The Vampire Shrink

CHAPTER 6

The ground slips from beneath me and I’m falling, tumbling into surreal unconsciousness where there’s no air, no life, and I can’t breathe. My entire body contracts in terror as I plummet down into something I’m certain will be beyond my ability to withstand. The void pulls me into a darkness so complete there’s no comprehension of it. Still falling and falling, with no sense of speed or location, just the continuous, ever-building dread. I’m enclosed, spiralling down some long tube, dense with stifling-hot, thick air. Then, without notice, I’m expelled out into an empty, cold, desolate nothing. My very essence fragmenting in all directions as death whispers to me. The descent lasts for ever as a distant voice shrieks horrible-sounding words I can’t understand, echoing in oblivion. The voice crawls over me and through me, penetrating my skin like hundreds of carnivorous insects, and I scream in the darkness, flailing my arms and legs. Is there something even worse than death? Then the shock of crashing down into warm liquid. Blood—sticky, thick, coppery-scented and old – very old. The intensity of the harsh landing keeps me afloat for only seconds before I discover there’s nothing underneath me. No foundation, nothing to hold me, no one. I go under, still screaming, gasping and swallowing blood. I’m drowning in the blood and the overwhelming hopelessness . . . terror larger than I can hold, and someone is laughing.

‘No!’ I screamed. A shrill ringing startled me and my eyes flew open. I bolted up, heart beating fast and hard. Shaking, I leaned back against the headboard and noticed all the blankets and pillows from my bed were on the floor. Fragments of the dream swam back into my awareness, and the feeling of terror intensified. I knew I was safe in my bed, but the memory of spiralling down into that darkness pressed against my chest and I struggled to slow my breathing. Rivers of sweat snaked down my face and pooled between my breasts. I distantly observed that I was still wearing the clothes I’d worn yesterday.

The annoying sound continued to intrude, louder now. A headache that had started as a dull throb over my left eye now infiltrated my entire brain and beat a strong cadence of its own, rivalling what I finally worked out was the telephone ringing. I took some deep breaths, pushed the wet hair back from my face, and cleared my throat. Rolling over towards the nightstand, I fumbled for the phone.

‘Yes?’ I croaked.

‘Dr Knight? This is Special Agent Stevens. We met at the hospital yesterday. I’m sorry, did I wake you?’

‘Who?’ My brain stubbornly refused to connect the dots, and the inside of my upper lip had become hermetically sealed to my teeth.

‘The FBI guy from the emergency room. Special Agent Stevens.’

I ran my tongue over my teeth in a vain attempt at hydration and wound up making dry, smacking noises with my lips. ‘Special Agent Stevens? Uh, yes. Okay, I remember. I recognise your voice.’

Idiot. You let the phone ring a thousand times. Of course you woke me. And you’ll never know how grateful I am that you did.

Groggy, I squinted over at the clock to see if it really was as ungodly an hour as I imagined it to be, and it was.

I sucked in another deep breath, held on to the solid reality of the phone and forced myself to calm down. I cleared my throat again. ‘Why are you calling me at 5 a.m., Special Agent Stevens? And how did you get my home phone number? It’s unlisted.’

‘I work for the FBI – enough said?’

‘So why are you calling?’ I reached for my blanket on the floor and spread it across my legs.

‘I want to find out if you’ve heard from your client, Emerald Addison, the one you brought to the hospital?’

‘What do you mean? She’s still in intensive care, isn’t she?’

‘Well, that answers my question. No. She isn’t still in intensive care. Sometime between 1 a.m. and 4 a.m. she went missing.’

‘What are you talking about?’ I barked, the pain in my head slam-dancing in heavy shoes. I pressed the palm of my hand against my forehead as if that would keep my skull from exploding. ‘The last time I saw Emerald, she was in no condition to do anything. There’s just no way she could have got up and walked out of the hospital. What are you doing about it?’

