Dark Harvest

by Lynda Hilburn

  He wrapped his fingers around my wrists, brought my hands to his mouth, and kissed one palm then the other.

  “For an intelligent woman, you are being incredibly obtuse.”

  My mouth opened and closed in indignation. In the middle of my inadvertent fish imitation, I tried to form a coherent sentence and failed. I pulled my hands away.

  Devereux stared down at me as if I were a naughty schoolgirl being reprimanded by the principal. “You have no idea what that lunatic can do. And instead of listening to me—someone who actually does know what the beast is capable of—you dig in your heels and resist. Your careless actions could cause both of us pain. Now, please. Be the sensible woman I know you are and come with me.”

  “Being sensible is highly overrated.”

  Where did that come from? I didn’t mean to say that. This is getting creepy.

  As much as I objected to Devereux’s possessiveness, my bizarre personality shift was becoming frightening. I felt as if I’d been thrust into a terrifying, foreign landscape without a map or a mental compass. Was I truly going mad?

  I backed away and slammed into a strange vampire who’d just materialized behind me. The visitor didn’t even react to my stomping on his feet.

  Let’s see how many more vampires we can cram into this room.

  “Master. You are desperately needed. Things have taken a turn for the worse. They are calling for you.”

  Devereux snarled at the newcomer. “Yes, yes, I am coming. Tell them I am on my way.”

  The messenger departed and I crossed my arms over my chest, clear body language that, as far as I was concerned, the discussion was over. I needed a time-out.

  “No, my love, the discussion is not over. Far from it. But I must go. At least promise me that you will remain indoors tonight.”

  I smiled, promising nothing.

  He grumbled something harsh-sounding in the strange language he sometimes used, shook his head, and disappeared.

  Even if I wasn’t in the midst of a nervous breakdown, I had to admit it was entirely possible that he was right about my resistance, but Devereux’s suffocating behavior had gotten to the point that I had to take a stand, even if it seemed self-destructive, stubborn, and stupid. I couldn’t continue to hide behind him. It had been my decision to involve myself in the vampire, and vampire wannabe, worlds, so there was no point in cowering and playing the Damsel in Distress. I had to learn to take care of myself, or I’d spend the rest of my life being a victim.

  Thinking about cowering made me remember my weird altercation with Devereux. Something was definitely different. I’d eagerly held up my end of the tussle. Even took a sadistic pleasure in grabbing handfuls of that platinum hair. My temper had slipped its leash and run amok. That was new for me and I wasn’t sure how I felt about it. But I had enjoyed the exhilaration.

  But wasn’t it peculiar that I enjoyed it?

  After the flurry of chaos, being alone in my townhouse seemed odd. The silence pressed against my ears, and the lack of drama felt empty rather than peaceful. Had I become addicted to the soap operas of the bloodsucking world? Was I hooked on the neurochemical roller coaster?

  With those disturbing thoughts in my mind, I wandered over to my desk and sat. Extensive paperwork was simply a staple of my chosen career, and I rummaged through the insurance forms and consultation requests on my desk, and suddenly remembered I’d left my briefcase, containing my current client files, at my office.

  Shit! Did I want to drive back over there, or … Damn! My driver’s license was in my purse, which was also still at my office. Then another revelation rolled over me: driver’s license, hell! My car was still there! I pounded my fist on the desktop and belted out a primal scream. Good thing my neighbors were in Mexico. I should’ve stopped thinking about Devereux’s hormone-kindling face and body long enough to gather my personal belongings. “Damn!” I slapped the desk again. “I wish I could just think myself there. A few minutes ago it was Vampire Central Station. Where’s a vampire when you need one?”

  I could even envision exactly where in the office I’d left my possessions.

  As soon as I pictured them in my mind, I felt the familiar swoosh and found myself in my office. Or, I should say, sprawled on the floor of my office. It was like somebody had opened a cosmic door, positioned his foot on my ass, and pushed me inside.

