Dark Harvest Read online

  I leaned into Maxie, bumping her shoulder. She lowered her camera, turned her gaze in my direction, and shook her head. “These people need to get a life,” she shouted into my ear.

  A high-pitched wail drew my attention back to the stage. Two more spikes were pounded into the victim’s ankles and his terrified shrieks echoed throughout the building. A familiar smell wafted into my nostrils and my head jerked up. I lifted my nose into the air, sniffing. Blood. My stomach tightened. I didn’t have any trouble recognizing the smell because I’d been up close and personal with it during the murder investigation I was involved in a while back. My office had been drenched with the red stuff.

  Why was I smelling blood? The fake version shouldn’t have an odor. Were they using some kind of animal blood? One of my vampire wannabe clients had mentioned using pig blood from his grandfather’s butcher shop in some of his rituals. He said they actually drank it. Yuck.

  It was hard to hear the man’s screams over the uproar of the audience, but he seemed to be suffering. In fact, his performance was terrifying. A miserable thought occurred to me and I felt sick. I’d recently worked with a client who enjoyed being physically abused. Experiencing pain was the only way he knew to feel alive. And the only way he could have an orgasm. I wondered if the man on the stage was like my client. Had he signed up for this torture? Or was he the best actor I’d ever seen? If he was mentally ill enough to allow himself to be tortured, shouldn’t I do something?

  The observers were jumping up and down now, too excited to contain themselves. They’d cheered as each spike pierced the skin and more of the oozing liquid spread onto the platform. There was so much of the dark substance pooling around the man’s naked body that it began to drip off the edges and slide down onto the floor. A few adventurous wannabes leaped over to the dripping fluid, slid their hands through it, and smeared it on their faces, licking the remains from their fingers.

  The leader stood, planted his bare foot on the victim’s round stomach, and stared down at the bloodied man impaled on the platform. The man’s sobs and screams had diminished in volume. Had he passed out for real, or was he still acting?

  “Shall we complete the ceremony?”

  The wannabes thundered an affirmative, and became even more agitated.

  “Who wants to take on the sacred role of my lovely assistant tonight? My vampiric Vanna White?” The leader scanned the room, pointed at someone I couldn’t see and said, “You. You are chosen!”

  The room went silent. Someone must have turned off the music, because it no longer blared. From within the mass of bodies, a light-haired, full-figured woman, dressed in a flowing white gown, made her way to the platform. Like some bizarre military escort, all four of the guys who’d secured the man left the raised area and walked down to surround the woman. Was this a take-off on Bride of Dracula?

  As the woman approached, the leader opened his arms to her. She stepped into his embrace and he swept her into a dance. They twirled and circled on the platform, the bottom of the white dress sliding through the pooled blood until the entire hem was stained.

  The crowd was oddly mute.

  Then, as abruptly as the dancers had begun, they stopped moving. The genie guy cradled the woman’s face in his hands, kissed her, then gave her what appeared to be serious eye contact. She seemed to go limp, and he guided her onto her knees, next to the imprisoned man.

  The tension in the room was palpable. Everyone was so hyper-alert, so on edge, that the slightest stimulation could set them off.

  The vampire staking was quickly turning into a reality TV show. Maybe Maxie would be able to glean some disgusting angle to write about after all. I glanced at her to find her staring at the spectacle, camera forgotten. Something about the performance had riveted her attention.

  The leader bent down and picked up a nearby stake and handed it to the woman. She stared at it until he knelt down beside her, maneuvered the spike over the bloody man’s chest, and enclosed her hand with his, tightening her grip on the iron.

  “Hold on tight, now.”

  He retrieved the hammer, stood and held the tool in the air for the approval of his audience.

  They went berserk.

  The leader swung the hammer, burying the spike in the man’s heart. The victim shrieked, making a sound I’ll never forget, then went silent again. Blood splattered everywhere.

  A jolt of pain shot into my chest and my breath caught. A powerful wave of heat rolled through my body and sweat streamed down my face. My gaze was locked on the lifeless man on the stage.

