Dark Harvest Page 13

  “What are you talking about? What party?” I sat up and something fell from my forehead down onto my breasts. I’d been in such a hurry to get into bed that I hadn’t taken the time to put on a nightgown. Or anything else.

  Without thinking about my state of undress, I flicked on the bedside lamp, squinted down at the shiny blue thong displayed on my chest, and tried to remember why strange underwear would’ve been on my head. Unless I’d blacked out and one of my split personalities had invited someone for a sleepover, I had no answer to the mystery.

  Luna bent down, lifted the thong with one finger, and dangled it in the air in front of my face. An evil smile spread across her lips. “I hope the sex was worth dying for, because the master is going to destroy him.”

  I tugged a blanket over my exposed breasts and stared at the blue fabric. I snatched the unidentified object from her finger and gave it a close inspection. There, embroidered across the front in golden thread, were the initials TR. Well, at least I knew why Tom hadn’t left any underwear in the bathroom when he got dressed. He obviously still enjoyed whipping off his skimpy thong and throwing it into the air before getting down to business. Some things never changed. While I was glad to have solved the puzzle, I was disgusted by the fact that the tacky garment had somehow ended up on my head.

  I tossed Tom’s underwear on the floor and met the smirking gaze of the Amazon vampire looming over me. “Tom and Zoë frolicked in my room while I was gone last night. That’s his thong. Not that I owe you any kind of explanation.”

  She snorted. “I’ll be sure to tell the master. I’m certain he’ll be understanding. He’s so trusting of your sincerity.”

  I wasn’t awake enough to deal with Luna. Actually, I was never awake enough to deal with the hostile she-devil. She’d loathed me even before we met, based on the fact that Devereux enjoyed my company. To Luna, humans were only useful as a food source. She couldn’t imagine any other reason to have one of us around. I’d never figured out if there was any jealousy in the mix—if she wanted Devereux for herself—or if it really was about her belief that humans were inferior liquid delivery systems.

  The fact that Devereux’s assistant looked like a cross between a Playboy bunny and a supermodel didn’t make dealing with her any easier. We’d unwillingly spent time together a few months earlier when Devereux ordered her to protect me. She’d fought an insane vampire to save my life and wound up on the short end of the fang. Watching Luna struggle to control her bloodlust while her body healed the battle scars was the most terrifying experience I’ve ever had. She regressed to a primitive state, took control of my mind, and paralyzed my body. I was literally at her mercy. If it hadn’t been for the magic talisman I wore, she’d have drained me dry. I know that because she told me. And I believed her.

  Devereux assured me he and Luna had never been intimate, and I trusted him, but every time I saw her outrageous body I wondered, why not?

  I frowned, thinking about coffee. “So, why are you here? What do you want?”

  She lifted her upper lip in an Elvis-like sneer to show me her fangs. She was one creepy bloodsucker.

  “Never mind. I know what you want.” I snugged the blanket up a little higher. “And you know you aren’t going to get it. Devereux won’t let you suck on me. So, again, why are you here?”

  “Lucky for you I fed before I arrived, otherwise I might be tempted to drink from you, heal the punctures, and erase your memory. You’re fortunate I’m loyal to the master. But never doubt that I’m still counting the minutes until he casts you aside. Then all your protection will end, and we’ll … rendezvous.

  “He sent me to tell you he is still involved with the warring covens, so he won’t be available until after midnight. He wants you to join him at The Crypt then. He also commands that you wear the protective necklace he gave you.”

  She snarled and vanished.

  He commands?

  Devereux had given me the magical silver pentagram—the one that kept Luna from my throat—when I’d been stalked by a mentally deranged, serial murdering vampire who caused my world to fall apart five months earlier. It hadn’t kept the monster away completely, but it discouraged several other hungry undead predators from turning me into a buffet. Wearing the necklace sounded like a great idea.

