneity, and my controlling nature was legendary. How else is a woman supposed to rise to the top of her field if she doesn’t take control of her reality? He had pulled the scab off a painful wound. I did wish that I was able to relax and trust more, that I could follow my intuitive guidance. That I wasn’t so . . . anal.

It was the expression on his face that really turned the tide. In one breathtaking gaze he’d managed to communicate that he thought this ceremony was for my benefit. That he’d arranged it to keep me safe. That he was worried about me.

Shit. Now he’s gone and done it. He’s got me feeling guilty about letting him down. How did that happen? My shoulders sagged. I met his concerned eyes. ‘All right. I trust you.’

Maybe. Where can I find some shark repellent?

He flashed a brilliant smile. ‘Thank you.’ He bowed from the waist and glided towards the door. ‘I will return for you shortly. It will be an extraordinary evening.’

As soon as he left, the women surrounded me. Nola floated over to the chair where the dresses were draped. ‘Which one do you prefer?’ She smiled, showing even white teeth.

I expected her to have fangs and was surprised she appeared so normal. Except for the golden eyes.

She flashed another smile and her canines descended.

Can everybody read my mind?

She smiled. ‘Probably.’

I’m in a parallel universe where everyone is telepathic except me.

‘No. You will be able to do it in the future too. The Master told us. He said you are a special human.’

‘Why do you call him Master? Is he holding you here against your will? Are you brainwashed?’

She cocked her head to the side as confusion flowed across her features. ‘He takes care of us. He is more powerful than any who came before. We aren’t prisoners here. We are privileged to attend him, to be in his presence.’ Her face shone with rapture.

Eeewww. Devereux has a harem of bloodsucking handmaidens, worshipping devotees – disempowered females. If he thinks I’m going to join the cult, he’s sadly mistaken. This is the twenty-first century, mister, and I’m a liberated woman. I wonder what other services they perform for him? What if this ceremony deal is some kind of bizarre sexual ritual?

‘Can you tell me about the ceremony we’re going to? What should I expect?’

She grinned, which confused me until I figured out that she’d obviously read my mind and knew about all my judgements and speculations.

She met my eyes briefly then shifted her gaze away. ‘That information is not mine to share. Have you decided on a gown?’ She pointed to the dresses on the chair.

I’d felt a mild tingle wash through my body as she’d turned her eyes to me. I didn’t know if all vampires could entrance with their eyes, but I had to admit I’d felt something.

I walked over to the chair. Remembering the beautiful shimmering blue dress I’d seen, I lifted the others out of the way until I found it. It was floor-length, with a plunging neckline, made of a soft, lustrous material that might have been woven moonlight.

‘This one will be fine. You know, I’m perfectly able to dress myself, so you and your friends can go and do whatever you need to do now.’

‘We are here to attend to you. It is the Master’s wish. We shall remain.’

Okay. Maybe we could have an informal consciousness-raising group here. These women must have slept through the ’60s.

Nola draped the blue dress over her arm and floated across to the wardrobe containing the shoes and lingerie. The other women, all dressed in flowing gowns, were posed like goddess statues in a semicircle, where they’d been since they entered.

My newly acquired assistant opened the drawers, pulled out the shoe boxes and rifled through them. She seemed to be searching for something in particular.

‘Yes.’ Her voice raised in pitch, sounding excited, ‘these are lovely.’ In one hand she held up a pair of open-toed high heels the same shade of blue as the dress, and in the other, a strapless satin corset with garters for stockings.

I stood next to her, watching. ‘Just out of curiosity, how do you know what’s in there? Did you buy this stuff?’

‘Yes. The Master asked several of us to observe you and to discern your clothing sizes. Then he told us what he had in mind and gave us free rein to purchase all manner of clothing from the Internet. It was very entertaining.’

‘What do you mean, “observe me”?’

‘Physically and astrally, of course. We watched you in your home and joined you in your dreams. The usual ways.’

The usual ways?

My eyebrows shot up. ‘You spied on me?’

‘Oh, yes.’ She nodded enthusiastically. ‘You are very interesting. Come now – there is a room for dressing and hygiene.’

Why does everyone around Devereux speak so strangely?

She stepped over to the nearest wall, touched a symbol carved in the wood and a panel slid aside exposing an opening into yet another room: the ‘room for dressing and hygiene’, or more commonly, the bathroom. It was a very large, ornate bathroom.

She took my hand and pulled me as if I were her little red wagon. The rest of the team remained behind.

Gee. Devereux’s private bathroom. Should I genuflect or something?

The room was big enough to be a public restroom, but much too luxurious for the masses. There was a faint hint of his scent in the air, perhaps more easily recognised because no incense was burning to mask the fragrance. Mirrors lined each wall and opulent silver-streaked marble counters were abundant. Multiple sinks with sparkling modern hardware were interspersed along the counters and the floor was pristine white marble.

A huge silver bathtub sat on a raised platform, enclosed by glass etched with figures of nude men and women dancing. Next to it, in another glass-surrounded area, was a double shower.

Fluffy white towels sat in piles on the various counters and hung in artistic racks on the walls next to the bath and shower areas.

Painted along the top of the walls, like a happy little border, were more men and women frolicking in all their naked majesty.

This is unsettling. Devereux really seems to enjoy the nude human form. That makes me both anxious and excited at the same time. Back to my question about the nature of the ritual.

White leather chairs and a loveseat sat off to the side in an alcove, and a clothing rack stood next to a small mirrored makeup table with a fancy matching chair. On the table was a little box wrapped in shiny paper with a rose pinned to the top instead of a bow. A small card had my name on it.

Nola watched me as I opened the gift. She rocked back and forth from heel to toe, smiling a cat-who-ate-the-canary smile.