His voice held the verbal equivalent of a smirk. ‘It sounds like we’re a little cranky when we don’t get our beauty sleep, Doc. Even though you’re being testy, I’ll answer your question anyway. This case is being treated as an abduction or a missing person. Each of those categories has its own protocol, and the local cops are in charge. Since your client was attacked in the same manner as the other cases I’m investigating, I’m being included in the information loop. So far we have zip. I’m hoping you can tell me something that’ll give us a lead.’

Okay. He gets points for pulling me out of that nightmare, but cute cop or not, there’s no way I’m sharing client information. Even if I knew anything.

I took a deep breath, pushed ‘play’ on the ‘I’m a Professional’ tape in my mental repertoire, and began speaking in my therapist voice. ‘As I mentioned yesterday, I’m not at liberty to tell you anything about anyone. If there’s something general I can help you with, as a psychologist, I’d be willing to do that.’

‘Great. I’ll be right there. Put on some coffee, okay?’

‘What?’ I sat up. The pushy bastard. I didn’t expect him to take me up on it – and certainly not immediately. ‘Wait a minute! I need to shower and get dressed. You can’t come over now!’

‘How much time do you need?’

There was that cocky tone again, the tone that said he assumed I’d be spending hours primping in front of the mirror.

‘Give me half an hour.’

‘Half an hour. Will do.’

‘Hey, hold on – don’t you need me to give you directions to my house?’

He chuckled. ‘FBI, remember? We’ve got all those handy little records. See you in thirty.’

I hung up the phone and rolled out of my comfortable bed, still on automatic pilot. Then I stumbled around and turned on the light. I managed to remove all the damp sheets, threw them into the laundry hamper and headed to the shower. It took ten minutes of standing like a statue under the hot spray before the sensation of something crawling on my skin receded, and I felt somewhat normal again.

I stood with my arms braced against the tile walls enclosing the bathtub, willing the hot water to wash away the fearful residue from the nightmare. The sound of the hideous laughter still echoed through my inner world, reverberating like a ghostly memory.

I picked up a bar of soap and revelled in the sensation of it gliding over my skin and began to feel renewed – to come back to myself. I slid the bar over one side of my neck, kneading gently, and when I lathered the other side I was startled by a sharp jolt of pain. Instinctively, I dropped the soap, which hit the bottom of the tub with a loud thud as I explored the tender skin with my fingers.

‘Shit!’ I stepped away from the water and gingerly slid my finger over the painful area, mentally shaking off another layer of drowsiness.

Touching the wound on my neck brought the horrible events of the previous evening back to me in living colour: some demented maniac had broken into my office and punctured my neck with his teeth.

His teeth! What movie was it where the psycho put on his grandmother’s sharpened dentures and chewed on his victims? How the hell did they get into my office? What a miserable night. First the psychopaths, then the dream. Oh yes – and let’s not forget cocky FBI agents, although I guess this didn’t qualify as ‘night’ any more.

That nightmare was off the charts. I couldn’t remember ever having such a vivid, terrifying dream before – all that blood and existential emptiness. Maybe those assholes coming to my office last night had frightened me even more than I realised. The dream was probably a reaction to their threats and my feelings of mortality. The standard death dream. Or an indication that my brain was turning into scrambled eggs. Well, whatever it was, I’d have to sort it out later.

I hadn’t even begun to think about whether or not I should report the attack to the police. There was the confidentiality issue to consider. Bryce was connected to Midnight, and I couldn’t involve her, but if I pressed charges, she’d probably be dragged in.

It was definitely time to move my office to a building with security – cameras, doormen, the whole deal. No more uninvited visitors.

My shower completed, I stepped out and wrapped myself in a thick extra-large towel. Enjoying the warm feeling, I went over to the mirror, wiped away a patch of fog and checked out the wound on my neck.

‘Damn! What the hell?’

I stared at the carnage. There were two blatant, swollen holes surrounded by a sea of red with purple and yellow blotches. It looked as if I’d been ravaged by a wild dog or something. I opened the medicine cabinet, rummaged around for my antiseptic salve, and read the label to see if it said anything about being an effective defence against human germs. I remembered reading something about the germs in a human’s mouth being worse than anything else. I hoped that wasn’t true.