  I’d only stopped wearing the beautiful pentagram because having the weight of it constantly against my skin became irritating. It was well made and substantial. I had to ask Devereux to remove the necklace, because he’d added some kind of extra wizardly voodoo that caused it to reappear around my neck immediately if I tried to remove it. Apparently, he was the only one who could hit the pause button on the spell. So, now the silver treasure hung from the corner of my mirror.

  I flopped back into the bed and pulled the covers over my head.

  Well, Kismet, what’s it going to be? Should you get up, or hide under the covers? Hmmm. Difficult decision. Let’s review the reasons to burrow in: a maniacal killer who has plans for you, a bloodsucking supermodel who yearns to drain you dry, an ex-boyfriend who wants to become the undead Dr. Sex, and an ancient lust object who arranges your life to suit himself.

  As much as I wanted to put my bizarre world on hold, my body reminded me that no matter how crazy things got, I still had to pee. I sat up, threw my legs over the side of the bed, and stood. I shuffled to the closet, grabbed my fluffy pink robe, and scurried next door to the bathroom.

  I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror over the sink and laughed. I’d gotten my hair wet in the shower before climbing into bed, and my thick, dark curls stuck out in all directions like a fright wig. My skin seemed whiter than usual, but that was probably due to the shock of witnessing a murder. And then being brain-slimed by the killer. It would’ve been unnatural to have no physical reactions to the insanity. I was surprised I was functional at all.

  Craving caffeine, I headed down to the kitchen to load up my Mr. Coffee. It felt unnatural to wake up this late in the day. My whole system was out of whack. I stood staring at the pot while the aromatic elixir brewed.

  I noticed my empty couch and its lack of occupancy. If Tom had spent the day there, he’d left no evidence behind. No clothes on the floor or take-out food containers on the table. Now that he had his own personal vampire transport service, I knew I hadn’t seen the last of him. Especially since he intended to use me to ingratiate himself with Devereux.

  Reveling in the silence, I’d just grabbed the handle of the coffeepot to pour my first brain-stimulating dose of nirvana when there was a loud pounding on my front door.

  The sound startled me and I almost dropped the pot. “What the hell now?”

  The banging continued, and I stomped over to the door.

  I flicked on the porch light, eyeballed the peephole, and saw white hair. Releasing the locks, I pulled the door open.

  “Maxie!”

  She leapt inside, closed and locked the door, pressed her body against it, and stared at me.

  She looked like I felt. Her skin was pasty and there were dark circles under her tired blue eyes. She had severe bed hair and a pillow crease across her cheek.

  I touched her arm. “Maxie, what happened to you? Where did those guys take you? Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. No. Damned if I know. That’s why I’m here. I hoped you could tell me what the hell happened to me.”

  “Come inside. I need coffee. Do you want some?”

  “Does a werewolf shit in the woods?”

  “I’ll take that as a yes.” We shuffled like zombies into the kitchen and I pulled out a chair at the table. “Sit down. How do you take your coffee? Do you want something to eat? I’ve got bagels.”

  “Black for the coffee and no for the food. But don’t let me stop you.”

  I filled two mugs, carried them to the table, and sat across from her. We both drank silently for a few seconds. It was as if we both understood the importance of the sacred coffee ritual. Neither of us wanted to disturb the other’s ecstatic mome
nt. But, finally, she put her mug down, glanced at me, and burst out laughing.

  “Have you seen your hair?”

  I smiled, because I had. “Have you seen yours?”

  “Yeah.” She nodded. “I didn’t take a shower or brush my hair or anything. I didn’t know what else to do besides come here.” Her eyes went vacant. “I only have sketchy memories of anything after the two satanic wannabes grabbed me from the mezzanine. I’m missing a lot of details. A portion of the videotape in my brain was edited. I just woke up about an hour ago in my apartment, still dressed in the clothes I wore last night, and I’m not sure how I got there.” She stared down into her coffee. “Shit, Kismet. How the hell did they just appear like that? How did they get me down to my car, because I have vague recollections of driving? Why would I just take off and leave you there? Jesus. I was so terrified when I woke up and thought about what might have happened to you. Especially after I guilted you into going with me.” She turned frightened eyes to me. “What happened?”

