Dark Harvest Read online

  It took him this long to scent the blood? All that recreational snorting must have fried his sense of smell.

  He’d actually come pretty close to guessing where I’d been—the vampire orgy part, anyway—but not the way he assumed. Even if I’d been inclined to tell him anything meaningful, which I wasn’t, I couldn’t involve him in Hallow’s madness. Tom was a behavioral psychologist, which meant he believed “reality” was exactly what it appeared to be. Truths equaled quantifiable facts, and were written in stone. In my new world, that belief had proven to be a faulty assumption. I didn’t know how deeply Tom had explored the vampire realm, so since I didn’t have the energy or inclination to reeducate him, I opted for misdirection.

  “Just out doing research for my vampire wannabe book.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Still working on that? I would’ve thought you’d be finished by now. Or you’d have progressed to a sexier topic. Wait until I tell you about the deal I’m putting together for a cable program. You’ll be so impressed. I’ll be the most famous shrink in the world.” He frowned. “I just need to take care of something first.”

  The man had an ego the size of Jupiter, and it was bloating with age. “What are you talking about? What do you need to take care of? You said you want to see Devereux. Why?” It occurred to me that Tom might intend to ask Devereux for money, since the wealthy vampire was up to his fangs in it. Tom always had a deal cooking that required extra capital. But on second thought, that didn’t make sense because Tom had become quite rich in his own right over the last few years.

  He sat across from me at the table, and I noticed again how light his skin was. I couldn’t remember ever seeing him without his trademark tan. During our time together, he’d frequently told me he didn’t believe the sun damaged his skin. He was sure that idea was a myth. I wisely chose not to mention the fact that his skin had begun to appear older than it should. All that sunbathing was turning him into a reptile. But one simply didn’t poke at such deeply held delusions. His regularly scheduled facials, skin peels, and cosmetic surgery procedures had become the focus of his life.

  Tom’s parents had set the perfection bar higher than he could ever reach.

  He stared at me for a few seconds, playing imaginary piano on the tabletop—something he always did when he was trying to choose the most influential words for his latest manipulation—then beamed a toothy smile. “I’ve decided to become a vampire.”

  My head automatically began the up-and-down motion I used to stall for time, which also functioned as an entry ramp into the silence that would encourage clients to spill their guts. “I see.” I had the feeling I knew where this conversation was going.

  He stopped pretending to tickle the ivories, scowled, and splatted his hands palms down on the table. “I see? That’s all you have to say? I share a life-changing decision with you and that’s all I get?” He leaned in and raised his eyebrows, waiting.

  I cleared my throat, really not wanting to have this discussion. Going to bed sounded so much better. So much more normal. “Well, it isn’t as if I don’t hear that every day.”

  The thick vein on his forehead that always throbbed when he was angry pulsed right on cue. “You’re comparing me to your pitiful wannabe clients? I’m being lumped in with those lost souls you counsel? You’re going to treat me like some fucked-up …”

  I thrust my hand up in a stop gesture, and held it in front of his face. “Okay. Tell me.” I surrender. The faster I get this over with, the quicker I can crawl under my covers and pretend my excursion with Maxie was only a bad dream—or a vampire-created hallucination. Then I can figure out why I almost shot my ex-boyfriend. I’m too young for menopause.

  He relaxed in his chair, maintaining eye contact. “I’m not sure where to begin. Meeting Zoë that night you took me to Devereux’s club changed everything.”

  Here comes a long, tedious Tom tale.

  “How did meeting Zoë change everything? You mean because she’s a vampire and you were certain no such things existed?”

  “Yeah, her being a vampire was certainly the big news, but initially I had other things on my mind. At first, it was just the obvious. She’s a fabulous-looking woman with a great body and I’m a guy. After we danced for a while, she suggested we go to one of the small private rooms up on the second floor and get to know each other better. She was definitely playing my tune. I’m always up for a quick tumble with a gorgeous woman.” He winked.

  Yeah, that’ll happen.