  I sat up, stunned, and looked around. I’d landed next to the desk that held my purse and briefcase. Apparently, just imagining the place I wanted to be was all it took to get me there. I patted myself down, making sure all of me had arrived and reassembled in the correct order.

  After I mentally scratched my head for a few seconds, I burst out laughing. Devereux was going to have a stroke when he found out. Well, maybe not a stroke because one had to be alive for that, but he’d suffer some kind of undead affliction. The idea that his destined beloved had developed her own abilities and might be able to survive day-to-day without his constant intervention would be as welcome to him as a broken fang.

  When the laughter died down, I sobered. I’d just done something impossible, and the cautious part of me pursed her lips and shook a finger in my direction. She didn’t think this situation was funny at all and she was very concerned about the source of these new skills. She thought I ought to contact Devereux immediately and tell him about this surprising development. She was worried.

  Wow. This is getting crazy. She? Isn’t she me? I should definitely call Devereux.

  But not all of me agreed. In the midst of the anxiety, another opinion forced its way into the discussion, and I felt myself smile—almost as if my facial muscles had a mind of their own.

  Why tell Devereux anything? Yes, the pleasure of watching the shocked realization blossom across his face would be entertaining, and there was no mistaking how exciting his temper tantrums could be, but why tip my hand? Why share this radically unexpected turn of events? An unfamiliar confidence filled me.

  Okay. The fact that my new skill allegedly came from Hal … from the ancient vampire Devereux had mentioned, was unsettling news. That would be the part my blond Adonis hated the most. But who knew how long my ticket for Air Vampire would last? Shouldn’t I keep this little bit of freedom to myself? Maybe I wasn’t thrilled about how I got this ability, but as long as I had it, shouldn’t I use it? Besides, there was a more immediate issue to deal with: I had to find out if traveling via thought was a one-shot deal, or if it had a longer shelf life. Could I get myself home the same way I came? Would I be able to take my briefcase and purse with me? Burning questions. But if I popped home, my car would still be parked in the underground parking of the office building. Shouldn’t I simply take the easiest path and drive home? Just be a normal human? Boring but practical.

  That’s what I did.

  On the ride home I fantasized about thought travel. As outrageous as it seemed, it really wasn’t any more bizarre than most aspects of modern quantum physics. In fact, Einstein had speculated about the possibility of that very thing. It really shouldn’t come as a surprise that vampires could manipulate energy. What was really weird was the fact that vampires existed, period. Devereux had promised to tell me the story of the original vampire, but so far he’d managed to change the subject whenever I’d raised it. Another mystery?

  It also occurred to me that I’d forgotten to ask Devereux about the deaths Mr. Roth talked about. I made a mental note to find out what he knew.

  My townhouse was as quiet and bloodsucker-free as I’d left it. I strolled into the kitchen, rummaged through the refrigerator, and grabbed the newest-looking leftover container of Chinese food. I sniffed and my brain gave me the thumbs-up. I found a lone fork in the sink, and leaned against the wall to eat. I looked down at my lovely black dress, now lint-covered and dirty, and groaned. A greasy, fat noodle dangling on the end of the fork made a run for it down the front of the soft fabric. Perfect.

  I pitched the empty food box, stashed the fork in the dishwasher, and shuffled ove
r to the staircase leading up to my bedroom. A hot shower would feel like heaven.

  I’d only climbed a few steps when the doorbell rang. In my pre-vampire life, someone coming to my door was a normal, natural thing. No cause for alarm. But since I’d fallen into an alternate universe, nighttime visitors could be extremely bad news. They could be downright hazardous to my health.

  I tiptoed over to the door and eyeballed the peephole. Someone was definitely there, but I couldn’t make out whom. I reached over and flipped on the porch light, then peeked again. A tall woman with a waterfall of white hair stood there, smiling and waving.

  Chapter Six

  “Maxie? What are you doing here? How did you get my address?” The frown in my voice matched the one on my face.

  I’d cracked the door open enough to stick my head out, but I hadn’t invited her in. What the hell was a reporter doing on my doorstep?

