Crimson Psyche (15 page)

She frowned. “Yeah, maybe...”

I lowered my hands and folded them on the table, just like a regular, non-lying person would do. “You don’t think 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. “At least, 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 head 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 pack of lies, and immediately. It couldn’t be good that I was getting increasingly comfortable with creating blatant fabrications. I took a breath and waded back in. I’d need to roll my imaginary pant legs up pretty soon.

“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. “That’s a little distinctive, wouldn’t you say? You said you’ve been covering these events for a while, so it makes sense that they’d know who you are, what you look like. 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’ve been 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 honestly 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 was pretty stunned when they took you and I just stood there for several minutes, not knowing what to do. I was hoping you’d come back, I guess. Then the crowd downstairs started pouring out the front doors, so I left the way we came. By the time I got down the fire escape, all the bystanders had gone. I couldn’t remember the way at first so I wandered around for ages, searching for any sign of you or the car. When I finally got back to where you’d parked and you weren’t there, that’s when I called a cab. I didn’t want to leave until I was sure you’d gone. 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? You and the car were missing, 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 really didn’t seem like a sensible 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, pal? 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 pal 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 margaritas and jazz sometime. I listen to some pretty strange tales 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 still got to come up with some kind of story for the magazine.” She snorted. “I’ll just make something up — nobody will know the difference. And I’m sure you have plans with that gorgeous blond rich guy. 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 be glad to introduce you.”

She hobbled to the front door. “Thanks. You’re being a good sport about the whole abandoning-you thing. I won’t forget it. I’ll be in touch. See ya.”

She left, closing the door behind her, and I hurried over and locked it.

I really felt terrible about lying to Maxie. I knew it was for a good cause, but I didn’t care for the ease with which the fictions had rolled off my tongue. I’d always worked hard to be an ethical person, so what did it mean that I could set those standards aside so easily? What was I becoming?

I went back to the kitchen, refilled my coffee mug, and grabbed a bagel from the counter. As I sliced it, toasted it and slathered it with cream cheese I thought about all the madness that had taken place during the previous twenty-four hours — and then, like a slap to the head, I realized that I hadn’t called the police about Carson’s body.
I must have brain damage.
Bagel forgotten, I jumped up, found the phone and checked the time. At least sixteen hours had passed since I transported myself home. Maybe someone else had notified the authorities already?

Or maybe there was a rotting DJ corpse in the funhouse.

I sat at my desk and fired up the computer. If the body had been found, there would be local news stories. I searched the newspapers’ websites and came up empty. Googling Carson brought up lots of hits, but they were all about his radio antics. I even scanned the obituaries without finding a familiar name.

Since it didn’t appear anyone had reported Carson missing, let alone dead, I decided to drive to a convenience store and use the pay-phone to make an anonymous call. No matter what my opinion might be about the rude radio host, I couldn’t just forget his crucified and eviscerated body was dumped at the amusement park. Surely he must have family or friends, someone who cared about what happened to him?

I moved a couple of steps from the desk and once again slammed into the chest of the silver-eyed devil, who’d popped into my personal space, grinning, silent as death.

I gasped and reflexively tried to back up, but he grabbed my arms, holding me with unyielding fingers. It was a good thing I’d recently emptied my bladder, or I would have peed on the carpet like the possessed girl in
The Exorcist
. The vampire’s energy felt dark and dangerous, which pretty much described his appearance as well. He’d replaced the genie pants with tight jeans and a red T-shirt tucked in at his trim waistline. His unnaturally long, dark hair flowed down his muscular chest. The fiend was even more gorgeous than I remembered.

He tilted his head from side to side, and studied me. “Dr. Knight — or may I call you Kismet, since we’ve become such good friends?” His deep voice caused my ears to buzz and goose bumps to rise on my skin. He released my arms and stepped away, then strolled in a circle around me. “Obviously you weren’t expecting company. What on earth is that appalling pink thing you’re wearing? And I must say that whoever did your hair should be gutted.” He laughed, the sound both pleasant and terrifying.

I licked my lips so I could speak. “What do you want?”

He smiled, exposing impressive fangs. “I want so many things, my sweet Kismet. And I intend to have all of them. But you were doing so much mental fussing about the remains of our dearly departed that I felt duty-bound to come and inform you the matter has been dealt with. There is no reason to involve human police. I might have need of that location again so I would prefer it to remain undisturbed.”

He inched in closer and riveted his gaze on mine. I lost control of my muscles and bones. He slid an arm around my waist and caught me before I collapsed. My heart sped up, beating so frantically I feared it would burst out of my chest. My breathing went shallow and my limbs were heavy. Holding me with one arm, he untied my robe and slid the fabric off each shoulder, leaving my naked body exposed.