  “Anyway, we got naked and she started talking about being a vampire. I figured she was nuts, but I humored her. It wasn’t like I was going to let something as lame as her vampire delusion interfere with my orgasm.” He waggled his eyebrows. “I guess I can be a little self-absorbed sometimes.”

  “You think?” I laughed so long he raised his voice to regain my attention.

  “Ahem. Okay, okay. She said she was going to show me she was a vampire, and she let her fangs descend. All this time she’d been staring into my eyes, making me feel like I’d had a few tokes of good Mexican, and just as I was about to have the best climax I’d ever had …” He stopped and patted my hand. “No offense meant, of course. Our sex life was great, too.”

  I laughed again, snorting a time or two. He was so pitifully self-obsessed. “No offense taken. Go on with your story. I’m all ears.” I was so tired I couldn’t even work up any annoyance at his density.

  He frowned. I could almost see the wheels in his brain turning as he tried to figure out what was so funny. “So, best climax, etcetera, and then she bites me. Chomps down on my neck with her sharp teeth. For a couple of seconds it hurt like hell, but then it felt—well, I’m sure you know how it felt, since you and Devereux …”

  Multiple orgasmic body rushes, soul-melding transcendence, toe-curling ambrosia.

  “Yes, I know how it felt. Then what?”

  “Well, after she convinced me she was really a vampire, we sat and talked until dawn. She told me how she’d been turned, and how lonely she’d been until she joined Devereux’s coven. Evidently, he’s held in high regard by the vampire community. She says he’s strict but fair—something that isn’t common in their world. The vampire who ‘sired’ her is a wuss, so consequently, she isn’t as powerful as she would have been if someone like Devereux had brought her over. But, apparently if she drinks Devereux’s blood, she gets stronger. I guess that’s one of the things he does for his coven members.”

  I sat up straighter in my chair. I’d never heard that. Devereux was very close-mouthed about his coven. He shared his blood with them? I guessed that made sense, although something about it made me feel uncomfortable. What bothered me about it? Was it the intimacy of it, or the fact that he hadn’t told me? I pushed those questions out of my brain and turned my attention back to Tom. Too much to think about.

  “So, I still don’t understand how hanging out with Zoë has made you want to die. That’s what really happens, you know. It isn’t usually glamorous or romantic. You’d be dead. A corpse. A blood drinker …”

  “Yeah, I get it.” He paused and studied me. “Is that really how you think of Devereux? As a corpse? Or are you just giving me your therapist spiel?”

  I had to think for a few seconds. Devereux was unique in ways that had nothing to do with vampirism—all that magical mysticism and Druid ancestry. “No. I guess I don’t think of him that way, but it’s still the reality for most. And if I didn’t mention that particular set of truths to my clients, I’d be lying. From what little I know about the process, it isn’t as if a new vampire simply springs forth with powers and ancient knowledge. All that stuff comes with time. Sometimes decades—centuries. And unless a powerful vampire does the turning, a newbie could spend eternity as someone’s flunky. Does that sound appealing to you?”

  He gave me his best nefarious grin. “Not in the least. That’s why I’m here to sign up with the most powerful vampire there is. If Devereux brings me over, I’ll be in the top percentage of
vampires.”

  “The top percentage of vampires?” I hooted out a laugh. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard you say, and you’ve given me lots to compare it to. If you think being a vampire is just another lifestyle choice, you’re a bigger ass than I thought. Is this some kind of competition to you? Some kind of undead award you’re after? Being a member of an exclusive club? What has Zoë been telling you? Why would you think Devereux would participate in such a thing?”

  His face fell, as if he’d momentarily abandoned his performance. “I’m getting old, Kismet.”

  I felt my eyebrows rise and my shoulders slump. “What?” I knew he was fixated on staying young, but he was only eight years older than me. Not old by any rational standard.

  “I’m not even forty yet and I have wrinkles.” He shook his head. “My plastic surgeon said I’ve already had too many procedures for someone my age and that my skin is sun damaged. He refuses to operate on me and says if I go to another doctor, I’ll end up looking like one of those scary plastic-surgery-gone-wrong types who don’t even appear human anymore. My career is just starting to come together, and I live in la-la land, where we worship youth and beauty. Zoë says if I come over now, I’ll stay as I am forever. Maybe even gain a little youth in the process. I could at least be a star for a few years before they notice I’m not aging.”

