Chapter 24.

Within minutes of pulling into my garage, both the handyman and cleaning crew showed up, and my townhouse was a flurry of activity. While the professionals put my living quarters back to-gether, I sat at the kitchen table, deleting and saving voice mail messages. I'd made the big time.

In amongst the calls from current clients, prospective cli-ents, babbling psychotics, New Age seekers, Anne Rice fans, hopeful romantic partners-mostly prisoners or the recently released-and local media, there were messages from all the major networks.

I'd been invited to appear on every late-night, early-morn-ing, afternoon and prime time interview program on the TV schedule. The segment would probably be called, "Let's ridicule, harangue and generally humiliate the allegedly pro-fessional woman callingherself The Vampire Psychologist."I definitely thought that all advertising wasn't good ad-vertising. The one exciting message was from a well-known publisher, asking if I'd consider writing a book. That was definitely a keeper. Tom would be so proud of my fifteen minutes of fame and fortune. Thinking about Tom's shallow tendencies reminded me I hadn't heard from him sinceZoe pulled him onto the dance floor at the Crypt several nights ago.

I would've said disappearing that way wasn't his style, but I really didn't know him well enough anymore-if I ever did-to guess what he would or wouldn't do. Especially if there was a woman involved. In fact, now that I thought about it, taking off with a gorgeous female was exactly some-thing Tom would do.

I saved all the messages from the national media, just in case I ever did finish the book about vampire wannabes-or was it about vampires now?-and needed someNew York andLos Angeles contact numbers.Being productive felt good. I called all my current cli-ents, told them I'd have a new location soon, and arranged for telephonecounseling sessions in the meantime.

The prospective clients were willing to wait until I set up my new office. I was surprised by how many of them hadn't been put off by the gruesome publicity surrounding me. In fact, thanks to the national obsession with celebrities, some of the callers sought me out because they'd seen my face on the local news. Maybe I'd come out of this mess with some parts of my life still intact.

By late afternoon, the new door was installed, the living room sparkled, and silence reigned supreme.

I'd left a message for Lieutenant Bullock, outlining my offer to be bait tonight at The Vampires' Ball, and hadn't heard back from her.

Taking advantage of the quiet, I drifted into a catnap on the couch and was startled when the doorbell chimed me into wakefulness.

I bolted up, heart pounding, and immediately checked the window for signs of sunlight. I was relieved to find the sun hadn't gone down yet. I was safe.Maybe.

It wasn't healthy to make assumptions about the limitations of theundead , but I hoped the not-being-able-to-go-out-in-the-sun thing was true.I crept over to the door and yelled, "Who is it?"

"Your trusty FBI agent."

I huffed out the breath I'd been holding and stared through the peephole. Alan's smiling face filled the view. I'd had the handyman install additional locks on the door-not that locks would keep vampires out, but I had to do something-and going through the unlocking process took a bit longer than before. He noticed.

"Hey, is this a different door? Did you have more locks installed?"

After carefully relocking the doors, I led him into my dis-infectant-scented living room and offered him a seat on the couch. He sniffed the air and raised his eyebrows. I sat in my fluffy chair and explained the events of the previous evening as he shook his head and wrote in his dog-eared notebook. When I finished, he frowned and smacked a hand down on his leg.

"I knew I should've come home with you. None of that would've happened if I'd been there. Why wasn't I called? You know I've been on this case for months."

I did the therapist nod and spoke in my most reasonable voice.

"Well, first, you wanted to come home with me so we could have wild and crazy sex, so I might've been even more vulnerable when the maniac showed up if I'd been on my back, screaming JohnnyDepp's name."

He barked out a laugh.

"And second, I don't have to tell you what violent psy-chopaths do to people who stand in the way of their fixated object. If you'd been here, even if we were just talking in the living room, he'd have seen you as a threat and taken you out. For some reason I've become important to him."I tucked my legs underneath me and sighed. "I didn't call you because it simply didn't occur to me. From the mo-ment Brother Luther showed up,til Luna's vampires arrived and the room got too crowded for him, to the second I fell asleep on the floor, I was on automatic pilot.

"Actually, by not letting you come home with me, I prob-ably saved your life. Therefore, clearly, you owe me."

I cocked my head and gave him my sweetest, most inno-cent smile.

He snorted, laughed and slouched into the couch cushions.

"Let's entertain the possibility that your suppositions are correct and he would've torn my throat out if I'd been with you. That makes what you proposed to Bullock even more dangerous and lame-brained. How many people would he take out at a huge gathering in order to get to you?"