I wanted to scream, to fight, to do anything except stand there, frozen, but my brain was off-line. Bubble-wrap filled the places in my skull that were formerly occupied by my cerebral cortex, firing neurons and brain chemicals.

He leaned in, his soft hair streaming across my body, and kissed me. His touch was electric, jolting me as if I’d come in contact with a live wire. Currents of energy flowed along my skin, pulsating in the area between my legs, and I moaned. I didn’t know where his other hand was — it was everywhere at once. I’d never had an orgasm while paralyzed before. I wouldn’t have thought it possible, but somehow it was happening. He eased the pressure of his kiss, flicked his tongue along my lower lip, shifted his mouth down to my neck, and bit me. The sensation of his fangs penetrating my vein was indefinable. If I’d experimented with hallucinogens, I might have had something to compare the sensations to, but since I hadn’t, I simply surrendered into the ecstatic bliss vibrating through my body. It was as if my neck had become a hyper-potent erogenous zone. My body convulsed with the most powerful orgasm I’d ever experienced.

The rational part of me made futile attempts to gain control, but as whimpers erupted from my lips, the rest of me wondered who was making all the noise. He drew me in tight against him while he fed. I’m not sure I would have moved, even if I could.

Then everything went dark.

Silently arguing with myself about whether or not waking was worth the effort, I swam against the tide, forced myself to become fully conscious, and opened my eyes. For the second time, Luna’s face peered down at me. She didn’t speak, her expression was solemn and serious, but for a moment, her eyes sparkled with glee.

“Luna, what—?”

She vanished.

I blinked a few times to clear the fog from my vision.
What the hell?
Why did I feel so strange? Had Luna, the vampire Kali really been here, or had I imagined it? I glanced down at myself to discover I was sitting naked in my oversize chair, my pink robe discarded on the floor. I rubbed my eyes, trying to orient myself. I didn’t remember sitting in the chair. Why would I do that? I had to go upstairs and get dressed for my midnight meeting with Devereux at the Crypt. I slanted my eyes to the clock.

“Shit — it’s already midnight — what the hell’s wrong with me?” I murmured to myself.

I stood slowly, making sure my legs were solid enough to navigate the stairs, and shuffled in that direction. I took some deep breaths, and more of my fragmented reality coalesced. It occurred to me that my shaky state might be caused by low blood sugar due to lack of food, so I diverted to the kitchen, opened the refrigerator and grabbed the orange juice container. Rummaging for a glass was too much work, so I just untwisted the cap and drank directly from the carton — something I never did. The natural fructose had an immediate stabilizing effect and I felt better. I retrieved the abandoned bagel, then sat at the table and devoured it with enthusiasm. I suddenly realized that my last meal had been almost twenty-four hours ago, and it had consisted of half a container of left-over Kung Pao Chicken. No wonder I felt so odd. Considering that, nodding off wasn’t such a strange thing.

As I sat there, something nagged at my brain, distracting me like a little kid tugging at the hem of my mental skirt. What had I been doing before I fell asleep? Wasn’t I going to call someone about something? Yes — Carson’s body — but wait. Why was I going to do that? His body had been taken care of, hadn’t it? I couldn’t recall why I thought I needed to do anything.

I shook my head and noticed I’d managed to dribble orange juice down the front of my nude body. I laughed, flicking the drops away with my fingers. “You’re losing it, Kismet. Get off your ass and get dressed. The Master has commanded your presence!”

Thinking about Devereux sobered me, and reminded me that I hadn’t seen him since before the insanity at the funhouse. I needed to tell him about my encounter with Hallow. I hoped he wouldn’t go ballistic and try to lock me away at the Crypt.

Unfortunately, that was definitely a consideration. Maybe I shouldn’t say anything yet. I’d just stay away from Hallow. I certainly didn’t want to be sucked into his evil universe. He’d publicly killed Carson in a maniacal frenzy and I had no doubt that inflicting torture and pain was one of his favorite recreational activities. If it was true that he drained the life-force from all the women he collected, I wasn’t about to sign up for a demonstration, no matter how amazing a lover he supposedly was.

Eeww. Why am I even thinking about what kind of lover he is?

On second thought, it might be better for me to stay home, do some paperwork and then talk to Devereux about moving into his penthouse for a while. Yes, that was the answer: caution. Sensible, mature caution. I would behave responsibly, like a thoughtful professional. I was totally out of my depth with the undead assassin and nothing but misery would come from making myself available to him, even inadvertently.

No matter how intriguing I found the undead, there was no reason to get more involved in the vampire horror show than I already was. Choosing to be careful had nothing to do with giving up my independence. It was all about securing my survival. I wasn’t too proud to admit I was in over my head. I’d been incredibly naïve to think I could deal with a monster like Hallow. But in my defense, I had actually learned a lot from our brief interaction. The vampire version of psychosis was beyond anything the psychological establishment understood, and I now had a front-row seat for the case study of the century.

