Crimson Psyche

by Lynda Hilburn

  She did have a point, though. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt me to explore the twisted layers of the vampire community, wannabe and otherwise. I couldn’t always just wait for the lost souls to show up at my office — after all, I still had a book to write. I wasn’t willing to completely ignore the academic portion of my professional responsibilities, and a chapter about an alleged vampire staking could re-energize my muse.

  Or not.

  Now that I’d considered the possibility, even thinking about going to some vampire-inspired event with a reporter made my head hurt. I knew I was asking for trouble, even without my radar flashing.

  Nope. Definitely need to stay home and wash my hair tonight.

  I started to decline the invitation but I was interrupted by a small, rodent-like bald man who bounded into the coffee shop and scurried over to our table.

  “Hey, Maxie. Boss wants ya, pronto. Deadline, ya know, chop-chop.”

  He reversed direction and sprinted out as quickly as he’d entered.

  “Yeah, thanks, Dave,” Maxie shouted at his retreating form.

  “How did he know you were here?” I asked.

  “I hide here as often as possible.”

  “Why didn’t they just call you?” I didn’t see a phone, but she could have had one in her pocket.

  “What’s the good of sneaking off somewhere if I’m going to carry my cell phone with me? That sort of defeats the “hiding” part, doesn’t it?” She gave an exaggerated sigh and tapped the tip of her index finger against the end of her nose. “Officially putting nose back to grindstone now. I’ll see you tonight.” She stood in a fluid motion, beamed me a mischievous smile and danced gracefully to the exit.

  “Maxie, wait!” I leaped up out of my chair. “I don’t want to go to a vampire staking!”

  The room went still.

  I heard Maxie laugh as she reached the exit. She raised one hand in the air, waving good-bye. “No chickening out now, Doc. I’ll leave directions to the vampire deal on your voicemail. See you there at 10 p.m. Hey. Nice ta meetcha.” Her last words were muffled by the closing door.

  “Dammit to hell!” I slammed my palm down on the table, sending a spoon clattering to the floor. The metallic sound echoed in the silence, and immediately embarrassed by my theatrical overreaction, I eased down into my chair, folded my arms across my chest and scanned the sea of raised eyebrows. It was as if a cosmic pause button had been pushed. Everyone in the room was posed, frozen in place, staring at me. Maybe they were waiting to see what other temperamental outbursts I had up my sleeve. Too bad I couldn’t make my head spin all the way around or levitate off my chair.

  As far as I was concerned, the show was over. Elvis had definitely left the building.

  The silence persisted for a few seconds longer and then, as if an invisible switch had been thrown, the noise volume resumed its normal level of controlled chaos.

  I lifted my half-full mug and took a healthy swig before discovering it was cold. I glared at the cup like it was the cause of my meltdown. What the hell had I gotten so angry about? The radio show with Carson had been irritating and the conversation with Hallow disturbing, but I’d handled worse before without losing my cool.

  It had recently occurred to me that my professional training had a downside. All my therapeutic reserve and ability to remain silent while integrating client information was great in a clinical setting, but it sucked big-time in interpersonal situations. I’d let Maxie manipulate me and it pissed me off, though I was angrier with myself than at her.

  Of course I wasn’t going to some pathetic gathering of attention-seeking occultists and rebellious goth teenagers. It didn’t matter what Maxie thought was going to happen. I didn’t owe her anything, and I’d made my decision blatantly clear. To my credit, I’d been open to doing something normal with her, something relaxing. It wasn’t my fault that she was obsessed with her job.

  Yeah, like I’m not obsessed with mine.

  I slid the coffee mug to the center of the table, gathered my things and strode to the door, grumbling under my breath.

  In the hallway, the elevator doors popped open as soon as I pressed the down button, and Carson’s voice blasted, “Take it off! Take it all off!” from the speakers.

  I cringed, reminded that no matter what kinds of paranormal monsters might be hiding in the closet, we humans were capable of spewing our fair share of ugliness into the world.

  I felt a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature.