Antibacterial? Well, I guessed that would be better than nothing. Was there any such thing as an anti-vampire-wannabe medicine? An analgesic to ward off those pesky undead cooties? I’d probably need to get a tetanus shot, at the very least. Yeah. There I was, thinking about this weird situation as if it was just another day at the office . . .

I dotted some of the medicine on the wound and held an inner debate about the merits of covering it versus letting it breathe. Breathing won. For now.

Touching the bite mark reminded me of Devereux’s tongue sliding over my neck and I had a pleasant body rush. Then I remembered the feel of his lips and noticed my nipples were hard and the area between my thighs was growing warm and wet. I took a quick ride down Possibility Lane as I imagined how it would be to feel his hand there.

The human mind really is resilient. What was I thinking about while patching up the leftovers of my very own psychotic Bela Lugosi’s munch-fest on my neck? Sex. Sex with Devereux. I definitely didn’t get enough sleep.

Still tingling from the mental afterglow, I towelled my hair, sprayed it with a super anti-tangle concoction, and flipped my head over so that my hair hung down in a thick curtain in front of me. I picked through it with my wide-tooth comb, snarling as I struggled with the clumps of hair that refused to play nice.

I stopped when a simple realisation washed over me. It finally penetrated my sleep-clogged brain that I could have told Agent Stevens I was unavailable and would see him at my office later. I could have continued snoozing in my bed. I definitely knew better than to make any decisions before I’d had my caffeine fix. Apparently the events of the previous night plus the demonic nightmare caused me to have an even more intense case of fuzz-brain. The annoyance of my obvious act of stupidity made me fling my head back up with such momentum that the weight of my hair almost gave me a whiplash.

‘Ouch! Shit!’

I strode into my bedroom and tugged open the door to my walk-in closet, knocking a picture of the Stanley Hotel in Estes Park off the wall.

Okay, temper tantrum accomplished. Next?

I climbed into my favourite baggy jeans and a University of Colorado T-shirt and headed down to the kitchen, fantasising about that first cup of nirvana.

After I started the Mr Coffee, I checked my office voice-mail to see if Emerald had left a message. She hadn’t.

I was pouring my first cup of coffee when Agent Stevens knocked on my door. I didn’t usually get up that early, but every time I did, I was reminded of how much I loved watching the sun come up. There’s that wonderful feeling of a new beginning, of endless possibilities. This morning in particular I appreciated the beauty, light, and warmth of the dawn.

I let him in, then stood for a moment in the open doorway, watching the light reclaim the sky and enjoying the crisp fall breeze.

‘Hey, Earth to Dr Knight – where do you keep your coffee mugs?’

I jumped when he spoke and glared at my visitor, who was making himself quite at home. He wandered around the kitchen, opened every cupboard and drawer, and then parked himself in front of my open refrigerator. ‘Holy cow! There’s nothing in here but take-away food. Don’t you know how to cook? There isn’t even any milk for my coffee.’

Is this guy for real?

Waking me up before the crack of dawn was bad enough, but inviting himself over and having an opinion about the state of my refrigerator was over the top. My head pounded and I simply had no patience for dealing with this arrogant cop. If it hadn’t been for my concern about Emerald, I’d have kicked his tight little butt right out the door.

The longer I studied him, the more my anger dwindled. He looked exhausted, as if he hadn’t been to bed yet. He was either wearing the same clothes I’d seen him in at the hospital, or he had a collection of jeans and rumpled white T-shirts. His eyelids drooped, the purple-blue of his eyes looked less vibrant, and his hair was a monument to what happens when you use your fingers as a comb.

Come on, Kismet. Don’t go getting all warm and gooey now because the guy’s worn out. This is a professional consultation. No caretaking allowed.

‘Sit down, Special Agent Stevens.’ He eased his long frame into one of my kitchen chairs. I poured him a mug of coffee, carried it over to the table, and joined him.