Inside was a black velvet jewellery box containing a gorgeous silver pentagram on a chain, identical to the one Devereux’s mother wore in her portrait.

I was speechless. My mouth opened into an ‘ah’ that remained silent. The weight and craft of the piece suggested it was high quality and probably very valuable.

I turned to Nola and shook my head.

She looked surprised. ‘Are you unhappy with your gift? The Master was very pleased to choose it for you.’

‘No, I’m not unhappy – I’m confused. Why would he give me something so valuable? He barely knows me.’

She tilted her head to the other side and studied me. ‘Perhaps that is not true. You must dress now. The night awaits.’

Just then, as if there’d been a silent signal, the other women filed into the bathroom. I decided to let all the rest of my questions wait until I could speak to Devereux.

After some initial stubbornness on my part, when I insisted on adjusting my own breasts in the cups of the corset, I finally gave up and let them take over. It turned out they were pretty good with makeup and hair, and when they finally stepped away to survey their work, it was declared good.

They’d managed to enhance my features through their cosmetic witchery. They had left my hair down, and subtle silver sparkles had been dusted on my curls. The lovely pentagram necklace was added as a last touch. It dangled in the cleavage created by the low-cut dress and tight corset.

Although cleavage was usually the least of my concerns. In fact, eliminating it had always been a thornier problem. Thinking about my genetic heritage from my mother made me wonder what she’d say if she saw me at that moment. If she and my father had considered me strange before, now they’d probably move to another state and leave no forwarding address.

Suddenly all the women raised their heads as if they were listening to something I couldn’t hear, then Devereux’s enticing voice floated through the opening of the door.

‘Kismet? Shall we go?’

The sensuous sound of his voice sent a wave of heat through my body and caused my heart to stutter. Everything about Devereux fried my circuits.

My entourage escorted me back into the other room, as I wobbled a bit on my shoes’ thin heels. They were not quite stilettos, but in the neighbourhood.

He literally gasped when he saw me, and I had the same reaction when I laid eyes on him.

He waltzed elegantly over to me, held out both hands and took mine. ‘You humble me with your beauty. I am overwhelmed.’

‘Uh . . .’

It’s becoming annoying that my brain goes on vacation whenever I’m around Devereux. I had no idea lust could be so intoxicating.

He twirled me in a dancelike movement, causing my dress to spiral out around me, lifting off the ground.

He looked spectacular. Dressed in cream-coloured soft leather, his trousers were obviously cut specifically for his lean, muscular frame. They fitted his body like a perfect glove, the waistband riding just above his hips. A line of soft platinum hair snaked down his lower stomach and disappeared into his trousers. With the exception of those enticing little strands, his chest was smooth and hair-free. The state of his chest was apparent because he wasn’t wearing a shirt. The muscles in his abdomen were toned and obvious, and his nipples peeked out occasionally from beneath the open floor-length duster, which moved like something much softer than leather. Or maybe that was how expensive leather moved.

Shining in the centre of his chest was the same antique medallion he’d worn the first time he’d come to my office.

The colour of his hair matched his clothing and it spilled down over his shoulders, long, soft and delectable. The blue-green of his eyes sparkled with a fire from within. They shone like the alchemical blending of emeralds and sapphires.

As he swayed with me in our inadvertent dance, I became entranced by the sight of him in all that leather without a shirt. The pink of his nipples peeped out from the edges of the duster, vivid against his pale skin, and captured my attention – and my imagination. A trick of the light made the medallion seem to pulse against his skin. I had to fight the desire to run my hands over his chest.

We stopped moving and I finally found my voice. ‘You look amazing. I just want to run my fingers through your hair and lick your chest.’

My outburst startled me and I felt my face grow hot with embarrassment. Geez, did I really say that out loud? Have I been sucked into the cult?

He let go of me then took my face in his hands.

‘Thank you for that. I have never been so flattered. I hope you will still feel that way when we are alone later.’

When we’re alone later? At least he assumes I’ll get through this ceremony in one piece.

He smiled. ‘As I have said, I swear you will be safe.’

‘And when did I give you permission to read my thoughts again?’

‘My apologies.’ He bent his arm at the elbow and lifted it for me to take. ‘The journey to the ceremonial site might cause you to be dizzy and momentarily uncomfortable. It will pass quickly.’

What? Every time I start to acclimatise, he says another weird thing.

I had a brief panic attack and considered bolting out the door, but decided I wouldn’t get far in the high-heeled shoes. I had to clear my throat a couple of times before I could speak.

‘Where are we going? How will we get there?’

We walked into his main office and headed towards what appeared to be a solid wall.

‘Our destination is another dimension, and we shall move through thought.’

Before I could complain or raise my hand up to keep my head from colliding with the physical boundary in front of me, I heard a swoosh of air again, as I had when Devereux brought me from my house. My hair was blown back gently from my face and my equilibrium shifted. I’d say we’d been moving, but it wasn’t like any kind of motion I’d felt before. It reminded me of an experience I had in an elevator once, when the car plummeted down several floors in free fall before the automatic controls took over and stopped the downward motion. My stomach churned and if Devereux hadn’t been holding me, my knees would have buckled.

I’m not sure when, but I’d apparently closed my eyes because when I sensed we were stationary I opened them.

And words failed me.

I was standing on a cloud in a huge candlelit room surrounded by what looked like hundreds of other people.

Devereux brushed his finger gently across my cheek and I turned to him. He took my hand and walked me forwards a few steps.

‘It is my pleasure to introduce you to Lady Amara.’

A beautiful woman with long pale-blonde hair approached. She wore a breathtaking white gown and a warm smile and resembled Devereux so strongly she could have been his sister.

She moved in very close to me, lifted the pentagram necklace resting on my chest and met my eyes.

‘Welcome, Kismet. You have come at last. I am Devereux’s mother.’