  I realized my mouth had been hanging open, so I closed it. “Wait a minute. What about the famous, good-ol’-boy television psychologist? The current media darling who was mentored into fame and fortune? He’s no spring chicken, plus he’s chubby and losing his hair. He hasn’t built his empire on his physical appearance. Why are you so paranoid? Have you considered that it might be a good thing to appear old and wise?”

  He sprang out of the chair and paced around the kitchen, no longer making eye contact. “Old and wise won’t work for the project I just pitched to cable. It’s an edgy reality program for an adult audience. I’d be counseling people, but not in a talk show format.”

  I watched him march back and forth across the room. “Well, if not a talk show, what would it be?”

  He mumbled something under his breath.

  “What did you say? I didn’t hear you.”

  He paused in front of me, crossed his arms over his chest, and cleared his throat. “Everything’s tentative right now—my people are talking to their people—but I’d be Dr. Sex. I’d … actively … counsel people who have sexual problems. Sort of a glorified sexual surrogate. We’d have a tasteful—yet erotic—bedroom set and all the sessions would take place there.” He eased into the chair again. “It would be on one of the premium channels. Lots of full-body shots. So, you can see why I need to be young and attractive.”

  I bit my lip to keep from laughing again. I got a sudden visual of Tom, at his most pompous, instructing people on how to efficiently shove part A into part B, and then demonstrating the correct way to accomplish the task. It sounded like porn to me.

  “So, what’s the difference between that and a porn movie?”

  He thrust his chin into the air. “Sex therapists are professionals. I’d have to get a license for that specialty. I can assure you there’s no license needed for porn!”

  Oops. I’d hit a nerve. Apparently, he must’ve had some mixed emotions about the porn thing, too. We both knew that making one false move professionally could cause him to lose his psychology license.

  “You came up with the idea for this program all by yourself?”

  He reclaimed his chair and fanned his fingers out on the table, pretending to examine his manicured nails. “The idea was tossed around at a party I attended. You probably remember that I have a keen interest in all aspects of sex, right?” I nodded at the understatement of the year. “Well, some friends and I were experimenting, and a couple of them teasingly asked if I knew the best position to achieve a certain goal, and I just happened to have that knowledge, so I showed them. In fact, I demonstrated various techniques to several people. At the end of the evening, someone remarked that I should go into business as a sex therapist, because I was so good at it. And, not only that, but they’d videotaped the evening and when I watched the film, I had to agree that the camera loved me. I did seem to have a knack for sex therapy.”

  Trying not to laugh by holding my lower lip between my teeth was starting to hurt. My jaw made a cracking sound when I opened my mouth. I struggled to keep a serious expression on my face. “I’m not clear on the actual therapy part of this plan. What else happens besides a lot of orgasms? Can you even do that stuff on television?”

  “Yes, on special channels for adults.” He nodded enthusiastically. “I forgot to mention that during the session, while I’m describing the sex techniques, I’m also talking to them about the psychological reasons for their problems, and about ways to enhance emotional intimacy. When I demonstrate something myself, I share with them personal issues I’ve overcome in order to become the man I am today. During a mock session, one of the audience members even cried at the end. It was tremendously moving. So, can you see why I’m excited about this idea? I’d get to do two things I love—sex and therapy—as well as make money and be on television. It just doesn’t get any better than that.”

  He stared at me expectantly.

  I didn’t want to say “I see” again, so I just stared back at him and noticed his unnatural ashen appearance once more. “Why are you so pale? Are you sick? Is that really why you think you want to become one of the children of the night? Is this whole Dr. Sex story just a cover?”