‘You can call me Alan, Doc.’

I pulled another clump of my hair over my shoulder, making sure it still covered the ghastly souvenir on my neck. ‘Well, Alan, how can I help you?’

‘Why are you counselling vampires? Don’t you know how dangerous that is?’

And to think that for the past thirty years I doubt if I’ve heard the word ‘vampire’ more than ten times, and now everyone I talk to seems obsessed with it.

I shook my head. ‘Dangerous? What’s dangerous about helping people free themselves from a destructive delusion? It’s my job to uncover faulty thinking.’

He paused and raised an eyebrow. ‘That’s the second time you’ve said something that leads me to believe you don’t know what kind of tiger you’ve got by the tail. Are you seriously telling me you think vampires are delusions? You really don’t see the big picture?’

Oh, please. I’m not awake enough for this. I can’t believe an FBI guy is talking about vampires.

‘Can I see your identification again, Agent Stevens?’

He pulled his picture ID out of his pocket and handed it to me. ‘You think there’s something fishy about an FBI agent discussing vampires?’

I inspected the ID. It appeared authentic, but I really had no way of knowing.

‘You read my mind, Agent Stevens.’

‘No, I read your face, Dr Knight.’

I handed his ID back to him. ‘Don’t FBI agents usually work in pairs? Where’s your partner, Agent Stevens?’

‘I’m temporarily between partners.’ He grinned. ‘I seem to be an acquired taste – my partners keep asking for transfers. If you’re nervous about whether I’m who I say I am, you can call the local police. They know all about me and what I’m doing here. So, will you answer my question now? Why are you working with vampires?’

My neck throbbed, and my patience was gone. The good feeling I’d gained from the hot shower was retreating at the speed of light.

‘Special Agent Stevens, I didn’t get up this early to discuss fairy tales or cartoon characters, so unless there is some aspect of psychology that I can help you with, I think we’re finished.’

‘Wow,’ he said, slapping his palms on his thighs, ‘you really don’t know. I figured when I saw your ad in the paper that you knew what you were dealing with, but you’re flying blind. You’re messing with things you don’t understand, and somebody needs to enlighten you. It might as well be me.’

‘I don’t think that’s necessary.’ I sighed and stood.

‘Wait.’ He grabbed my wrist.

My breath caught. I instinctively jerked my arm out of his grip and took a step back. Nobody else was going to put his hands on me uninvited. I glared at him. ‘Don’t touch me.’

‘I’m sorry.’ He held his hands up in surrender. ‘That was inexcusable. I get overly excited sometimes, especially when I don’t get any sleep. I promise to control myself. Please, hear me out. I think you’ll be intrigued by what I have to say.’

Please? I stared into his watery, bloodshot eyes and saw what appeared to be sincerity. Or maybe it was simply exhaustion. Something about the determined set of his jaw and his easy smile convinced me to sit back down at the table and give him the benefit of the doubt. ‘I’m listening.’ I crossed my arms over my chest.

‘Thank you.’ He mimicked my defensive posture. ‘First, let me give you a little background, to show you that I didn’t start out as a believer either. You and I actually have a lot in common – I have a Ph.D. in psychology, too.’

My mouth formed into an ‘O’.

It was apparent he saw the surprise on my face. ‘Yeah, Doctor Stevens, at your service. I never intended to be a therapist – my interests lie with the criminal mind. So when I was recruited by the FBI’s Behavioral Analysis Unit—’

‘As in The Silence of the Lambs?’ I asked.

‘Yeah. I jumped at the chance to become a profiler, and I specialise in cases that have paranormal elements. Yep, I can see by the gleam in your eyes that you’re drawing comparisons between my work and a certain television programme. It’s true. Some clever coworker or another is always putting old X-Files posters on my door, and my official nickname is Mulder.’

So, Special Agent Stevens isn’t your normal FBI agent. Interesting.

I had to laugh. I’d enjoyed that programme and Agent Mulder’s dry, sarcastic sense of humour. Of course, I fancied myself to be more like Scully.