  Her smile widened. “I can find anybody’s address. I’m a bit of a computer geek. Actually, yours was easy. Did you know that the American Psychological Association actually lists member contact information online? And it’s only protected by the flimsiest of passwords. Child’s play, really. Can I come in?” She didn’t try to hide the fact that she was inching her shoe into the door crack.

  I tightened my grip on the handle and shifted my hip against the door. “I don’t think so, Maxie. I’m tired and I’ve got a lot of paperwork to do. Why don’t you call me tomorrow?”

  She stuck her lower lip out in a pout. “I’ve left you several messages today, Doc. Remember? We’re going to the vampire staking? I originally gave you directions, but then the location was changed, so I left you another message, asking you to call me, but you didn’t. I thought I’d better hightail it over here and see if anything was wrong. Just being a concerned citizen, ya know?”

  Maxie’s energy seemed intense, chaotic.

  I stared at her and she pulled her foot away from the door, a contrite expression on her face. “I’m sorry, Doc. I tend to come on too strong sometimes. I just got back from interviewing a pedophile, and I hammered him with every aggressive interrogation technique I could think of. He finally caved, and it wasn’t pretty. I guess I hadn’t finished decompressing. I’ve been meaning to work on my polite social skills. It’s on my list.” She smiled and studied me. “Seriously. I do apologize. I’d kill for a glass of wine.”

  If she really had just come from such a horrible interview, I could understand why I was picking up so many mixed energy signals from her. I was probably even sensing the perpetrator’s aura, too. I supposed it wouldn’t hurt to ask her in for some wine. In fact, that sounded pretty good to me, too.

  “A pedophile? That had to be one miserable interview.” I pulled the door open in invitation. “How can you do what you do?”

  She stepped inside and gave a melancholy smile. “I could ask you the same thing, Doc. You have to listen to shitty stuff all the time. Mostly I just talk to people who claim they were experimented on in a spaceship or who saw Bigfoot. Just your standard flaky loons.”

  I laughed, thinking about some of my clients’ outlandish tales.

  “Sit down, relax.” I pointed to the couch. “I’ll get the wine. Which do you prefer? Red or white?”

  “White.” She sat, and I noticed for the first time that she was dressed in black leather. Quite a different look from the baggy jeans and football T-shirt she’d worn earlier. There was no mistaking the model’s body in those tight clothes. Interesting choice for a work outfit. I wondered if the creepy interviewee had been intimidated by all that leather? Maybe that was why she’d worn it. Dominatrix reporter. I glanced down at my dress and discovered the long, fat noodle that had made a suicide leap off my fork had sealed itself to my left breast. Although I don’t usually give much attention to fashion, I do make an effort not to wear my food. I suddenly felt insecure in my messy threads next to Maxie’s easy perfection.

  I peeled the noodle off my chest, poured the wine, and brought the glasses to the couch.

  “I take it you’ve never been to a vampire staking before?” Maxie asked.

  “As I already told you”—I sat on the other end of the couch and gave her a blank face—“I have no intention of going to such a thing. We both know it will just be a lot of goth children, vampire wannabes, and the mentally ill. No purpose would be served by my attendance.” And I’d really had it with people forcing their opinions, desires, and expectations on me. This was as good a place to put my foot down as any. I prepared myself to argue with Maxie, waiting for her to lob the next sally over the net—to try to convince me that she was a better judge of how I should spend my evening than I was.

  She sipped from her wineglass. “Can I level with you, Doc?”

  Hmmm. Not what I expected.

  I gave her my attention. “Of course.” Her vibrant personality seemed to crumble in front of me, and she suddenly looked very tired.

  She met my eyes and hers shone with moisture. “I don’t want to go to this thing. But I have to. I think I’m in trouble at work. My job might be on the line. That’s why I asked you to go with me. I was just hoping for some company. For someone to … be a friend. I have lots of acquaintances, but nobody I can count on. I’ve gotten myself in some hot water financially—made some stupid decisions—and if I lose my job, the whole house of cards will come tumbling down on me.”