  ***

  The downtown skyscraper housing the radio station was only a few blocks from my office. The thick fog and overcast skies of the morning had magically transformed into another of Denver’s famous sunny, clear masterpieces. I rolled down my car window, trailed my hand through the brisk air and allowed the tight muscles in my neck and shoulders to relax. I hadn’t realized how stressed out and tense I’d been. Evidently handling a brain-dead radio host and discovering the existence of a self-proclaimed day-walking vampire punched the needle on my weirdness meter higher than usual.

  Springtime in the Rockies was as unpredictable as an adolescent’s mood. The blizzard that had paralyzed the area a few days ago, blanketing the Mile High City in several feet of snow, had retreated east, leaving us with an already melting winter wonderland, some much-needed moisture and postcard-perfect mountain scenery. Days like this reaffirmed why I chose to live here.

  I pulled through the underground parking lot and cruised into my very own space, a smile easing across my lips. Even the garage was immaculate. I’d had my doubts about moving into Devereux’s building when he offered last Halloween. After all, who knew how long my relationship with the mysterious bloodsucker would last? But so far things had worked out well. Better than well, actually, especially now that my mind was no longer an open book to him. Everything about my new arrangement — the architecture, furnishings, location — was a perfect reflection of Devereux’s style and elegance.

  Thinking about the scary, humiliating circumstances surrounding the move from my old office flipped my smile into a frown. I’d actually been kicked out, which was not something I’d be adding to my curriculum vitae anytime soon. Discovering the dead body and blood-soaked walls and carpets, a parting gift from the violent and mentally ill Brother Luther, had left a bad taste in the building manager’s mouth, and I couldn’t really blame him. I hadn’t quite forgiven myself for completely misreading the cues about the emotionally disturbed vampire, even though I hadn’t yet accepted the possibility then, much less the reality, of vampires. Denial can be such a comfortable place to hide.

  Of course, Brother Luther — and his murdering alter ego Lucifer — was no longer a problem, since his ectoplasmic mate had shown up in the nick of time to prevent him from draining me dry. Then she retrieved his soul and yanked him from the land of the unliving. That experience had to rank as my most strange to date.

  Soft Celtic music caressed the airwaves during the elevator ride to the main level of the building, where the doors parted without a sound, ushering me into an architectural marvel. Five months in residence hadn’t yet dulled my appreciation of the breathtaking beauty of the gold and marble lobby. Devereux had spared no expense in creating a stunning space, filled with exquisite furniture and incredible artwork, including his own. The fancy address was the headquarters for most of his business enterprises. My counseling practice was the only “outside” company allowed in, and I still wasn’t comfortable with getting such special treatment, especially as I knew the ‘reasonable’ rent he charged me was a mere fraction of the market value. Luckily, as I said, denial is my friend.

  I walked across the lobby, listening to the echoing clicks of my heels on the imported marble tiles as I made for the reception area. Victoria Essex waved a hand in greeting and gave a wide smile from behind her ornate desk. Of all the positive aspects of moving to this office, meeting Victoria had definitely been one of the highlights.

  “Kismet! Isn’t this a marvelous day?” Still smil
ing, Victoria shot out of her chair and glided over to me with her arms extended in preparation for one of her friendly hugs. Gathering me close, she squeezed enthusiastically, then stepped back, grasping my upper arms. “Are you okay? I heard that Carson idiot on the radio this morning. Was he as big an asshole as he sounded? He made me seriously reconsider my vow to do no harm!” Her eyes sparkled with humor.

  I leaned forward and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “Asshole is an understatement. He’s definitely toad material. Are you sure I can’t talk you into casting just one little spell?” We both laughed.

  “Can you come and sit for a minute? I haven’t seen you for days.” Without waiting for my answer, she grabbed my free hand and tugged me over to a nearby couch.

