Dark Harvest Page 4

  “Kismet! Isn’t this a marvelous day?” Still smiling, Victoria shot out of her chair. She glided over to me with her arms extended, in preparation for one of her friendly hugs. Gathering me close, she squeezed enthusiastically, then stepped back, grasping my upper arms. “Are you okay? I heard that Carson idiot on the radio this morning. Was he as big an asshole as he seemed to be? He made me reconsider my vow to do no harm!” Her eyes sparkled with humor.

  I leaned forward and gave her a quick peck on the cheek. “Asshole is an understatement. He’s definitely toad material. Are you sure I can’t talk you into casting just one little spell?” We both laughed.

  She released my arms and smiled. “Can you come and sit for a minute? I haven’t seen you for days.” Without waiting for my answer, she grabbed the hand that wasn’t clutching my briefcase, and tugged me over to a nearby couch.

  Victoria was a study in contrasts. Her naturally curly, golden blond hair was chin-length, with tight spirals framing a heart-shaped face. Sharp cheekbones, dimples, a straight nose, and round, peridot-colored eyes caused her to have the appearance of the exotic girl next door. Her face always reminded me of a Shirley Temple doll I’d seen in an antique shop. But her body was a different story. It was voluptuous in the richest sense of the word—wide hips, rounded belly, and generous breasts. The self-identified Wiccan Mae West. Several inches shorter than me, she favored very high wedge-type shoes, so we usually saw eye to eye.

  Half the fun of coming to my office was checking out Victoria’s daily wardrobe choice. She had a vast collection of flowing goddess dresses in vibrant colors, and a never-ending supply of gemstone jewelry, much of which she made herself. In addition to being Devereux’s building manager, she was the high priestess of a local coven of witches and the owner of an Internet-based Wiccan ritual supply business.

  She locked eyes with me, face serious. “Are you going to tell Devereux about the vampire hunter who called the radio show?”

  The question took me by surprise, and my jaw dropped. Not only because Victoria had never mentioned vampires in any form before, but because the scary, on-air bloodsucker had asserted that none of the radio listeners could hear him. My facial expression must have been an open book, because she nodded, frowning.

  “Yes. I heard him. Every evil word. He’s very powerful. And very dangerous,” she said.

  My brain spun for a few seconds, questions lining up, elbowing each other as they all tried to cram through the doorway to my mouth. Of course she had to know about vampires. How could she work for Devereux for so many years without acknowledging the fanged elephant in the room?

  “Wait a minute. If you could hear him, then he lied about nobody being aware of our discussion. So, why should I believe he was a vampire? He was probably just another lost soul looking for attention.”

  She pressed her hand on mine. “No. He’s exactly what he said he is. I could hear him because I have the unique ability to resist the powers of the undead. That’s one of the reasons Devereux hired me. I’m his bloodsucker bullshit detector.”

  I stared at her, speechless. Once again my reality basket proved to be nothing more than a sieve, allowing trickles of long-held truths to stream away into oblivion. I’d apparently leapt to faulty conclusions about Victoria’s sweet, Earth Mother appearance and missed yet another train leaving the parallel universe station. Like everyone, I saw the world through my expectations, beliefs, and limitations, but I was continually astounded by the evidence of how narrow my lens really was. And how relentlessly I still clung to my notions of “real.”

  She cocked her head and grinned. “New information, eh? I’m not exactly what you thought I was, right?” She patted my hand. “I figured we’d get around to telling each other the truth one of these days. The vampire hunter showing up just kicked the schedule’s butt a little. I spoke up because I wanted to make sure you realized what you’re dealing with. I think it’s highly meaningful that he wanted to talk to you, specifically.”

  I licked my lips and cleared my throat, finally shepherding my wandering thought sheep into a herdable mass. “Why did he want to talk to me? I’ve only been involved in the vampire community for a few months. I’m no expert—yet. Why focus on me?”