  She heaved a sigh. “You seemed like such a warmhearted person that I guess I got carried away. I just wanted so badly to connect. To hang out with someone I could be myself with—whatever that is. I’m great at putting on a tough façade, and I never let anyone know how I really feel. Shit, I don’t even let myself know. But I can say for sure that I’m burned out on my job, and worried I’ll lose it at the same time. In other words, I’m totally screwed.”

  One fat tear slid down her cheek. She plucked a tissue out of the box on the table in front of her and blew her nose, making an unusually loud, multi-octave honking sound.

  The unique tone caused us both to raise our eyebrows, stare at each other for a moment, then burst out laughing.

  “Whoa! Where’d that noise come from?” Maxie said, smiling. “Do I know how to lighten a mood, or what? Barnum and Bailey, here I come!”

  I’d put my hand over my mouth in a futile effort to muffle my own laughter. I thought it was terrible of me to have such an inappropriate reaction after someone had shared something so emotionally intense. But it was probably similar to why people sometimes laughed at funerals. Stress causes unexpected reactions.

  I caught my lower lip between my teeth to force myself to stop chuckling, but all that did was cause me to snort, and we both lost it again.

  After what seemed like an endless amount of time, the frivolity calmed and we each reached for a tissue. I fanned myself with my hand, shaking my head, grinning.

  “I think we both needed that, don’t you?”

  “Hell, yeah! I already feel better just being around you. I think you’ve got the healing touch, Doc.” She smiled, then set her glass of wine on the table. “But I’ve taken up enough of your time. I need to head over to the ridiculous event, and I’m going to let you get on with your evening.” She stood. “I’m sorry I spilled my guts like that. It wasn’t fair to you, since that’s the kind of crap you have to listen to all the time. I hope you’ll forgive me for being such a wimp.”

  I drank the last sip of wine in my glass and set it on the table alongside hers. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt me to get a firsthand taste of Denver’s occult underworld. She’d been right this morning when she suggested I could use the material in my private practice and for my book. Besides, now that I understood what Maxie was going through, I didn’t have the heart to send her off to the insanity alone. Who would’ve guessed the cynical reporter I’d had coffee with had such a vulnerable side? If I was really serious about making some new friends, here was a perfect opportunity for me to step outside my routine. To take a chance. To follow my own therapeutic advice. After all,
I was client-free for the weekend, and hadn’t made any other plans.

  And, interestingly, I also noticed that I’d felt more like the self I was familiar with since Maxie had arrived. Maybe the odd personality deviation had run its course? She might be a good influence on me.

  “You honestly want me to go with you?” I frowned. “My being there will really make things easier?”

  Her face lit up and a huge smile curved her lips. “No shit? You’ll actually go with me? Well, hot damn! Maybe I should let my Inner Whiner out more often.” She laughed. “Thanks so much, really. How cool! I have a friend.” She plopped down on the couch. “Are you going to change clothes? I don’t think a dress would be the best choice for the lunatic festivities. But, if you’re going as you are, I have to say I really miss the noodle. Maybe we could fish it out of the garbage and stick it back on your boob. I thought it made a powerful statement.” She hooted out a laugh, and I picked up a small pillow from a chair and heaved it at her head. She deflected the fluffy assault and continued laughing.

  I smiled and folded my arms over my chest. “If you’re going to make fun of my fashion accessories, I’ll have to rethink my offer.”

  She stood and bowed from the waist, her silky hair cascading down to the floor. “Many humble apologies, my new friend, for my thoughtless remark about your … noodle. I promise never to have another opinion about whatever you plaster to your tit. Unless, of course, it’s some hot guy’s hand, then I might have to speak up …” She laughed and flopped onto the couch again.

  I had a quick memory flash of Devereux’s hand on that very tit, and smiled. Maxie was clever. She reminded me of Alan Stevens, a certain cocky FBI agent I’d gotten friendly with a while back. Maybe it would be good for me to spend some time with someone who enjoyed laughing. It was no secret that I tended to take things way too seriously. Definitely another downside to my profession. A downside I wouldn’t mind uplifting. And there was no time like the present.