  Sheer terror swept through me. That was no performance.

  Being drenched in blood must have startled the woman, because she became hysterical. Her fear was real. The leader lifted her into his arms, carried her to the edge of the platform, and tossed her into the crowd.

  The tortured man’s misery had to be horrifyingly intense near the end in order for it to burst through my psychic protections. That man had just been brutally murdered in front of a huge audience.

  I stared at the butchery, my brain spinning in shock, just about to turn to Maxie so we could make a plan of action, when several things happened at once.

  The leader stood on the platform, blood dripping down his body. He waved his arms through the air, and almost every single person in the room fell to the floor. Scores of vampire-costumed bodies piled on top of each other, like a Halloween party massacre. A few of the leader’s helpers remained standing, flanking the maniac, as if they awaited further instruction.

  Next to me, two robed figures appeared from nowhere, grabbed Maxie, and disappeared. “Hey! Stop! Where are you taking her?” I shouted. Adrenaline pumping, I jumped up, not sure what I was going to do but needing to do something. I turned, and smashed into the tall, muscular body of the long-haired murderer. He was suddenly just there. Up on the balcony with me, holding my upper arms.

  I screamed.

  He smiled, and his silver eyes sparkled.

  Chapter Eight

  Blood oozed down the killer’s smooth chest. Slamming into him had transferred some of the crimson liquid onto my sweater. The odor was so intense I could almost taste it.

  “I’ve so looked forward to meeting you, Dr. Knight. I hope you enjoyed the show. It was performed especially for you.” His deep voice flowed into my ears like auditory silk, sending vibrating ripples across my skin.

  I jerked from side to side, trying to break his hold on my arms without success. His rigid fingers were unyielding. “What are you talking about? How do you know my name? You just murdered that man down there.”

  “Ah, yes. It wasn’t one of my finer spectacles, but it was, after all, a last-minute affair. I can always count on the mindless masses to create whatever drama I require. But I’m keeping you from discovering the purpose for our gathering tonight. Let us retire to the arena.”

  He slid one arm around my waist and, with the slightest sense of motion, we were standing on the platform, next to the bloody dead body nailed to the floor.

  Vampire. The sadistic madman was a vampire. What was wrong with me that I hadn’t realized?

  I turned my head away from the corpse. Why did this monster want me to see his handiwork? Did he have something against psychologists? Had he been forced into therapy against his will when he was a child? If there even were such things as psychologists when he was a human child. Or was he just mad as a hatter?

  “Do you recognize this man, Dr. Knight? I realize he’s a bit of a mess, but his features are easily identifiable.”

  I struggled against him, trying unsuccessfully to twist out of his grip. “I don’t want to look. What kind of sadistic demon are you? Didn’t you have a large enough audience for your insanity?”

  “Yes, of course, but I went to all this trouble just for you, so I’m afraid I’ll have to insist that you look. Let me get rid of that shadow so you can see better.” He cupped my chin, tilted it toward the body, and yelled at his helper, “Bring one of the torches closer.”


  The light was relocated and I tried to shut my eyes, but I couldn’t. My eyelids refused to follow my brain’s commands. Against my will, I stared down at the face. The man’s eyes and mouth were wide open, locked forever in a silent scream, startled by death’s sudden arrival. There was something familiar about him. It took me a moment, then recognition crashed into me like a tidal wave. Carson Miller, the radio host. The obnoxious idiot. The dead guy.

  My head spun, my body went clammy, and my solar plexus cramped. Watching what I’d thought was a performance had been disgusting enough, but the realization that I’d sat passively by, observing the murder of a person I knew, was too much for my brain to handle. My knees gave out and I dropped into a kneeling position in a pool of Carson’s blood.

  “Oh, my. We are sensitive, aren’t we?” the vampire said, laughing.

  I was too busy trying not to vomit to have any reaction to his psychotic sense of humor. “I’m going to be sick.”