  “That’s a good question. Wish I had an answer. But one thing’s certain: he wasn’t telling you the whole story, and somehow you’re involved. Whether you want to be or not.” She paused, studying me. “I guess being the love muffin of the most powerful vampire in Denver has its downsides, eh? You probably had no idea about all the undead drama you’d get tangled in. I’d be willing to bet nothing in your education or training prepared you for the last six months.”

  I opened my mouth to respond, then pressed my lips together, still watching her. Victoria had given me an opportunity to vent some of my frustrations—to share my confusion with someone involved in the freak-show weirdness. Working as a therapist was a lonely occupation anyway, and choosing such a “unique” clinical focus meant I couldn’t even consult with colleagues. Having no healthy outlet for my own issues was a recipe for professional disaster. And it wasn’t as if I didn’t like Victoria. From the first moment we’d met when I came to look at the office Devereux offered, she and I had clicked. Our Inner Children had bonded. But something made me hold back. Maybe it was just my suspicious nature, but since she worked for Devereux, discussing him with her felt like crossing a mental field strewn with hidden psychic land mines.

  She chuckled. “I hope you’re not a poker player, because your face reflects every emotion you feel. You wouldn’t last ten minutes at the gaming table! Of course, I’m more perceptive than most, but you’d be a lamb to the slaughter.” She smiled softly. “I just want you to know that I’m available anytime you need a shoulder or a pal. Yes, I do work for Devereux, but my first allegiance is to myself. I’m a very loyal friend. And, I happen to know Devereux very well—warts and all. I’m aware of his intense personality. He’s been a powerful immortal for so long that it doesn’t usually occur to him that others might have different needs and desires. He tends to wear people down—like charming Chinese water torture!”

  I relaxed and smiled. That was a perfect description of how Devereux behaved with me, and I hadn’t come to terms with the dissonant emotions his gentle bulldozing caused. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to share a little.

  “Charming Chinese water torture? What a great description of Devereux’s communication style. You know, he’s wonderful in so many ways—handsome, intelligent, creative, thoughtful—the man of my dreams who just happens to be a walking corpse. But he wants me to acknowledge that I’m his long-awaited ‘mate,’ and he isn’t shy about pushing me in that direction. For some reason, my acceptance of that title seems to hold more importance than it should. I don’t understand why it’s such a big deal.” I shook my head. “Why can’t he just let our relationship unfold slowly so I can get used to it?

  “He’s always popping in, unannounced, doing his best to convince me that his plan for the evening is better than mine. I know he’s gorgeous, and he smells good, and the sex is great. And there’s no question that traveling through thought is amazing. But he’s so … so bossy! He’s always digging up yet another thing I need to be protected from—coming up with one more reason to treat me like his fragile possession. He just lifts that magnificent chin into the air and makes proclamations, as if I have no opinions. And so far, nothing he’s warned me about has proven to be problematic. Talk about crying wolf. Most of the time I can’t decide whether I want to jump on him or run, screaming, into the night.”

  Victoria snickered, fanning herself.

  I paused, realizing I’d said more than I meant to. Apparently, I really did need someone to talk to. My therapeutic persona was definitely in danger of springing a leak. “I’m sorry. I know better than to keep all my emotions bottled up, because when they finally spill out, it’s messy. Being a therapist is easy for me because my role is clear—strictly defined. But dealing with the rest of m
y life? I’ve never been good with that.”

  She smiled gently and took my hand in hers. “You’re so hard on yourself. If you think that controlled bit of self-disclosure was messy, remind me never to call you in the midst of one of my PMS-driven, chocolate-fueled pity parties. You’d have me locked up! Hey, I know. You should come to one of my coven’s rituals. A little wild, sweaty dancing around a fire would do wonders for you.” She hooted out a laugh and squeezed my hand. “Or maybe not. Since you just looked as horrified as if I’d asked you to run naked down the Sixteenth Street Mall, I’ll assume your dance card for strange experiences is currently all filled up. Perhaps we’ll put off your visit to Witch Central for a while longer. But here’s some unsolicited advice about Devereux: he is one of the most terrifyingly powerful creatures on the planet, but he’s got a loving soul. And he’s trainable. If you let him manipulate you, he will. It’s human—and vampire—nature. But if you say ‘no,’ he’ll have to deal. Stop being so nice!”