I nodded. "Well, that's why the police would be there. Don't you think it makes sense to call him out? If I don't, I'll be looking over my shoulder every day until he either loses interest in me or gets caught. And what's the likelihood that a psychopath will lose interest?"

He folded his arms across his chest. "Okay. I hear you. But I can tell you that Bullock isn't going to go for it. She can't put a civilian in danger. It'd mean her badge. But I think having the cops show up at the ball is a great idea."

"'Tell that to Lieutenant Bullock. Are you going?'"

He grinned. "Would I miss an opportunity to schmooze with every vampire in the westernUSA ? And, after all these months of following the trail of bloodless bodies, I might be in on the take-down. That's definitely worth the price of admission."

That gave me the opportunity to ask him the questions I'd wanted to ask since I met him."Why are you so obsessed with this case and vampires in general? What do you really want?"

He lowered his head and got very quiet. It wasn't only that he didn't speak. It was as if he stilled his body to the point that I was tempted to get up and put my hand on his chest to see if he was breathing.

After a few seconds he studied me, moving only his eyes, and nodded.

He sat up straight, brushed off some imaginary substance from the front of his shirt and spoke, voice low.

"I've never told this to anyone. Not anyone.Ever. I'm not sure why I'm telling you. Maybe it's because I really do want to have that wild and crazy sex you were talking about, or maybe it's because I just want to tell it to someone.Finally. And you've got that mystical therapist vibe happening."

He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes.

"I wouldn't have been able to tell you this even a week ago, but after everything you've seen and heard, my story won't seem so farfetched or delusional.Maybe."

He stood and paced around the room for a few seconds then propped himself against a far wall, his arms folded over his chest again.

He stared at me.

"Ready? Wait for it." He paused. "My mother is a vampire.

I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. My brain spun for a few seconds, trying to concoct the perfect response, and failed.Was this his way of telling me he wasn't going to answer my question? Was he trying to be funny again to deflect from whatever the truth was?

He returned to the couch and sat, reading my face.

"You're trying to figure out if I'm kidding, or messing with you or if I've gone barking mad, right?"

I raised an eyebrow and smiled. "I always did great on multiple-choice tests."

He hand-combed his thick, chestnut hair, which left a couple of the shorter bits on top sticking straight up. "Okay. Let me rephrase. My mother might be a vampire."

I sat back in my chair. "I'm all ears, Special Agent Stevens."

He sighed and ran his hands over his face, like he'd splashed water on it and was wiping it with a towel.

"It happened when I was twelve. My father had taken off for parts unknown a few years before, leaving my Mom and me by ourselves. Mom was great. She worked two jobs to keep the roof over our heads.

She never complained. One of those jobs was tending bar at an upscale watering hole inManhattan ."

He got up and paced again, as if the very telling of the story required movement.

"My mom was beautiful. I mean seriously great looking. Her beauty made her attractive to men, but she always picked the wrong ones. She was too soft-hearted for her own good.

"She used to take me to work with her sometimes and I washed and stacked glasses behind the bar. It was illegal to have an underage kid there, but everyone was cool. No one would've turned my mom in.

They loved her."He ran his fingers through his hair again, strode to the window and peeked outside.

He was giving off so much nervous energy that I could've asked him to hold the plug end of my portable razor and shaved my legs while he talked to me.

"About a month before she disappeared, she started hanging out with this slick guy. Expensive clothes, big car, diamond stud earring. He seemed okay to me at first. I thought he might be sick because he was so pale, but he was nice to me when I saw him."

Alan walked into the kitchen and I heard the cabinet open and the faucet run. He carried his glass of water back to the couch and sat.

Patience, Kismet, patience.

He rubbed his palm of his free hand repeatedly against his pant leg. "I was happy for her. She really liked him. He treated her well. But she started to stay out all night,then ignored the alarm clock when it went off in the morning. Wound up losing her day job."

He set the glass on the table without drinking.

"And she started looking different. Now I'd call itanemic , but then I was just worried about her and I didn't know what was wrong. One evening when I came home from my after-school job, I found her still in bed, barely breathing, with two hellacious holes in her neck. I ran out to get help and when I came back with the nurse next door, she was gone."

He slumped back into the cushions, his chin almost rest-ing on his chest. I drifted over, joined him on the couch and laid my hand on his forearm.

"You made the vampire connection because of the holes in her neck?"He shook his head. "Not for a while. I thought she'd been kidnapped or ran away or that she died and someone took her body away and didn't tell me. The police investi-gated, but it went nowhere. I went to live with my mother's sister inJersey and didn't make theundead association until I saw my mother."

That came out of left field. I paused long enough to stifle my initial, knee-jerk reaction and forced myself to remain companionably calm, detached. "You saw your mother?"

