The Vampire Shrink (42 page)

“We are called to make a choice between love, compassion, and tolerance and hate, fear, and war. A true archetypal Armageddon.”

The discussion sounded so New Age, I was shocked by the host's uncharacteristic lack of reaction. Strange. I'd never heard him be polite with anyone before. I guessed his behavior was as clear an indication of the impending end of the world as anything. Or maybe hell had frozen over.

I thought about the reading Cerridwyn had given me and all the weird situations I'd found myself in since then. I was no longer the same person who had concrete answers about what was and wasn't real. Maybe I should go and visit her again.

The program went to commercial and a group of children in costumes screamed, “Trick or treat!” as an advertisement for Halloween candy filled the screen.

Halloween? Was it Halloween already? I didn't even know what day of the month it was, although I'd vaguely been aware it was October. Turned out today was the thirtieth, so tomorrow was Halloween.

I'd loved the holiday as a child. It didn't take a psychologist to figure out what metaphor I was acting out by dressing up as a princess every year. Damn those Disney fairy tales!

In graduate school, I studied Samhain, the old pagan holiday that predates our current consumer-driven observance; it celebrates the time of year when the veil between the worlds is most transparent—when magic is afoot.

Unfortunately, our culture became suspicious of true magic and has shrouded the holiday in fear, superstition, and nonsense. I'd attended a Wiccan coven's ritual once and walked around hearing bits of people's thoughts for a week afterward. Powerful stuff.

I'd read something in the newspaper recently about a big party or gathering on Halloween, a yearly event. Not that I intended to go—my life was bizarre enough without voluntarily adding more occult madness.

A sudden pain shot across my forehead, and my stomach seized.

The lightbulbs in both the overhead fixture and the table lamp simultaneously exploded, leaving the room illuminated only by the eerie glow of the large TV screen.

“Harlot! Whore!”

The screeching voice from behind me startled me so badly I leaped out of the chair and landed on top of the coffee table, knocking over my glass of wine.

Creeping toward me, circling in front of the table I was crouching on, was an emaciated-looking male. The sunken cheeks of his white, cadaverous face appeared blue in the shadowy light, and his floor-length black coat hung loosely on his tall, wiry frame. His head was a luminous egg, hairless, with crisscrossing veins. His coal-black eyes were rimmed with swollen red tissue, something foul and thick oozing from the corners. He looked like an experiment gone wrong. A body in search of its grave.

He pointed a finger at me, the elongated fingernail ragged and stained.

In his other arm he clutched a huge, battered black book. He snarled, displaying yellow and brown teeth. And fangs. I recognized the southern drawl from the phone calls.

Is this Brother Luther? He's a vampire?

The degree to which I'd missed the boat blew me away.

“Evil Jezebel!” he screeched. “You will burn in eternal damnation! Consorting with Satan's minions!”

His breath was horrible, reeking like a sewer. It provided nauseating contrast to the rancid odor wafting from his clothing.

I scanned the area, weighed my options and the distance to the nearest phone, then leaped off the table, landing as far away from him as possible.

There wasn't any way I was going to make eye contact with him, so I focused on his nose, which was a mass of bumps and missing skin. “Are you Brother Luther? What do you want?” I asked, using my least threatening therapy voice. My heart was running a marathon.

As if he hadn't heard my question, he continued slinging vile epithets. “Whore! Sinner! Evil temptress!” He stared at me with his glassy dark eyes, tiny droplets of spit flying as he ranted.

Shit! What the hell's going on? How can this be Brother Luther? I thought he hated vampires.

Simultaneously, I reached for the cordless phone and he lunged at me. I grabbed the phone, managed to punch in 9–1, then lost my grip on it when he jerked me toward him by the fabric of my blouse.

My eyes watered as he held me close to his face. It was almost impossible to breathe while being bathed in the noxious stink radiating from his mouth. I pushed against him and had the clear impression that my wrists would break before I'd budge him an inch.

He was staring at me, but his eyes were unfocused.