  Without thinking, I almost blurted out the truth. I was right on the verge of unburdening myself about the existence of vampires, homicidal rituals, and the reality of one psychotic, murdering bloodsucker in particular. I’d actually gone so far as to form the first word with my lips when I remembered who I was sitting with, and, more important, what she did for a living.

  I held Maxie’s gaze, adopted my compassionate therapist expression, and hoped Victoria had been exaggerating about my face’s inability to bluff.

  Maxie had told me she’d never found any evidence for the existence of the paranormal. She also said she was worried about her job. It didn’t take a brain surgeon to figure out what she’d do with any information I shared. Even if she couldn’t prove anything I said, it wouldn’t matter. I’d be the story. Just another chapter in the crazed adventures of a formerly respected local psychologist who’d gone ’round the preternatural bend. Given the rag she worked for, proof wouldn’t be an issue. I couldn’t put myself or my clients in jeopardy by indulging loose lips.

  I reached across the table and took her hand. “What do you remember?”

  She studied my face for a moment, extricated her hand from mine, and lifted her coffee mug. She frowned and broke eye contact, staring down at the table. I got a quick sense that Maxie was hiding something, which was weird because I was the one trying to avoid telling any impossible tales.

  This sudden intuitive flash about Maxie made me realize I hadn’t had any hits about her before. Not even when we first met. I replayed our time together, trying to recall any instances where my psychic radar had given me insights about her, and drew a blank. I couldn’t think of any other time in my life when I’d been unable to sense someone’s emotions or read between the lines. Either my empathic and clairsentient abilities were on the fritz, or Maxie shielded better than anyone I’d ever met.

  She raised her gaze to mine. “I remember us lying on our bellies on the balcony, looking down at the chubby guy being killed on the stage below. Or, pretending to be killed, whatever. Although the guy did seem pretty convincing. I’d just started snapping photos again when I was snatched off the floor by a couple of creeps in black robes. There’s a page missing in my memory book at that point. I think I surfaced later, long enough to observe myself driving. How the hell could I observe myself driving? What does that even mean? Did you see them take me?” She pointed to herself.

  “Yes, I did. They must have sneaked up behind us, because I didn’t hear them coming. There had to be a staircase up to the balcony from the main floor. Maybe they’d been there, watching us the whole time.”

  She didn’t appear convinced. “I don’t know. I think I would’ve heard a couple of wannabes creeping up behind me. I’ve got a black belt in paranoia, and I pride myself on being able to sense the freaks before they get close enough to hassle me. But even if there was a staircase, that doesn’t explain why I don’t remember anything.”

  I sighed. “Yeah, that’s true.” It was official: I sucked at lying. Dancing around the truth was already making me feel like shit. Technically, I had no actual proof about why her memory was impaired, but I’d seen evidence of a certain bloodsucking sociopath’s mind-control abilities, and strongly suspected he’d erased Maxie’s mental tapes. But did I really have any choice? Which was worse? Holding back information that Maxie probably wouldn’t believe anyway, or exposing myself and my clients to another media blitz of ridicule and scorn? No contest. I’d say whatever was necessary to point her in a different direction. Maybe I could eventually convince myself that I’d protected her from horrors she really didn’t need to know about.

  “Do you think you might have been drugged?”

  Her eyebrows shot up her forehead. “Drugged? How the hell could I have gotten drugged? I didn’t eat or drink anything. But, come to think of it, I did feel pretty hung over when I woke up a little while ago.”

  “It’s relatively easy to administer a sedative using a syringe. You might not even feel the needle. That would explain the memory loss.”

