by Sophia North
"You see," Dante resumed. "Vampyres are generally not the low-life bloodsuckers people are led to believe. We have many other gifts – some can be very powerful. Like people, we are all individuals. And some people are blessed with certain 'gifts' too, are they not?"
The way he posed the question pierced straight through her. It was like he was implying...no, he couldn't possibly know about the secret to her success.
Simone’s achievements as a therapist went beyond possessing a formidable intelligence. She had a 'gift' of her own that she did not speak of...to just anyone, if at all. But then, how does one rationally explain an ability to know when someone was hiding the truth? Being a human lie-detector usually doesn't go down very well. Except with her best friend Penny, who found it utterly fascinating, as she did with everything mysterious in life.
Stunned by his comment, Simone cautiously responded, "Yes, I agree. There are those who have what some may term as 'gifts'."
Dante was encouraged to know she believed in such things. Plunging ahead, hoping to draw her out of her shell, Dante continued with his explanation. "It is the same for vampyres," he said. "My gift is that I have psychic visionary powers."
Simone concentrated. Nope, he was still telling the truth. Whatever gripped his psyche was clearly very rooted. "So you think you are a psychic vampyre?" she said, arching a brow with a bit too much sass in it.
Dante stared stiffly at her, his face frozen in a blank expression as if transformed into a piece of marble. In the soft lamplight he appeared unnaturally beautiful, like a sculpture by Michelangelo. The effect was intensely unnerving.
"Sarcasm does not become you," he finally replied in a quiet voice, the sharpness in his face softened although his eyes still glowed.
Simone looked away from his piercing glare and briefly considered calling security to have him removed. Yet, Dante's story intrigued her. She could sense the truth in his pain and wanted to get to the bottom of it. But still, a psychic vampire? That was a bit rich.
"You have to accept I can't believe many of the things you're telling me..." Simone confided, her words cut short by Dante's interruption.
"It is of no real consequence," he said, moving forward in his chair. "Listen, you have a gift, Simone. I can't put my finger on it but there is something strong inside you. I felt it through the radio, in your voice. It is why I am here."
Simone struggled to respond. He was almost pleading with her. But his knowledge about there being more to her was startling.
"You're confused," he observed. "It is understandable. I've not been expressing myself well. Allow me to cut to the chase. I need you to listen because I'm unable to access my psychic ability on my own. Expressing my thoughts to someone with your power, ability, gift - fuck, I don’t know what to call it. But whatever it is I sense this power within you. Tapping into it might help me enter a trance-like state and 'see'."
He knew his gamble bore a high probability of failure, but he couldn't give up. "I have not done it for a while, though," he confessed. "Not since I lost Zara, who was partly psychic herself. It might not work with you but we must try."
This was becoming improper. It was not Simone's job to put a client into a trance even if she knew how. He needed a hypnotherapist or someone who might at least have a rudimentary understanding of mesmerism.
"Dante, I'm a psychiatrist. It is my job to listen to a client's problem and help him or her overcome it. I'm not qualified to participate in anything unconventional."
"Simone, it's perfectly safe. I just need you to help me channel my thoughts so I can see," he said, smiling at her. "Please."
Despite her misgivings, Simone smiled back. The man was too handsome for his own good. "What do I have to do?"
Pure elation coursed through him. His beautiful therapist was willing to help.
"It should only take a moment to achieve," he replied, eagerly leaning back in his chair. "I have to be calm. To begin with I'll need you to focus on what I’m saying. Then you must guide me with your voice at the appropriate moment ..."
"How will I know when to speak and what to say?"
But Dante had already closed his eyes. "You must trust yourself...trust your instincts...they won't lead you astray, Simone. I promise."
Chapter Four
SIMONE FELT RIDICULOUS.
Psychotherapy was a science-based profession with over one hundred years of published work and research behind it. Trusting one's "instincts" was not exactly accepted.
Simone stared at Dante and considered her options. It wasn't too late to call a halt to the madness.