A bloodsucking Charles Manson.

Thinking about case studies reminded me how frustrating it was to have nobody to discuss my experiences with. My professional self found the behavioral aspects of Hallow’s madness fascinating, but the personal me wanted to hide under the bed. If I ever had a client in the same incredible situation as I found myself, what would I say? That was a no-brainer: I’d tell her to take the first plane out of Denver.

Despite that good advice, I wouldn’t be heading to the airport. But I could remove myself physically from the freak show.

With the issue firmly settled in my mind, I brushed the crumbs off my breasts, fetched my robe from the living room floor and slipped it on. I tied the belt, walked to my desk to begin the paperwork and froze. My scalp tingled and my eyes blurred.

“Fuck that! I’m going to the Crypt to have some fun.”
Fuck that? What?

I knew the words had come out of my mouth, but I hadn’t intended to say them. I hadn’t even been aware of the potential thought lurking in my mind. But now, suddenly, it was clear — of course, why the hell should I stay home? I didn’t need to think about any vampire’s opinions or actions. I was an adult, professional woman who could make her own decisions.

Grinning, I peeled off the robe and strode up the stairs.

***

The Crypt was a gothic wonderland. Devereux had transformed an old multi-level church into a playground for the children of darkness. The huge building was magnificent, with its ornate towers, spires and archways. Grotesque gargoyles leered down from corners, loomed over doorways and peeked out from hidden architectural surprises. The extensive stained glass alone was worth the visit. The original religious-themed panels had been replaced by paranormal and supernatural renderings. Eerie, gravestone-laden cemeteries were a pervasive theme, as well as rivers of blood.

The club was open every day from dusk to dawn and it was always busy, but the Saturday night crowds gave new meaning to the word
packed
. I’d left my car down the block in the underground parking my office shared and jogged toward the building, eager to join the festivities. As I approached the entrance, the usual smell of marijuana and other recreational substances wafted into my nose and the intense, pulsating rhythm from the heavy-metal band performing inside vibrated the bottoms of my feet.

A cloud of pot-smoke enticed my nostrils and I smiled as I inhaled and angled over to the group toking away under a streetlight on the sidewalk. It had been a long time since I’d gotten high, and right now I couldn’t think of a better way to start the night.

I tapped a seriously stoned, skinny, long-haired twenty-something guy on the shoulder. He swiveled his head toward me, his eyelids at half-mast, and blinked a few times in an obvious attempt to focus his eyes. Then he licked his lips, and slurred, “Uh, what?”

Giving him my brightest smile, I pointed at the joint. “Could I have a taste of that?”

He stared at my face, the joint poised partway between us. “Wow. Cool makeup. You look like a movie star.” I didn’t know about the movie star resemblance, but I had been a bit more heavy-handed than usual. So sue me. I had the urge to be dramatic. What the hell? If you hung around with vampires, it was acceptable to let one’s Inner Drama Queen out once in a while.

A young shaved-headed fellow wobbling next to him jerked his body in my direction when he heard his friend’s words and shuffled over to see for himself.

I reached out and lifted the joint from the skinny guy’s fingers, fitted it between my lips without giving one thought to hygiene issues and took a toke. I inhaled the warm smoke into my throat and lungs and held it for exactly two seconds before the acrid substance burst out of my body in a series of hacking, gagging, fifty-year-smoker-type coughs.

My two companions leaned backward, as if my coughing had created a strong enough wind to bend the top portions of their bodies, and said simultaneously, “Whoa, dude.”

Tiny embers from the end of the joint fluttered down onto the front of my red sparkly shirt, and Shaved-Head Guy gallantly attempted to brush them away.

Probably fearing I’d lose what was left of the joint in my full-body spasm, Skinny Guy reclaimed the pot and pitched in his other hand to help his friend extinguish my chest.

They both froze, mid-brush, leaned in and stared at my breasts.

Another duet: “Oh wow, man.”

Skinny Guy said, “Awesome. Great tits.”

I peeled off the hands that were hermetically sealed to my mammary glands, brushed away anything else that didn’t belong on my shirt, and smiled. “Yeah, isn’t the blouse gorgeous? There’s a matching bra that goes with it, but I just didn’t want to be constrained tonight. Besides, in the dim light you have to look twice to notice the shirt is transparent. But thanks so much for the hit, and for keeping me from setting myself on fire. I’m going inside now. It was nice meeting you.” I moved toward the club entrance.

“Wait! Maybe we could hook up for a while? Drink some wine? Fuck? You know?”

I cocked my head, fluttered my cosmetically elongated eyelashes and smiled. “What a lovely offer, gentlemen. Unfortunately, I already have plans, but I do appreciate the thought.”