  Victoria was a study in contrasts. Her face always reminded me of a Shirley Temple doll I’d once seen in an antique shop: her naturally curly, golden-blonde hair was chin-length, with tight spirals framing a heart-shaped face. Sharp cheekbones, dimples, a straight nose and round, peridot-green eyes gave her the appearance of the exotic girl next door. Her body was a different story. It was voluptuous in the richest sense of the word — wide hips, rounded belly and generous breasts: the self-identified Wiccan Mae West. She was several inches shorter than me, but she favored very high wedges, so we usually saw eye to eye.

  Half the fun of coming to my office was checking out Victoria’s daily wardrobe choice. She had a vast collection of flowing goddess dresses in vibrant colors and a never-ending supply of gemstone jewelry, much of which she made herself. Today’s gown was vibrant green velvet.

  In addition to being Devereux’s building manager, she was the high priestess of a local coven of witches, and the owner of an Internet-based Wiccan ritual supply business.

  She locked eyes with me, her face serious. “Are you going to tell Devereux about the vampire hunter who called the radio show or do you want me to?”

  The question took me by surprise and my jaw dropped. Not only because Victoria had never mentioned vampires in any form before, but because the scary on-air bloodsucker had insisted that none of the radio listeners could hear him.

  My facial expression must have said it all, because she answered, frowning, “Yes. I heard him. Every evil word. He’s very powerful.”

  My brain spun for a few seconds, questions lining up, elbowing each other as they all tried to cram through the doorway to my mouth. Of course she had to know about vampires. How could she work for Devereux for so many years without being aware of the fanged elephant in the room? “I’ll tell Devereux.”

  Then I focused on the important point. “Wait a minute. If you could hear him, then he lied about nobody being aware of our discussion. So why should I believe he was a vampire? He was probably just another lost soul nut-case seeking attention.”

  She clasped my hand. “No, he’s exactly what he said he is. I could hear him because I have the unique ability to resist the powers of the undead. That’s one of the reasons Devereux hired me — I’m his bloodsucker bullshit detector.”

  I stared at her, speechless. Once again my reality basket turned out to be nothing more than a sieve, allowing trickles of long-held truths to stream away into oblivion. I’d been so eager to leap to my erroneous conclusions about sweet Earth Mother Victoria that I’d missed yet another train leaving the parallel universe station. Like everyone, I saw the world through my own expectations, beliefs and limitations, but I was continually astounded by the evidence of how narrow my lens really was — and how relentlessly I still clung to my notions of “real”.

  She grinned. “New information, eh? I’m not exactly what you thought I was, right?” She patted my hand. “I figured we’d get around to telling each other the truth one of these days. The vampire hunter showing up has just kicked the schedule’s butt a little. I spoke up because I wanted to make sure you realized what you’re dealing with. I think it’s highly meaningful that he wanted to talk to you specifically.”

  I licked my lips and cleared my throat, finally shepherding my wandering thought sheep into a herdable mass. “Why did he want to talk to me? I’ve only been involved in the vampire community for a few months. I’m no expert — yet. Why focus on me?”

  “That’s a good question. Wish I had an answer. One thing’s certain: he wasn’t telling you the whole story, and somehow you’re involved, whether you want to be or not.” She paused, studying me. “I guess being the love muffin of the most powerful vampire in Denver has its downsides, eh? You probably had no idea about all the undead drama you’d get tangled in. I’d be willing to bet nothing in your education or training even remotely prepared you for the last six months.”

  I thought about responding, then pressed my lips together, still watching her. Victoria was giving me an opportunity to vent some of my frustrations, to share my confusion with someone else involved in all this freak-show weirdness. Working as a therapist was a lonely occupation to begin with, and choosing such a “unique” clinical focus meant I couldn’t even consult with colleagues, except for occasional phone calls with FBI profiler Alan Stevens or brief meetings with Ham the hypnotherapist and Michael the half-vampire clinician, who all knew the truth. It was getting harder and harder for me to censor myself with my own therapist, Nancy. I was certain she would be sending for the men in white coats if I really leveled with her. Having no ongoing healthy outlet for my own issues was a recipe for professional disaster.