  He gave me a sheepish look. “No. I’m not sick. I really do want to be on television. I’m so white because Zoë’s been trying to turn me, and she just doesn’t have the juice.” He lowered his gaze. “She’s getting a little worried because, no matter how much blood we swap, the only thing that happens is that I get weaker. She’s afraid she’s just killing me instead of following the transformation ritual. She wasn’t totally clear on how to perform it. In fact, we’ve just been making it up as we go along.”

  “There’s a transformation ritual?”

  “Yeah. Zoë asked a bloodsucker she met in California for information, and apparently there are a couple of routes to becoming a vampire. The most painless one has lots of steps and involves both the sucker and the suckee holding a pure desire—whatever that is.”

  “Pure desire? Devereux told me that the turning process was more complicated than what’s portrayed in movies and books, but he didn’t elaborate.” And Devereux’s dead mother had mentioned something about it being difficult to become a vampire. She said intention was needed. If I ever ran into—or through—her again, I’d be sure to ask what she meant, along with a couple hundred other questions.

  Then I remembered something Tom had just said and grimaced. “Go back to the thing about swapping blood. You’re drinking Zoë’s blood?” Geez. All the chemicals in his peels, facials, and hair dye jobs must have seeped through his skin and started rotting his brain. He was crazier than most of my clients. I had no idea he’d gotten so desperate.

  He narrowed his eyes and pressed his lips together tightly for a few seconds. “You hypocrite! You’re boinking a corpse. You let him drink your blood. Are you honestly expecting me to believe that you’ve never sampled his? That you’ve never been on the receiving end?”

  Since my judgmental opinion was probably written all over my face, I couldn’t blame him for having such a reaction.

  I had a quick memory flash of participating in a vampire-packed ritual myself where Devereux handed me a golden chalice filled with blood. He’d created the magical ceremony to protect me from the dark creature who’d targeted me. I remember taking a sip from the cup and finding the taste thick and unpleasant. At the time, I wasn’t sure if I really drank from the chalice or only imagined I did. Now I knew I’d done the deed. And it was an experience I didn’t plan to repeat.

  “We’re not talking about me. I’m not the one going on a liquid diet. But, for your information, no.
I haven’t sampled his.” That was true as far as I knew. The chalice had been filled with the blood of the vampires in the ritual circle. I didn’t remember seeing Devereux contribute to the potluck.

  We locked eyes for a few seconds, both scowling. His brown eyes softened and he reached across the table and took my hands in his. “Will you help me, Kismet? Will you talk to Devereux for me? Put in a good word? Please?”

  Wow. Tom had to be desperate if he was willing to admit he needed anyone’s help for anything.

  Shit. I could imagine the conversation I’d have with Devereux. Devereux, my love. Would you please drain all the blood from my ex-boyfriend Tom so he can die and rise as a vampire to become the world-renowned Dr. Sex on cable TV? Yeah, that would be fun. Time for some artful avoidance.

  I stood and patted Tom’s cheek. “Let me sleep on it.”

  He smiled, “I could help you sleep on it.”

  Laughing, I walked out of the kitchen, trudged up the stairs and into the bathroom. I locked the door, stripped off the bloody clothes, and took the world’s quickest shower. Still wet, I bolted into my bedroom, secured that door, peeled down the covers—which were still clean—and jumped into the bed.

  I slept like the dead.

  Chapter Ten

  “Looks like you threw quite a party. I’m sure the master will be amused.”

  My eyes flew open. Standing next to my bed was Luna, Devereux’s personal assistant and undead pit bull. It wasn’t full dark, but since she was vertical, it was safe to assume the sun had gone behind the mountains. I’d slept the entire day away.

  She was dressed in her familiar black leather: skintight pants and a cleavage-enhancing bustier. Her eye makeup was sedate compared to her usual Cleopatra-inspired artistry. Only one color of eye shadow, rather than the multi-hued extravaganza she regularly painted on. But the bold design was still a sharp contrast to her very pale skin. Long, straight hair fell like a thick, black veil in an unintended salute to Morticia from The Addams Family. Her silver eyes reminded me of … the murdering psychopath from the night before. I took a breath and forced myself to banish that thought. It wasn’t safe to send out any unconscious invitations.