  She stared at me with her mouth open. Her voice rose in pitch. “Holy shit. You mean those bogus little perverts might have taken me for some disgusting sexual reason? You’re saying they might have done something to me? That they …”

  I raised both palms in the air. “Stop! Wait! That’s not what I’m saying.” Way to go, Kismet. Make everything a thousand times worse. You are the worst liar on the face of the earth. “You said you woke up wearing your clothes. If they’d done anything to you, they probably wouldn’t have left everything on, right?”

  She frowned. “Yeah, maybe.”

  I lowered my hands, folding them on the table, just like a regular, non-lying person would do. “You don’t feel like you’ve been violated, right?” I’d better be careful. The last thing I want to do is plant the seeds of a false memory. I’m willing to lie, but I’m not willing to hurt her. Hallow said she drove herself home and I’m going to make myself believe that.

  “No.” She shrugged. “Not physically. But if they didn’t do anything to me, why the hell would they drug me? And why didn’t they take both of us?”

  My brain spun. She was right. Why wouldn’t they have taken me, too? Unless I wanted to tell her about my meeting with the blood-covered genie vampire, I had to come up with another layer of lies. It couldn’t be good that my comfort level for creating blatant fabrications was increasing. I’d need to roll my imaginary pant legs up pretty soon. I took a breath and waded back in.

  “I did hear one of them say the word reporter when they lifted you up.”

  “Reporter? How the hell would they know I was a reporter?”

  I reached out and touched her white curtain of hair. “Distinctive, wouldn’t you say? You mentioned you’ve been covering these events for a while. It makes sense that they’d know who you are and how you look. Maybe they wanted you gone before they did whatever else they were going to do at their sick little performance. They could’ve seen you taking pictures.”

  She stared at me. “What could they have been planning that would be worth drugging me? What could a bunch of low-life losers be doing to warrant such a cover-up?”

  Finally, something I could be truthful about. “I don’t have a clue. You know more about their activities than I do.”

  “Did you see anything after they took me?”

  I shook my head, wondering if my nose was growing. “I stood there, stunned, for a couple of minutes, not knowing what to do. The crowd downstairs poured out the front doors and I left the way we came. By the time I got down the fire escape, all the wannabes had gone. I wandered around a while, searching for any sign of you, then I called a cab. Luckily, the cab company knew where the condemned amusement park was.”

  Her eyebrows rose. “You called a cab?”

  “Well, yeah. What other choice did I have? I went to the other side of the park where you’d left your car, just to see if you were waiting there for me, but you weren’t. The car was gone.
So, I could either put one foot in front of the other, or call a cab. Since I had no idea where I was, walking home in the middle of the night wasn’t an option.”

  Great. Throw in a little guilt to make her feel even worse.

  She sighed and slouched back in her chair. “I told you I usually manage to get myself into trouble. I’m really sorry I dragged you into that mess. You must have freaked when you couldn’t find me. I promise never to nag you into doing anything you don’t want to ever again.” She locked eyes with me, her lips pursed. “Will you give me another chance, friend? Can we go have those margaritas and listen to that jazz sometime? Or did I scare you off?”

  Shit. I don’t feel like much of a friend right now—more like something scraped from underneath a toenail.

  I gazed at her exhausted face, found my compassion and smiled. “I’d love to do the margs and jazz sometime. I listen to some pretty strange stuff in my office every day. It isn’t so easy to scare me off.”

  “That’s great.” She grinned and rose slowly from the chair, as if her muscles were sore. “I’m going to take off now. I’ve got to come up with some kind of story for the newspaper.” She snorted. “I’ll just make something up. Nobody will know the difference. And I’m sure you have plans with that gorgeous, rich blond guy you hang out with. I hope you’ll trust me enough at some point to introduce us. I promise not to ask any obnoxious reporter-type questions. If his face looks half as good up close as it does in a camera lens, I might have to give you a run for your money.”

  “We’ll see.” I laughed. “Devereux’s a pretty busy guy. I never know when he’s going to show up, but if the opportunity presents itself, I’ll introduce you.”