Under the dim light of the lamp he looked asleep; a rakish curl of rich chestnut hair caressed his brow, his thick lashes rested on his cheek. He didn't appear to have the slightest doubt about what needed to happen next. But she did.
To trust her instincts meant accepting Dante Polidori was telling the truth. At least his version of it. And she wasn't sure her rational mind was prepared to concede its position in favour of her gift's. To do so would require a leap of faith Simone had never been faced with before - the rational versus the irrational. Black and white situations were rare in her profession.
"Tell me more about yourself, Dr. Simone Radcliffe," Dante asked, sensing her hesitation. "Describe where you live. Is it a nice house? Make it up if you prefer. I just need to hear your voice."
'In for a penny, in for a pound', she silently mused, taking a shaky breath to steel her nerves. If she truly had faith in her gift, she needed to silence all doubt and proceed.
"Alright," she finally replied. "I'll play along, it is your money we're wasting. And by the way, I don't live in a house. I live in a flat along the Thames."
"Tell me about it," he coaxed gently.
"Oh, there's really not much to say. It's a nice enough place, I suppose. I only moved in a couple of months ago. Actually, it's located in a high-demand area. My best friend thinks it's a bit out-of-place and soulless. I guess you could say it was an impulse buy..."
The sound of Dante's low groan interrupted her waffling. Glancing over, she noticed his head swaying gently from side to side. His eyelids began to twitch and his body trembled.
Was he faking it or had he truly entered a trance-state?
"Simone," Dante whispered. "An evil roams the streets...I am he, he is me ... it makes no sense. No wait, I see...I see what he sees."
"What do you mean?"
"It is another vampyre. He is fast and strong like a wild beast. He kills..."
Dante trailed off.
"Is he a vampyre gone rogue?" she asked, unable to stop herself.
"I can't say with any conviction," Dante returned. "But I have felt a growing sense of unease...these past few weeks...he has been busy..."
Simone had no idea what to say next. His talk about vampyres and murders sounded so genuine it disturbed her.
"After Zara all I wanted was to be left to hunt. I cast aside my privileges to become a Watcher once more. Now I seem to be caught up in something bad....a premonition..."
"Dante," Simone interrupted, noticing his jaw tense. "You need to relax."
"Yes, relax...things will become clearer..."
Images, which once flashed sporadically in his mind's eye, began to slow. Conversing voices became audible.
Simone called from some faraway place, advising him to relax again. There was concern in her voice but he couldn't worry about her now. He needed to slow his heartbeat to the point of halting it completely.
Thump-thump..thump...thump.....thump. Until finally, his visionary world came into focus.
A serpentine river coiled its way through a great city. Its familiar twists and turns revealed it to be London's very own Thames.
Dante stood on a wharf, staring into the watery depths of the river, listening as the waves broke against the worn pier. Seduced by its charms, he was ill-prepared for the lifeless body that emerged from its icy black embrace.
It was Zara. Her hands folded at her midriff, her on
ce vibrant eyes were forever closed. Dante watched her long dark hair trail behind as the river's current slowly took her corpse from his vision. Then another body appeared, followed by another and yet another until dozens trailed his lost love in a floating procession of death.
They were all innocent humans slaughtered by the wrath of a powerful vampyre. He recognised some of them from recent weeks, including the young woman from the previous evening.
Filled with horror, Dante tried to turn away but stopped when a final body floated by. It was his father and he was alive.
Instead of lying back, he was sitting up, floating on top of the water. Open-eyed, he wore a severe expression and stared directly at Dante.
Dante tried to speak, but in response the vision turned black. For a few moments Dante could see or hear nothing until, out of the darkness, a grinning face appeared. It was Anton, his once close friend.
"Join us, Dante!" Anton declared, raising his arms. "You will be a valuable asset to our cause. The rewards received, incalculable. Don't force another confrontation!"