  And it wasn’t as if I didn’t like Victoria. From the first moment we’d met, the day I came to see the office Devereux offered, she and I had clicked — our Inner Children had bonded. However, something made me hold back. Maybe it was just my suspicious nature, but since she worked for Devereux, discussing my lover with her felt like crossing a mental field strewn with hidden psychic land mines.

  She chuckled. “I hope you’re not a poker player, because your face reflects every emotion you feel. You wouldn’t last ten minutes at the gaming table. Of course, I’m more perceptive than most, but you’d be a lamb to the slaughter.” She smiled softly. “I just want you to know that I’m available anytime you need a shoulder or a pal. Yes, I do work for Devereux, but my first allegiance is to myself. I’m a very loyal friend. And I do happen to know Himself very well, warts and all. I’m aware of his intense personality. He’s been a powerful immortal for so long that it doesn’t usually occur to him that others might have different needs and desires. He tends to wear people down — like charming Chinese water torture!”

  I relaxed and smiled. That was a perfect description of how Devereux continued to behave with me, even after our long discussions about his domineering nature and healthy ego a couple of months ago. I hadn’t yet come to terms with all the dissonant emotions his gentle bulldozing caused, so maybe it wouldn’t hurt to share a little.

  “Charming Chinese water torture? What a great description of Devereux’s communication style. You know, he’s wonderful in so many ways — handsome, intelligent, creative, thoughtful — the man of my dreams, who just happens to be a walking corpse. But he wants me to acknowledge that I’m his long-awaited mate, and he isn’t shy about pushing me in that direction. For some reason, my acceptance of that title is incredibly important to him — far more important than it should be. I don’t understand why it’s such a big deal.” I shook my head. “Why can’t he just let our relationship develop slowly, so I can get used to it?”

  “I don’t think the word wait is in his vocabulary,” she said kindly. “At least not in regard to you.” She lowered her voice and bumped my shoulder gently with hers. “What’s he doing, girlfriend?”

  I smiled at the unfamiliar word, and appreciated her for it.

  “Oh, just the usual. He’s always popping in unannounced, doing his best to convince me that his plan for the evening is better than mine. I know he’s gorgeous, and he smells good, and the sex is great. And there’s no question that traveling through thought is amazing. But he’s so... so bossy! He’s always digging up yet another thing I need to b
e protected from or coming up with one more reason to treat me like his fragile possession. He just lifts that magnificent chin and makes proclamations as if I have no right to have any opinions of my own. Most of the time I can’t decide whether I want to jump on him or run screaming into the night.”

  Victoria snickered, fanning herself.

  I paused, realizing I’d said more than I meant to. Apparently I really did need a friend to talk to. My therapeutic persona was definitely in danger of springing a leak. “I’m sorry,” I said ruefully. “I really do know better than to keep all my emotions bottled up. It’s messy when they finally spill out. Being a therapist is easy for me because my role is clear. It’s strictly defined. Dealing with the rest of my life — well, that’s a problem. And I’m definitely not myself today.”

  She met my eyes and took my hand in hers. “You’re so hard on yourself. If you think that controlled bit of self-disclosure was messy, remind me never to call you in the midst of one of my PMS-driven chocolate-fueled pity parties. You’d have me locked up! Hey, I know. You should come to one of my coven’s rituals. A little wild, sweaty dancing around a fire would do wonders for you.”

  I swallowed loudly. “Uh...”

  She hooted out a laugh and squeezed my hand. “Or maybe not. Since you just looked as horrified as if I’d asked you to run naked through the Sixteenth Street Mall, I’ll assume your dance card for strange experiences is currently all filled up. Perhaps we’ll put off your visit to Witch Central for a while longer.”

  “Thanks, Vic.” Whew. That was close. Barely dodged another bizarro bullet.

  “Here’s some unsolicited advice about Devereux,” she said. “He’s one of the most terrifyingly powerful creatures on the planet, but he’s got a loving soul. And he’s trainable. If you let him manipulate you, he will. That’s human — and vampire — nature. If you say no, he’ll have to deal. Stop being so nice!”