My bowels threatened to liquefy, and I fought to turn my head to get away from the worst of it.

“She must be punished,” he bellowed in my face, gathering more of my shirt in his grasp. His head suddenly jerked down, his vacant eyes locking on something he now held in his palm. He screamed as the necklace Devereux had given me lit up the room, burning his hand. He dropped his book and released me, and I fell to the floor.

I speed-crawled a few feet away from him and slowly stood.

Evidently the necklace had done more than scorch him, because he put both hands on his bald dome and whimpered in a weak, shaky voice, “Don't hurt me, don't hurt me, please don't hurt me, help me, help me …”

Something about his words reminded me of the dream I'd had about the child in the house.

He lowered his arms, then clutched his stomach and rocked back and forth, sobbing loudly.

I became momentarily confused and almost made a move toward him.

Suddenly he jerked upright and rose to his full height, which looked taller than before, and held his arms out on either side of him. He closed his eyes and slowly let his head drop back, his mouth falling open.

It wasn't possible, but it looked as if the coat that had hung loosely on him moments before now stretched taut across his chest, shoulders, and upper arms. As he spread his arms out, the coat flapped open, exposing his scarred, festering, naked frame. His chest was a mass of oozing sores surrounded by coarse, filthy body hair, which trailed down to a thick patch sprouting a huge, reddish erection.

His head snapped up as if a spring had been released, and the black coals in his eyes ignited into flames. He eased his hand down his abscessed stomach, grasped his penis, and began stroking its length, groaning.

“Come to me. Touch me.” He gave the worst smile I've ever seen. Thrusting his foul erection toward me, he laughed, his voice burrowing holes in my ears, making my knees weak.

I backed as far away from him as I could.

What just happened? What is this thing? Why does his voice sound familiar? Where's his southern accent? Why does he look different? He obviously did something to cause me to believe he's physically bigger than he was just a few moments ago. Some mind-control ability.

He began moving the hand on his penis faster and became momentarily distracted by what I guessed was an approaching orgasm. I didn't want to be standing in front of him when he got to that point.

I dropped to the ground, crawled toward the front door as fast as my hands and knees would carry me, and cringed when I heard him scream his release. The cry sounded more like pain than pleasure. Almost immediately I felt myself being lifted up by the waistband of the orange pants.

That hideous laugh washed over me again. Just as I was wondering if my death would be quick and painless or drawn out and torturous, the front door burst open, and a whole flock of vampires swept into the room.

Several of them leaped on my captor, causing me to be flung against a wall, where I sat, semidazed, watching my vampire cavalry getting thrown around like sponge toys.

What the hell is going on? Is he some kind of vampire demon?

Brother Luther, if it really was Brother Luther, seemed to be able to control vampires as well as humans with his mind, but there were too many for him. Or else he simply lost interest. He threw down the hulking vampire whose neck he was sucking on, turned his red eyes to me, and shrieked, “Soon.”

Then he either disappeared or moved so quickly there wasn't even a blur, because one moment he was there; the next he wasn't.

The vampires lay around the room, scattered like bowling pins after a strike.

The silence was broken by a deep male voice saying, “Get the fuck off me,” as a short, rotund man sprang up.

I didn't recognize any of the blood-covered warriors except one, the last one I expected to see. Still in shock, I crawled over to a woman sprawled out on the floor between the living room and the kitchen. Her long black hair was matted with blood from several head wounds, and two large holes gaped at the top of her left breast where fangs had torn the skin. The wounds had already begun to heal.

“Luna? Is that you?”

“No, it's the Avon lady. Are you always this dim?”

“What are you doing here?”

“Saving your unimportant ass.”

I nodded and smoothed a clump of her long hair away from her frowning face. “Believe me, I appreciate that, but how did you know that—whatever he was—was here?”

She slapped my hand away. “Devereux expected trouble tonight and ordered me to keep watch on your house as well as the vampires he already had guarding you. He said I should bring more reinforcements, just in case. I thought he was overreacting because of his unfathomable attachment to you, but I hung out, watching you through the window. I saw the skuzzy guy appear, summoned the others, and the rest is history.”