Anton stood back as several other vampyres appeared and quietly formed a circle. In the centre a small fire broke out and a blue vapor rose from the flames, rising higher and higher as the vampyres danced and chanted around it.
"Haan, Great One," they chanted. "We are here to serve you. Guide us, we are nothing without you. Haan, Great One..."
In response, a cackling, ancient-sounding voice spoke from the vapor, whirling above them.
"It was all prophesied long ago," the voice spoke menacingly. "The Council of Elders are traitors. They force you to live in subjugation. But their moment of reckoning has finally arrived. It is the dawn of a new age and nobody will be able stop it. First Lowerton and then the world!"
Simone watched Dante squirm and writhe about in his chair. His suffering was too much to bear. "Dante," she said, feeling panic rise up. "What is it? What do you see?"
As his breathing became increasingly erratic, Dante no longer heard her. In the midst of a powerful vision, he was beyond Simone's reach.
Unable to endure his torment any longer, Simone ran to him and placed her hands firmly on his powerful shoulders. "Dante!" she commanded loudly. "You must wake up. Come back to me!"
But Dante only saw the bluish smoke. It danced and flickered around him, occasionally brushing his face with an icy touch. Whatever it was, he knew it wanted him to join the circle.
A woman's voice called his name again and again. The voice, it sounded familiar. She pleaded with him to open his eyes and return back to her.
The chanting became quieter as the vision began to fade.
The mysterious woman's voice called his name in an even more urgent tone this time. Was it Zara?
Dante returned from his vision with a jolt. A concerned face looked down at him but it was not Zara. This woman was blonde with ice-blue eyes. It was an intelligent face, somehow both strong and delicate at the same time. A beautiful face.
He moved his hands to lightly stroke her cheeks. They were warm and soft. He could feel the blood flowing underneath. The woman responded by placing her hands over his.
"Dante," she whispered. "Are you alright?"
Simone – the beautiful radio presenter and therapist tasked to help with his visions. But she was not Zara. He quickly removed his hands from her face and took a deep breath.
"Apologies," he mumbled. "It's been awhile. I'm out of practice."
Simone felt him recoil from her and, although ashamed to admit it, was hurt by what felt like rejection. Embarrassed, she returned to her chair and sat down.
"Can I get you a glass of water or bag of A negative to take the edge off?" she asked, attempting to use humour to cover the awkwardness between them.
Dante smiled. "I'm always a bit weak afterwards," he confessed. "But I'll be fine." He attempted to get up but his legs wobbled, and so he collapsed back down in his chair. "Perhaps not," he joked. "Do you have a car?"
"Yes," she replied. "Why?"
"It would appear I am incapable of making it home on my own tonight. And so, dear Dr. Radcliffe, could I trouble you for a ride?"
Chapter Five
"NICE WHEELS," DANTE commented, patting the dashboard of the Tesla Roadster with a big hand. "Business must be good...or is this more of an environmental statement? I believe the practice is referred to as 'virtue-signaling'."
Simone glared back, not responding to his dig. His casual remark not only prodded at the guilt she felt about her current extravagant lifestyle, but also niggled at the incredulity of her having agreed to drive him home at all.
What compelled her, other than his handsome face and a desire to be in his company a wee bit longer? Either way, her behaviour was highly irregular. But after one look into his stormy grey eyes, she'd been unable to refuse.
Maybe their unconventional session was nothing more than an elaborate hoax - for purposes yet to be revealed. Either way, she did not trust herself to speak.
"Mind you, in a city as large as London the potential customers must be plentiful. If not, I could undoubtedly find legions to send your way," he added in jest.
"Are you trying to discredit my profession?" she asked defensively, unable stay silent.
"Ah, so there are cracks in the mask you wear."
"What mask?"
Dante merely laughed at her response. What mask, indeed.
The woman wore her prim and proper one so tightly he wondered if it ever came off. Then it struck him. Perhaps this was the need he'd detected from her the other night? She needed him to help her become her true self.