‘I’m impressed.’ I sipped my coffee. ‘So what’s a profiler like you doing in my kitchen wanting to enlighten me about vampires?’ I had to admit that thinking of him as a colleague rather than only a cop was making him even more interesting to me. I was a sucker for a clever mind.

He relaxed back in the chair and stretched like a cat. The white T-shirt material moulded to his chest muscles and accented the outlines of his nipples. Very distracting.

He saw me notice and wiggled his eyebrows.

What an ego.

‘About a year ago,’ he said, ‘I started tracking a pattern: dead bodies showing up with holes in their necks, drained of blood. At first I did just what you’re doing – I wrote it off to some creative form of mental illness. I assumed I was searching for one predator who moved around a lot, or maybe a copycat murderer who had picked up on the vampire theme. As I suspect you’ve done, I researched everything I could find involving blood-drinking.’

He downed the last of his coffee, carried his mug over to the pot, poured himself a refill, and returned to the table.

Why, yes, thank you, I’d love some more coffee. Hmmm, Narcissistic Personality Disorder? Attention Deficit Disorder? Or just a typical male?

‘We’re on the same page so far,’ I admitted.

He drummed his fingers on the side of his mug. ‘I showed up at the murder scenes, checking for similarities, and the cases just kept getting weirder. Some of the bodies had multiple bites that the lab results showed came from different sets of sharp teeth. No human or animal DNA in the wounds. There were never any signs of struggle, though, no needle marks for drugs. It was as if the victims simply lay there and let themselves be drained. Almost like some form of hypnosis or brainwashing.’

He stopped talking, scanned the kitchen and pointed to a bag of cookies on the counter.

‘You mind? I haven’t had any breakfast yet.’ Without waiting for my response, he leaped up, fetched the bag of cookies and returned to his seat.

‘Help yourself.’ I wondered if he was always this comfortable with strangers, or if he was simply oblivious.

No, I’m sure – oblivious.

‘Then something happened to turn me into a believer,’ he continued. ‘I was in Los Angeles, following some leads about the latest murders, and I was attacked by a vampire.’

He noticed me tighten my lips, and he said, ‘Let me finish. I know this pushes all your “this guy needs therapy” buttons, but hang in there with me.’ He opened the cookie bag, selected one and took a bite.

He excitedly pointed his finger up in the air and brought it down in a quick dive towards the floor. ‘I saw this thing fly down – I kid you not – from the roof of a twelve-storey building. He landed in front of me as if he’d just stepped off someone’s front porch. Not a hair ruffled. He came at me with his teeth bared showing these long, sharp canines, picked me up by my neck like I weighed nothing and threw me down on the ground. He was on me so fast I didn’t have time to be afraid. I started shouting questions at him, asking him to tell me about himself. For some astounding reason, he stepped back and started answering. At the risk of being boringly unoriginal, it really was an interview with a vampire.’

It sounds as if poor Special Agent Stevens is missing a few of his marbles.

I bit the inside of my mouth to keep myself from smiling. ‘What did this vampire tell you?’

He mentally dissected the expression on my face to determine whether I was being serious or sarcastic. He must have decided my question was on the level.

‘That’s a very long conversation for another day, but what’s important is that my education was vastly expanded. He gave me a graduate course in the strange and impossible. I think I must have connected with him at exactly the right time because he was willing to spill all the vampire secrets. Actually, I think he was suicidal. Maybe I should refer him to you for therapy?’ he joked.

He ate another cookie.

‘Okay,’ I shot him a frosty look, ‘so let me get this straight. You’re honestly trying to convince me to believe that there are such things as vampires – preternatural blood-drinking ghouls – living among us? That they aren’t just myths or psychotic humans?’

He stared into my eyes. ‘That’s exactly what I’m telling you. What’s more, I’m prepared to put my money where my mouth is. I can show you. I think the vampires have Emerald Addison. There’s a coven in one of the clubs downtown, a former church, called The Crypt.’