  “Well, it simply won’t do to have you smelling like the contents of your stomach, so let me make it all better.” He reached down, grasped my upper arms, and lifted me all the way up to his eye level. The movement seemed effortless, as if I weighed nothing. Shocked by being hefted into the air, I initially met his eyes, but something about them felt bad—dangerous—so I averted my gaze. Even the brief eye contact caused me to feel fuzzy. He spoke softly, in a low, rumbling voice, “Oh, come now. Admit that you find my eyes beautiful. You can’t resist them.” He said the last four words as a command. I felt my eyes shifting to his and fought as hard as I could to look anywhere but at him, and failed. I locked eyes with his shining, silver pools and found myself agreeing when he said, “You feel wonderful. Fully restored. Never better.”

  He lowered me to the platform and I stood, swaying. I stared down at the bloody corpse and felt nothing. I was pretty sure I ought to have some kind of emotional reaction to being in the proximity of a murder victim, but I couldn’t summon anything more than distant curiosity.

  “There now. Much better, although you’re still a bit sweaty and pale. Let’s take off that repulsive wrap, shall we?” He peeled the coat off me, like undressing a small child, one arm at a time, and threw it on the other end of the platform, away from the blood.

  Part of me thought it was a great idea. Being so close to the fire was causing my body to overheat, and the smoke made it hard to breathe. The moment the parka was gone I felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off my body, literally.

  But immediately another part of me, struggling to remain in control, freaked-out that my gun was gone. Not that the gun would do anything against a vampire, but maybe it would distract him long enough for me to make a run for it. Yeah, right. Make a run for it against a creature who could think his way through time and space.

  I felt him staring at me and met his gaze.

  A roguish smile slid across his face. “You’re quite right, dear doctor. A gun would do nothing against me. It wouldn’t even slow me down. I believe that none of the traditional methods for dispatching vampires would affect me anymore. Sometimes I actually find that distressing. Not to mention, boring. As I told you earlier today, I am older than you can imagine.”

  What? As he’d told me earlier today? What’s he talking about? He’s a vampire. I didn’t have any vampire clients today. How could he …

  The realization of where I’d heard that voice before radiated fear through my body. My heart beat double-time and my breathing went shallow.

  “Yes. I see the light is dawning for you, so to speak. Lyren Hallow at your service.” He bowed his head. “I was your mysterious caller on the radio program this morning. The program where our dearly departed treated you with such disrespect. I’ll admit that I inadvertently enhanced some of his less civilized tendencies—I seem to have a rather primitive effect on everyone—but he took things too far. I simply had to make an example of his poor manners.”

  I was stunned. My mouth had gone so dry I had to swallow a couple of times before I could speak. “You mean you killed him because of how he behaved on the radio this morning? Is that what you meant by saying it was for my benefit?”

  He shrugged, his face friendly, as if we were discussing paint samples. “Why, yes, of course. Such poor breeding is inexcusable. But, even more important, the repugnant human had a habit of using the burning ends of cigarettes to torture the women he coerced into spending time with him. While I don’t usually concern myself with the tawdry affairs of mortals, this particular specimen was especially intriguing. His predilections reminded me of my own, so I’m sure you can appreciate the sadistic psychological pleasure I took in destroying him. Perhaps I’ll spend some time on your couch one day, and we can explore my motivations. But in any case, he was merely a death waiting to happen. I accommodated him. After all, I am a vampire and killing is what we do. Although, I’ll admit I do a lot more killing than most others. We all have our gifts.”

  My brain couldn’t get past the fact that Carson’s murder had something to do with me. I knew I hadn’t done anything myself to cause his death—the fanged Grim Reaper had made it clear he had his own twisted reasons—but I was still swamped with feelings of sadness and confusion. And terror. What did the vampire have in store for me? Was I to be punished, too?

  “No, my dear Dr. Knight,” he responded, obviously reading my thoughts. “You did nothing deserving of punishment. Indeed, I have other plans for you.”