She sat up. I tried to help her, but she slapped my hand away again.

“Who is that guy? Or, better yet,
what
is that guy?”

She shrugged. “I don't know—he was your gentleman caller, not mine—but whoever he is, Devereux's going to rip him a new one. I hope I get to watch.”

“How was he able to control you and all the other vampires like that? I thought mind control only worked on humans.”

She nodded while tapping her index finger on her chin in thought. “It usually does work only on humans. It takes one hell of a powerful vampire to control other vampire minds, and the only one I've ever seen do it is Devereux. He's definitely going to go ballistic. Whoever the guy with the boner is, he's gonna find out what happens to vampires who mess with the Master's property.”

Master's property?

I was way too exhausted and traumatized to open up that coffin of worms, but Devereux and I were definitely going to have to come to an understanding.

“Wait a minute.” I said, glancing toward the front door. “How could you use my front door without the media seeing you?” I listened to the heavy silence. “Where are they? Where are the cops? We should have been invaded by now.”

“Yeah, that's another weird thing about the bald guy. As soon as he materialized inside, the mortals ran away. Gross dude has one helluva nasty vibe. It saturated the air and terrified the poor little humans. They shot outta here like missiles, and they won't even know why they bolted.” She gave an evil laugh. “I'll bet they all pissed their pants.”

I know the feeling.

During the short time we'd been talking, the wounds on all of the vampire bodies had healed, and, if you didn't count the blood splashed all over every part of my living room, you wouldn't have known a life-ordeath situation had just occurred. That I'd almost been dinner for a crazed vampire zealot.

How can Brother Luther have festering sores on his body? Why doesn't his body immediately heal them? Why didn't it occur to me he could be a vampire? Not too bright, Kismet!

There
was
blood all over my living room.

A trashed office, and a living room that smelled like a used sanitary pad.

Luna rose in a fluid motion, without the aid of bones, and brushed off her black ensemble.

I scrambled to my feet, not nearly as gracefully, and noticed all the vampire eyes staring at me.

I was in room filled with vampires. Blood drinkers. Children of the night.

Well, hell. What am I supposed to do with a roomful of vampires?

I couldn't offer them coffee and bagels. Should I suggest the use of my shower? My washing machine? Should I open up a vein?

The problem was solved when one of them—the huge one the crazy vampire had sucked on—stalked over, bowed from the waist, and said, “We serve the Master. We will hide ourselves outside again and keep watch over you until sunrise. I will send someone to replace your door lock.” He raised his hand, made a “come on” gesture, and a dozen undead walked out my front door.

Luna surveyed the wreckage of my living room and said, “Do you want to stay here, or would you rather spend the rest of the night at the Crypt?”

On automatic pilot I'd already started picking up papers and books that had fallen off my desk. I was too emotionally wiped out to deal with her prickly attitude. If anyone was in dire need of psychotherapy, it was Luna. Anger and hostility rolled off her in toxic waves. It was a good thing there were rules against doing therapy with someone you know, but even if there weren't, I wouldn't be caught dead having her as my client. Oh, wait. Bad choice of words. I probably would be dead.

I sighed, my voice shaky. “I'll stay here. There's no blood upstairs, and I need a shower.”

“Then I'll stick around too. Devereux would stake me if I left you alone tonight.”

Swell.

She walked to the kitchen door and looked around. “Where's your washer and dryer?”

I pointed and reached down to retrieve another pile of papers. When I turned to see if Luna had figured out how to operate the washing machine, she was walking back into the living room, naked.

She put her hands on her hips. “Do you mind if I take a shower first if you're going to clean up down here?”

“Uh, sure. That's fine. Make yourself at home.”

And it just keeps getting weirder.

I heard the little popping sound that indicated some vampire or another had just made an unscheduled arrival or departure, and then the sound of the shower running.