The Vampire Shrink

EPILOGUE

Luna transported Devereux back to his underground room at The Crypt. He didn’t really regain full consciousness for three weeks. He spent most of that time comfortably tucked into his huge, luxurious bed, surrounded by various devotees and well-wishers. I sat with him, held his hand and talked to him, as often as I could. Luna humoured me. She assured me he was aware of my presence, even though he couldn’t communicate beyond an occasional telepathic whisper of my name or a tremble of a finger. She even kept me company once or twice, if you could call sitting with her back to me while she filed her long, sharp fingernails company. She chuckled darkly occasionally, so I was pretty sure what she was thinking about as she honed the lethal points. She said she had a good time wiping the memories of all the police officers involved in the showdown at the Ball. I didn’t ask what she meant.

It turned out that the magic Bryce and Lucifer had used was ancient and powerful, and had been stolen from the same line of wizards Devereux claimed as his ancestors. Maybe that was why it had worked so well. When he awoke, Devereux did everything necessary to ensure no such mystical ammunition could ever be used against him again.

I asked Devereux how he was able to return to the music room in the castle after Lucifer abducted him. Apparently it was because of me. My desire for him, fuelled by our connection, my strong emotions and whatever mysterious abilities he insists I have – not to mention the magical pull of the pentagram necklace – functioned together as a beacon to call him back to my ‘plane of reality’. I still have lots of questions. Seems there’s no limit to the strangeness of vampire metaphysics.

While he recovered, I read the entire Harry Potter book series to him, not only because I thought he’d enjoy it, but because the books are the written equivalent of a teddy bear for me.

All of Devereux’s inter-dimensional caregivers told me he’d recover completely. Whatever ‘recover’ means for a dead guy.

It was weird watching Devereux feed while unconscious. A steady parade of human blood donors visited his quarters and offered wrists for the cause. Apparently the rooting instinct that causes infants to turn towards your finger when you rub the corner of their mouths works in a similar way when a mortal body part is pressed against a hungry vampire’s lips. Under normal circumstances, no human would have been able to pull her or his arm away from Devereux’s grip if he wasn’t finished with it – he was simply too old and too strong. But that never became a problem. At a certain point, Devereux’s fangs simply retracted and he opened his mouth, releasing the donor.

Of course, the general consensus among the healers was that Devereux could do things other vampires couldn’t because he was just that evolved an individual.

The fact that Devereux was physically incapacitated didn’t keep him from pursuing me romantically and sexually while I slept. In the dream realm, he swept us off to intimate rendezvous all over the world, where we made love, and talked for hours. I told him things about myself I’d never shared with anyone, and he did the same. And he educated me about the strange parallel world of the vampires. I now know things human brains aren’t really equipped to know.

My private practice is busier than ever. Moving into the new office in Devereux’s building was the best thing I ever did. All my old clients returned, as well as a full evening caseload of vampires. Thanks to the ads I ran offering therapy for vampires, my waiting list for both humans and the undead is long. I’m still adjusting to the special needs of my bloodsucking clientele. If I’m honest with myself, I have to admit I’m still terrified most of the time. But nobody has gone for my throat. Yet.

Tom really did run off with the gorgeous woman – er, vampire. He left me a cryptic voicemail message saying Zoë had accompanied him back to California, but that they’d be returning soon. He said he needed to speak with Devereux about living for ever. Hopefully Zoë’s long life had equipped her with the infinite patience required to spend time with narcissistic Tom. Maybe he’d learn some humility. Yeah, right.

A few days after the madness at The Vampires’ Ball, the terror-provoking energy must have dissipated enough for the media to return to their stakeout of my townhouse. It was like a carnival without the rides: food trucks, balloons for the kids, vampire tattoos, even a resourceful entrepreneur selling T-shirts featuring a photo of me with fangs (I managed to persuade a friend to drive over and buy a couple for me as souvenirs). Lieutenant Bullock surprised me by turning out to be very helpful. We held a joint press conference about the ‘vampire murders’, where she did most of the talking. She said the City of Denver was still actively following leads, but that there had been new deaths in other cities, which shifted attention to the next bloody chapter of the story. My part consisted of saying I really didn’t remember being abducted, and I couldn’t answer any other questions without breaking client confidentiality. Rather anti-climactic, actually. According to reports, I was a huge disappointment. But the good news is I’m a blissful nobody again.

The lieutenant started visiting me for ‘professional consultations’ about all things vampire. She said she’d made mistakes because of her lack of knowledge, and she wanted to rectify that situation. We had an unofficial therapy session about her friend who was killed and I think she gained a lot from our time together. She asked me to call her by her first name, which turned out to be Amy. I never would’ve guessed; she definitely doesn’t look like an Amy. It has been nice, though, having another human around who knows the truth. She’s asked me to consult on several of her cases and I’ve discovered I enjoy the work. It’s possible we could become friends.

And speaking of friends, I made another appointment with Cerridwyn the tarot-reader, who is close with Devereux’s building manager and resident witch, Victoria. Small world. She said my challenges with the vampires aren’t finished yet, but that I’m up to the task. I hope she’s right. She also warned me again about the psychic darkness growing in Denver. I still don’t know what that means.

Midnight spent less than a week in the hospital and was released to her parents, who made some changes of their own. The three of them came in for family therapy sessions, and Midnight was able to talk about the pain of her mother’s emotional abandonment, as well as her father’s alcoholism. As a result, her mother reordered her priorities, cut her weekly hours at work back to forty and has been spending regular time with Midnight, who has begun to blossom. Her father went into a recovery programme and, as of today, has had thirty days of sobriety. He also switched psychiatrists and is exploring a new medication for his schizophrenia. So far, things look promising. Midnight grieved the loss of Bryce, or the idealised version she thought she knew, but she’s making good decisions. She’s still seeing Ronald, and she admitted that whilst being with a human male isn’t quite as exciting as the chaotic life she had with a member of the undead, she’s adjusting. She hasn’t given up the vampires altogether, but our therapy sessions are more about her now and less about her fixation on vampires. She’s making plans to attend college, and is content to live at home for a while.

Brother Luther/Lucifer hasn’t contacted me. Yet. Discovering a vampire with Dissociative Identity Disorder – what used to be known as Multiple Personality Disorder – has piqued my interest in the diagnosis and I’ve been doing some research. It’s clear we haven’t heard the last of the demented bloodsucker, so I want to be armed with as much information and as many skills as possible when he circles back this way. I still have nightmares about him. According to the reports of blood-drained bodies, he’s moved on to another one of those pockets of escalating good and evil: Sedona, Arizona.

So has Alan.

He stopped by to say goodbye one afternoon about a week after the insanity at the haunted castle. After a couple of awkward moments, we practically leaped into each other’s arms. I don’t think either of us expected that. His lips were as soft, warm and inviting as always, and I don’t know what to do with the feelings I have for him. He plans to follow the monster’s trail wherever it takes him. I’ve had a few emails from him since he left, reporting his progress in the hunt for the killer – and his search for his mother. He’ll never give up on finding her, either. He said he plans to visit Denver in the near future, which makes me excited and nervous.

After my lifelong awkwardness with relationships, I’m grateful for all the ‘normal’ feelings I’m having. Even if they make me uncomfortable.

I can’t be in love – or lust, or whatever it is – with two men, can I?

I don’t know. Stranger things have happened. But I do know that vampires exist. Vampires, and ghosts, and who knows what else.

What does that mean for me? Hell if I know.

But I’m ready to find out.