That’s the club Midnight mentioned.

‘The vampire I talked to – Ian, who’s probably back in London now – told me that the group and their leader have been here for years, and they keep a low profile. Recently some new bloodsuckers, the ones I’m pursuing, have come to town and they’re killers. Ian said that the one he’s most afraid of is called Bryce.’

At the sound of his name, my heart stopped and my blood ran cold. I visibly started in my seat, sucked in all the air in the room, and gasped.

Alan jumped in his chair. ‘What is it?’

‘You just said the name of the psychopath who barged into my office last night and attacked me.’

He pulled out a small notebook and pen from his pocket and began scribbling down everything I’d just said. ‘You were attacked last night? Tell me what happened.’

My stomach knotted at the memory.

‘After I finished at the hospital, I went to my office to work for a while. Bryce and a small, creepy-looking man called Raleigh broke in, threatened me, and Bryce attacked me. He somehow punctured my neck and actually sucked blood out and swallowed it. I was sure he intended to rape me, but thankfully he didn’t.’

I told the true story right up to the point just before Devereux entered the scene. Lying, I said that while I was passed out something must have scared Bryce and Raleigh off because when I woke up, they were gone. I didn’t know why I wasn’t willing to talk about Devereux, but I just wasn’t. After all, he had rescued me.

Lame story, Kismet.

Alan put the notebook and pen down on the table, stroked an invisible beard, and frowned at me. ‘You’re holding out. There’s more that you aren’t telling me. What is it?’ He reached over, lifted my hair out of the way, and turned my head, eyeballing the Technicolor puncture marks on my neck. ‘I told you that counselling vampires was dangerous. No wonder you look like death this morning.’

Prince Charming has nothing on this guy.

‘Gee, you sweet talker, you.’

‘Sorry. Tact isn’t my strong suit. In fact, being so blunt and thoughtless is why I never seriously thought about being a psychotherapist. I’d be alienating clients left and right. Actually, you couldn’t really look bad if you tried.’ He grinned, reached over and picked up a renegade lock of my hair and tucked it behind my ear.

‘Thanks, I think.’ I’d not only been surprised by his touch, but also by the pleasant sensation that lingered where his finger had brushed my skin.

I’ve definitely got to get out more. I’ll bet Denver’s started putting hormones in the water. Or maybe Devereux did something to me the first time I met him. I’ve been acting strange ever since.

Suddenly feeling awkward, I reached into the cookie bag and pulled out a chunk of chocolate-chip heaven and chewed loudly. Too loudly.

The smirk on Alan’s face told me he’d picked up on my discomfort and was enjoying it. He slouched down in the chair and lifted an ankle to rest on his knee.

I pushed further away from the table and put way too much effort into brushing cookie crumbs off my clothes.

As usual, my confidence with men is underwhelming.

‘You said you can show me – prove to me that vampires exist?’

‘Yeah, I can.’ He grinned again, obviously enjoying my unease. ‘But right now I need to head back to police headquarters and see if there’s anything new on the whereabouts of Emerald Addison. Are you free tonight?’

Smug bastard.

‘That depends on why you’re asking.’

He got up and filled his coffee cup again, then paced around the kitchen. ‘I think it’s time for you to find out what you’ve stepped in. I want to take you to that club, The Crypt, and give you a dose of an alternative reality. How about I pick you up at 10 p.m.?’ He reached into the bag on the table and ate yet another cookie.

There’s no justice in the world. The man doesn’t have an ounce of extra fat on his body. And I’ve made a thorough inspection.

‘Why would you want to go to a place you believe is a vampire coven? Aren’t you afraid you’ll be attacked again? Why would you want me to go there with you?’

‘Whoa!’ He gazed down at me, shaking his head. ‘For someone who doesn’t believe in any of this, you ask a lot of questions. I’ll give you a taste of what Ian told me. Becoming a vampire doesn’t automatically change someone into an evil monster – that’s all fiction. The personality you had before you died is carried over into your new existence. Most important for our purposes, if you were a psychotic human being, you’ll be a psychotic vampire. Now, that’s a totally different level of psychopathology.’