Dr. P&P may like to think she came off all haughty and cool, but Dante knew better. No 'normal' human would have ever said yes to his request tonight, nor agree to give a strange client a lift home, without being more than the average Jane.
And Simone was far from being one of those, as her actions tonight proved.
Dante had seen the hurt in her eyes when he'd pulled away from her offer of comfort after his vision. And although, tempted to give in to the moment, he knew they could never be. No matter how much he desired her, which he did...very much.
But Dr. Radcliffe had served her purpose and he did not have the luxury of exploring the way she made him feel. Not with the Bradbury Something Evil this Way Comes he suspected may be unfolding. The ramifications, of which, could devastate both human and vamp worlds.
So no, his attraction to the beautiful Simone Radcliffe was an ill-advised distraction at this point in time...if ever.
As they continued the drive in silence, the Tesla glided effortlessly through the building late-night traffic. It was hard to believe it was nearly eleven, but when one catered to the vampyre community it wasn't really all that surprising, Simone mused.
"Why don't you tell me about what you saw in your vision?" Simone asked, finally ready face the answer. "Because whatever it was, you seemed quite distressed."
"We still on the clock?" Dante tried to joke, but after seeing her hands tighten on the steering wheel, decided it was best to drop the jester act. He'd not anticipated her continued interest and wondered if her perspective might help him gain further insight.
Dante never shared his visions with Zara, fearing the images they contained would terrify her. She was a gentle soul, content with running a bookstore specialising in esoteric teachings. It was where they'd first met.
Following the awakening of his predestined instinct to find a 'Mate', an act outlawed in the early seventeen hundreds, Dante found himself drawn time and again to her book store until he finally went in.
At first, he'd suppressed his desire to be with her, undertaking the necessary binding rituals in order to do so. But the impulse remained despite his efforts and it was only once his father explained their family's "gift" and the importance a Mate played in its power, did he allow himself to get closer to Zara.
But with Simone it was different. Not only was she a highly trained professional, the abilities she possessed were n
othing like the ones he'd experienced with Zara. They were far more powerful, and in some ways, more complex. He would be a fool to not take advantage of her perspective.
"It's to do with a prophecy made five hundred years ago," he ventured cautiously.
"Of course, a prophecy, I should have guessed."
Dante took umbrage with her tone. "Simone, do you wish me to answer you truthfully or prefer I lie? You mock me, whilst knowing everything I have revealed tonight is the truth."
His challenge hung in the air, daring Simone to deny it. She couldn't and so instead took the easy way out by diverting the conversation elsewhere. "Where in Bloomsbury do you want to be dropped off?" she asked curtly.
Humouring her attempt to shy away from answering, he replied, "Our destination is actually in Fitzrovia, but why be pedantic? Are you familiar with a bookstore called Treadwell's?"
Familiar with it? Until her recent move she'd lived in a flat above it for years. Her encounter with one Mr. Dante Polidori was getting stranger and stranger.
"I know it. Do you live nearby?" she asked, wondering if perhaps he recognised her from the area and if so, that it was somehow connected to him seeking her out. Simone was no stranger to creepy synchronicities in life.
"No, but I am feeling more myself and have business to attend to there. My driver can collect me later."
His driver? Unbelievable.
"Why did you ask me for a ride home when you have other means of transportation?" she snapped.
"Would you believe I find your company enjoyable and wanted to extend being in your presence? Probably not the best impulse for me to concede, non?"
Simone wanted to agree, except his confession to wanting to spend more time with her matched her own feelings. Madman or not, their attraction to one another was undeniable.
Approaching their destination, Simone smoothly navigated her Tesla into a spot in front of the bookstore. The street, as usual, was empty. "Tell me about how your vision relates to this prophecy," she asked softly, putting the car into Park. "If I can, I want to help you. I know you believe what you are telling me is the truth and that is fine. No more judgment, it was unprofessional of me to behave as I have."