  “Plans?” I croaked. “What plans?”

  He studied me for a few seconds, his smile widening. “Now is not the time to speak of that. You are tired and I have other matters to attend to.” He looked around at all the vampire-costume-clad bodies in puppy-piles throughout the room. “I must awaken my devotees, erase their memories, and send them home. I could leave them here to take the blame for the murder, but I will have need of them later. So, I must tie up the loose ends.”

  I gazed around the room, still feeling oddly surreal and floaty. “Why did you kill Carson in front of all these people? If it was truly your desire to rid the world of a bad man, why not just visit him in his room and drink him dry? Why make it so public?”

  He grinned, his handsome face appearing as sweet and innocent as a child’s. “Ah, Doctor. You’re applying your own, limited interpretation. Don’t misunderstand. There is no such mortal designation as bad in my mind. I have no interest in ridiculous human notions. And as far as drinking him dry in private, what fun would that be? As the saying goes, ‘been there and done that.’ And now I must excuse myself. I hope you won’t mind seeing yourself home?”

  He reached over and stroked his hand across my face. The feeling was very familiar, and it was as if he threw a bucket of cold water on me. I suddenly came fully back to myself. Whatever he’d done to me receded, and the horror of standing next to an impaled body grabbed me by the throat. I jerked sideways a couple of steps, tripped over an unused stake, and fell on my ass.

  Hallow smiled and vanished from the platform.

  Even though the room was still hot and the air was thick, chills broke out on my arms. My sensing system was shooting off its version of flashing red lights and sirens and I struggled to my feet, fetched my parka, and slipped into it. I scanned the sea of sleeping wannabes and was torn between feeling concern for their welfare, and being creeped-out by their life choices.

  I jumped down from the platform and ran to the open doors. It wasn’t until I reached the cool, fresh air outside that I took a deep breath and wondered what had happened to Maxie. Was she still in the building somewhere? Should I go back in and search?

  As soon as I asked myself those questions, a now-familiar voice spoke in my mind. “Your friend is safe and well. She drove herself home, in a mild trance, of course. No need to concern yourself with her or the sleeping children.”

  I looked around for the source of the voice. Hallow wasn’t there. At least not physically. Well, great. Maxie’d just taken off. Abandoned me. So, how was I supposed to get hom
e?

  “Surely you haven’t forgotten the new skills I’ve given you?”

  I grabbed the sides of my head. Something about his voice caused the bones to vibrate and gave me the beginnings of a headache. I walked fast toward the obvious entrance to the park, hoping his voice would fade like a cell phone signal if I put distance between us. What new skills was he talking about?

  “Come now, Doctor. How could you forget something so momentous, so otherworldly? Surely you recall your unexpected trip to your office earlier this evening?”

  “Hey!” I yelled, pain radiating through my skull. “Will you get out of my head before it explodes?”

  Silence.

  Had I just scolded a homicidal vampire? Something was definitely up with my impulse control lately.

  I stopped dead and grabbed onto the splintered wooden counter of the ticket booth at the gate. My knees almost gave out. The absence of Hallow’s reverberating voice in my mind sent a wave of relief through my body. I hadn’t realized the deep sound had been so invasive. So overwhelming. Devereux communicated telepathically with me all the time, but his voice never made my head hurt.

  I was reminded of some research I’d read about using sound waves as a weapon—how the mere resonance could obliterate solid objects. I wondered how much sound pressure would have to be exerted to split open a skull? I wasn’t about to volunteer to find out. How could a disembodied voice produce sound waves anyway?

  More occult bullshit.

  Anger and discouragement wrestled for position in my emotional control center. I couldn’t count the times over the last five months I’d regretted my decision to involve myself with supernatural and metaphysical beings and philosophies that most people only fantasized—or had nightmares—about. I often had second thoughts about wading into the preternatural muck. Not only because it was often terrifying, but because there was no way to make sense of anything. No rule book. Never knowing what was lurking in the next shadow was a recipe for ulcers and insanity.