‘I see.’ I nodded slowly. Does he really believe this stuff? Poor guy. They’ve really pulled one over on him.

He picked up his notebook from the table and tucked it into his pocket. ‘From what I’ve learned so far, the vampires in the coven at The Crypt are, for lack of a better word, more mellow than the ones I’m searching for. They’ve been able to stay below the radar for so long because the leader keeps them on a tight leash, and he doesn’t tolerate any behaviour that draws attention to their existence.’

‘Would I need to take garlic and crosses if I go to The Crypt? Isn’t that how vampires are repelled?’

He ignored my sarcasm. Or maybe he hadn’t heard it. ‘No. I guess that’s all bullshit. Ian said religious items have no effect on the undead. Neither does garlic. And I’d personally appreciate if you’d pass on the garlic – I hate the smell of it. But wooden stakes still work, if you want to carry some in your purse.’

‘Uh-huh.’ Is he serious? He’s an FBI agent? Really?

Sitting there while he loomed over me had started to make me nervous, so I stood, expecting him to step back out of my way, but he didn’t. He remained there, staring at me with those lazy eyes, displaying the same overconfident smirk I’d seen at the hospital.

I raised my chin. ‘Excuse me.’

He laughed.

Arrogant jerk.

I waited for him to give me room to move, and when he did, I strolled over to the counter, refilled my coffee mug and returned to sit at the table. I decided to ignore his bad manners.

I inspected the contents of my cup. ‘Have you met the vampires at that club?’

‘Yeah, I’ve been over there several times. The head honcho is called Devereux. He’s been very cooperative. I’ll introduce you.’

At the mention of his name, my body immediately revisited the kiss I’d shared with Devereux and I felt the heat rise on my cheeks. I think it was safe to say that introductions had already been taken care of.

‘What about the mythology around vampires drinking human blood? There isn’t anything mellow about that,’ I said quickly, hoping to divert Alan’s attention from what I was sure must have been my obvious reaction to his mention of Devereux. Either he didn’t notice or he chose not to comment, because he simply nodded and answered the question.

He paced around the room again. ‘Ian told me that the blood issue is highly misunderstood. First, he said it isn’t necessary to kill someone. Small amounts of blood from several donors works just fine. As I already said, some vampires – same as humans – have more evil tendencies than others. For those vampires, killing is the thrill. For them, not killing would be like sex without the orgasm. Speaking of orgasms, Ian said that drinking blood is better than sex – which they can have, by the way.’

The image of Devereux invaded my brain and heat coiled up my spine. I concentrated on keeping my face neutral. ‘It sounds as if Ian was very talkative.’

‘Yeah.’ Alan rested his hip against the counter. ‘We spent hours together and I took great notes. Then I got more information from the coven at the club. It’s been an educational experience. It’s also helped clarify who and what I’m searching for.’

‘Wait a minute,’ I said. ‘You told me the vampire leader doesn’t draw attention to his group. Why would he volunteer to talk to you? What’s to stop you from turning them over to the local police?’

‘Think about it: you’ve been visited by the craziest vampire in Denver, you have clients who sit in your office and tell you about vampires, and I’ve just spent the last hour trying to convince you that vampires exist, yet you still don’t believe. What are the chances anyone would actually think the owner of The Crypt is the leader of a vampire coven? Devereux can tell me the truth because he knows that no one would buy it. And when you see the club you’ll understand how easy it is for them to just blend into the fantasy.’

‘What about the FBI? Have you told them the truth? Do they know what you’re up to?’

‘Let’s just say that they’re under the impression I’m tracking humans who are pretending to be vampires. They might amuse themselves by laughing at my Mulderisms, but the FBI is pretty conservative, and if they knew what I was actually doing I’d be out on my tail. Okay. I’m really outta here now. I’ll see you tonight at ten. Oh yeah – thanks for the java.’

With that, he was gone.