  She guided my hand back to my lap and patted it maternally. “Don’t take any of his shit!” Giving a theatrical, stereotypical witch’s cackle, she stood, waving her arms through the air to indicate her territory. “I’m always here and my circle’s always open to you.”

  “You should’ve been a therapist.” I stood. “You’re pretty good at this interpersonal stuff.”

  “I am pretty good at it. But therapy has too many rules. It’s too restrictive. I get plenty of opportunities to build my skills as the Healer and Seer for my coven. It’s more fun to make stuff up as I go along. I hope this is only the first of many conversations we’ll have. Remember: take no shit!”

  “Take no shit!” I yelled, thrusting my fist into the air over my head. It felt good to get into the spirit of things. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d just had fun. Professional persona be damned!

  Victoria’s eyes went wide and she clamped her hand over her mouth. She was staring at the area behind me and I turned to follow her gaze. Hesitating just inside the glass entrance door was a group of people, huddled together. They appeared more inclined to bolt away rather than make the trek across the lobby. My first client, her fiancé, and both sets of parents were right on time.

  Shit.

  Chapter Four

  The view from the bank of the west-facing windows in my office was spectacular. I stood watching as the sun gracefully descended behind the high peaks of the Rockies—making its daily journey into the archetypal underworld. A solar Persephone honoring its pledge to rendezvous with the darkness.

  Surreal colors arced across the sky, creating otherworldly designs, like angelic Rorschach blots. Soft shades stroked visual hands along the contours of my soul, saturating my eyes and making me catch my breath. Sharp hues exploded, sparking ancestral memories.

  Watching the amazing color and light show unfolding above the mountains helped me to put life—mine and my clients’—into perspective. This enjoyable ritual gave me a few minutes to weave the threads of the day into a larger tapestry. To cling to the illusion of control.

  Remembering the expressions on the faces of the clients I’d startled in the lobby after my conversation with Victoria made me smile. I suppose I could’ve made up some excuse for the behavior they’d witnessed, but I decided to follow the first rule of psychotherapy: when in doubt, say nothing. I’d developed the “therapist nod” into an art form. That gentle up-and-down head motion performed by all counselors. A compassionate invitation to surrender—the quintessential soft place to fall. There is something to be said for silent, unconditional, positive regard.

  In the midst of my decompression daydream, my inner radar suddenly engaged, and I sensed the change in the room’s energy before I heard the faint “pop” sound, indicating the arrival of a vampire.

  “Good evening, Dr. Knight.”

  Hand extended, I moved toward the elegantly dressed man who’d materialized into the center of my office. He clasped my hand in his. “Hello, Mr. Roth. It’s good to see you. Right on time, as always. Please be seated.”

  He gave a brief nod before settling himself in the middle of the nearest couch and arranging his ever-present briefcase next to his feet on the carpet.

  Mr. Roth was a successful Denver attorney. As was his habit, he wore a handsome, gray, Italian-designed business suit, complete with a crisp white shirt and a red tie. His short, black hair was slicked back from his wide forehead—Dracula-style—and dark brown eyes shone with intelligence underneath thick, arched brows. His nose was slightly too small for his slender face, and his chin a bit too large, as if he’d been taken apart and put back together using the wrong parts.

  Although he gave the impression of being serious and businesslike, he’d introduced me to his sense of humor during our first session. When I’d asked about his decision to become a lawyer after decades of being a vampire, he’d said it was natural for a bloodsucker to be an attorney. In fact, he said, the words were synonymous.

  Since vampires had no need of attorneys, he represented the worst kinds of human perpetrators: murderers, rapists, child molesters—mortal monsters of all varieties. I’d inquired about why he represented the dregs of humanity, and he said he enjoyed the game. I assumed he meant the legal game, but he’d corrected me, saying it was all about winning the case—setting the person free—before taking matters into his own fangs and draining him dry.