Continuing in the direction of the huge wooden double doors, I shifted my eyes down to my shirt, glad it wasn’t any worse for the pot embers experience. And it was really cool: all fresh-blood-colored and glittery. It worked great with my short leather skirt and favorite stiletto-heeled black boots. Tonight I’d be Psychologist Ho.

I reached for the door handle and paused, my head spinning for a moment, and studied my chest again.
Psychologist Ho?
Why would I think such a stupid thing? More importantly, why was I even dressed like this, and when did I decide to go out instead of doing paperwork? My stomach tightened with fear. Had my brain skipped a page?
A chapter?
I knew what a blackout was, and there were several mental and physical illnesses that could account for one. Shit. Maybe I had a brain tumor. There could be something seriously wrong with me. What if I hadn’t merely nodded off in the living room earlier after all? What if it was something much more dire?

“Where am I?” I recognized my location — I’d visited the Crypt many times before — but I had no recollection of driving myself there, and I certainly couldn’t recall dressing myself like a hooker. Well, maybe a call girl, since I had bought the clothes and I knew they were expensive. I’d intended to model them for Devereux when we were alone, rather than for hundreds of strangers at his club.

I’d just pivoted to head down the stairs, back to my car when an inner switch flipped from
on
to
off
. The muscles in my limbs seized and I stood like a statue, not even sure I was breathing. Terrified, I heard a familiar, low voice in my mind. “It’s time for some fun, sweet Kismet. Go into the club and explore your wild nature. Leave your inhibitions behind. Entertain me. Make me proud. Give Devereux my best. We will meet again soon.”

A mild electric current coursed through my body and my limbs regained function. A fuzzy, almost intoxicated feeling settled over my brain and I couldn’t stop smiling.

“Go into the club and have some fun!” I shouted, just as Victoria, Devereux’s witchy office manager, stepped up next to me.

“Kismet?” She gave me an eyeball-scan, brows raised, and her gaze locked on my chest. She frowned. “Does Devereux know you’re here? Are you aware that you’re wearing a see-through blouse with nothing on underneath?” She stepped back. “And an extremely short skirt? That’s not your usual fashion style.”

“Victoria! How wonderful to see you. Did you come to have a little fun, too?”

She leaned in and sniffed. “Have you been drinking?”

I hugged her, then shook my head. “Not yet.”

Her nose wrinkled and she sniffed again. “Pot?”

“I’ll never tell.”

She grabbed my arm as I headed toward the entrance. “Kismet, wait — something’s wrong. You feel different to me. You’re not yourself. Your aura is strange, with odd, murky colors, almost like there’s something extra there. Something dark.”

“Don’t be silly, my friend.” I patted her hand. “I’m the same ordinary Kismet I’ve always been — or at least as ordinary as somebody whose parents named her after an old Broadway musical can be. Come on. Let’s go and stir up some trouble.”

I tugged on the handle and opened the door to a wall of sound. The whine of a high-pitched lead guitar screamed over the throbbing rhythm section as the players cavorted frantically on a stage at the far end of the room. The jarring aural explosion assaulted my ears and took my breath away.

The club was decorated like a Goth’s wet dream. It had everything a wannabe vamp could desire: scenes from Dracula’s castle, bodies rising from haunted graveyards, and enough black to make Ozzy Osbourne want to bite the head off something. The ever-present fog machine pumped out a slithering layer of white smoke, adding an eerie ambiance to the shadowy interior, which was lit by modern versions of ancient torches.

The huge main room was filled with bodies — some alive, some otherwise — all dancing to the thunderous beat of the musicians. One of the many great things about the Crypt was all the cozy little nooks and crannies scattered along the walls, not to mention the ornate balconies of various sizes, some small enough to fit only one table. There were lots of places for romantic rendezvous, sexual assignations and under-the-table drug deals. In fact, it was easy to find a private space for pretty much anything you wanted.

Standing at his post just inside the entrance was Devereux’s doorman — er, door
vamp
. The first time I saw Ankh, his ghoulish, creepy appearance made my skin crawl. He was very tall, cadaverously bluish-white, with badly discolored teeth and fangs. His obsidian eyes were oddly sunken into his face and underscored with large, dark circles, making it appear as if he wore a perpetual Halloween mask. His head was mostly bald, except for a thick, dark braid that burst forth from the top of his skull, reminiscent of the style Egyptian pharaohs often wore in movies. A long, black robe shrouded his lanky frame. When I’d asked Devereux why he would station such a distasteful-looking specimen at the entrance to his business, he’d said Ankh had the gentlest, most loving temperament of any vampire he’d ever met. And the large fellow provided excellent customer service. That’s what I got for judging a vamp by his cover.