  Justice, vampire-style.

  Let’s hear it for instant karma.

  He’d come to therapy after resisting draining one of his fouler clients. He was afraid it set an unhealthy precedent. We’re exploring the issue.

  I’d wondered how he managed his law practice in the day-based legal world, and he’d mentioned a human colleague. He said his inability to function during normal business hours was inconvenient, but it wasn’t an insurmountable problem. Apparently, Denver has a busy night court system.

  I gathered my writing pad and pen before sitting in my usual chair.

  He lifted his index finger. “Before we begin tonight, Doctor, I must apologize.” He paused dramatically. The combination of the mesmerizing tone of his vampire voice and the skills he’d perfected while orating before juries was impressive. It took all the grounding techniques I knew to remain unaffected. I didn’t think any human juror could resist his arguments. He had the most compelling voice I’d ever heard, and tonight it was especially hypnotic.

  Whoa. I just got the chills. Is he apologizing for something he did, or something he’s going to do? Sometimes I wish religious symbols really did affect vampires. It sure would be convenient to hide behind a cross or a Buddha statue once in a while.

  “Apologize, Mr. Roth?” I smiled to mask my reaction to the sudden tingling in my solar plexus. He’d never done anything out of order, but he was a vampire and I’d be a fool to forget that.

  He shook his head, folding his hands in his lap. “Ah, now I must apologize twice. First for needing to cut our session short this evening due to a rash of unexplained deaths, and second for allowing my distress over those deaths to cause my energy to be so intense that I frightened you. Please forgive me.”

  My deodorant just said “fuck it.”

  I wouldn’t even bother to claim I hadn’t been afraid. He’d obviously sensed—or maybe scented—my fear. And I’m sure my heart was pounding loud enough for him to dance to. Even though he wasn’t as skilled at telepathy as Devereux, he’d promised to mute his mind-reading abilities while we were in session. He’d been diligent about keeping his word until tonight, so clearly something troubled him.

  “There’s nothing to forgive.” I smiled. Whatever I’d felt from him earlier had dissipated. My radar quieted. “Tell me about these deaths.”

  He gave a brief nod of acknowledgment and crossed his legs, his brows contracted. “It’s all very strange. As you know, most vampires—especially weak, young ones—have little control over their appetites and impulses. Their world is violent, harsh, and dark. It isn’t until we survive beyond the fi
rst few years that our true personalities emerge once again, and we have choices. Most of us can’t even regulate our heart rate, breathing, or body temperature for centuries. So, given that environment, new bloodsuckers occasionally turn up truly dead for one reason or another. Usually, only a few per week, at most.” He uncrossed his legs and leaned forward. “Over the last month, there have been scores. All over the city. Vampires dying like flies. And some humans, too.”

  Uh-oh. Déjà vu.

  “How are they dying?” Was there some kind of vampire virus afoot? Chemical warfare? A mob of marauding vampire killers? Another bloodsucking serial killer on the loose?

  “That’s the odd part. There’s no cause of death. None of the victims were drained of blood. No apparent wounds. They simply ceased existing.”

  My notepad fell onto the floor. “But, how is that possible?”

  “That’s the question. And I don’t have an answer. In the meantime, I have the uncomfortable task of defending clients who are actually innocent—who simply managed to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.” He checked his watch, and stood. “As I said, I must end our session early this evening. So much carnage—so little moonlight.”

  He bent and kissed my hand. “I will see you at our regular time next week. Hopefully, I will have good news. Until then.”

  He vanished.

  I retrieved my notepad from the floor, rose, and walked over to the window, contemplating the disturbing information Mr. Roth had shared. I couldn’t imagine something powerful enough to kill vampires and humans without leaving a trace. I hoped none of my clients would be affected by this dark turn of events. Devereux probably had information, but he was out of town, so I couldn’t ask him. Yet.

  The unexpected change in schedule left me feeling disconnected and set adrift. I hated to admit it, but I’d come to rely on Devereux’s companionship. When he was off being master of the vampires or international mega-corporate genius, I missed him.