'Yeah.During college.A bunch of us guys went out drink-ing inManhattan at this new, trendy bar. I got up to go to the John, and I saw the guy. The slick guy my mom had been dat-ing before she disappeared.

He looked exactly the same. I was ten years older than the last time he'd seen me, but there was a spark of recognition . . . and surprise. Just then the person sit-ting next to him at the bar turned in my direction, and it was my mom.Very pale and not one day older."

He leaped up and paced again. I was getting tired just from watching him.

"I yelled, 'Mom!' and before I could say another word, the slick guy pulled her by the arm and they were out of the bar faster than it was possible to be out of the bar. I bolted after them, but they'd both disappeared when I got outside. I ran in both directions, hoping for a glimpse of the long, red dress she'd been wearing.Nothing.

"My friendscame piling out, thinking I was drunk, and I got crammed into a taxi."

He plopped down next to me again, sighed and shook his head. "Of course, nobody believed me. They wouldn't even check out the possibility that she'd been abducted and held against her will. I didn't begin to explore the vampire angle until I read a couple of small articles in theNew York paper about dead bodies with holes in their necks. Then it clicked."

I took his hand. "So, you're searching for your mother?"

He gave a sheepish smile."Pitiful, eh?"

I shook my head. "No. Not pitiful.Understandable. What will you do if you find her?"

His eyes welled up. One perfect drop of liquid pain rolled down his cheek. "I just want her to tell me why she left me. She loved me. I know she did."

I gathered him into my arms and gently rocked him.

He let me hold him for a few minutes,then pushed away. He snatched a tissue from the nearby box.

"Some FBI I am, eh? Blubbering on your shoulder like a kid. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to turn you into my therapist."

I stroked his cheek and smiled, letting him see the com-passion in my eyes.

"You didn't come to me as a therapist. You came as a friend. And, as someone said to me recently, I'm here for you."

He blew his nose and smiled.

"I guess the wild and crazy sex is out? I'd be willing to settle for pity sex."

I laughed and took his hand again."How about a chaste, platonic kiss?"

I angled my head and pressed my lips to his. He pulled back and whispered, "How about this instead?"

He used his body to shift me backward until I was prone on the couch. His lips were soft and warm as they captured mine. He gently rubbed his groin against me and teased his tongue into my mouth. My arms tightened around him, and his erection came to the door and waved hello. He broke the kiss and slowly sat up. He wore the expres-sion of a man who was certain of his sexual charm.

"Yes. When it finally happens, it will be very good." He smiled and stood.

I sat up, relieved I didn't have to enter the murkyterri-toryofAlan versus Devereux, but aroused, all the same. Men were so good at disguising vulnerability with sex. He straightened his clothes and nonchalantly ran his fin-gers through his hair, as if he hadn't just reintroduced me to Mr. Happy. But the physical contact had done what he wanted it to do: it distracted us from the hurtful topic.

"I'm going to go home and put on my costume for the ball. Do you want me to come back and pick you up?"

Driving up to the mountains alone was always fun in the daytime, but at night-with more vampires afoot than usual- company sounded like a good idea. Besides, I didn't have any idea where the ghostly castle was or how to get there.

"I'd appreciate the ride. What are you wearing?"

He grinned. "Guess."

"Garden variety vampire, or something unique and in-teresting?"

"I'll surprise you. Is an hour enough time?"

"Sure. I'll just throw on a low cut black number, put on some white paint, false eyelashes and red lips, and I'm good to go."

He headed for the door, glancing back over his shoulder. "Okay, then. It's a date. Be back in an hour."

Before doing anything else, I trailed him to the door and locked it. I raced up the stairs, started the water in the shower,then went into my bedroom to find out what kind of long, black dresses might be hiding in my closet. It was entirely possible I'd accumulated dresses that I only wore for one professional event or another then forgot about. As I'd suspected, pushed against the far wall of the closet was a plastic bag,stamped with the name of an expensive chain store, which contained the perfect black dress. Finding the price tags still attached meant I'd never worn it, or I'd gone out in public with the papers flapping under-neath my arms.

Unfortunately, both options were possible. Well, I couldn't help it if my inner world was more interest-ing to me than most of the mundane details of the outer world. Would I trade my expertise in the emotional, psychic, and psychological realms to be more socially savvy? No. But I wouldn't mind being more balanced. Maybe I just needed a wife. Yeah, that was it. Someone to do all the stereotypical things we attribute to wives.Or, maybe a harem.Yum, a male harem.

I imagined Devereux, Alan, Tom,Vaughan the chiro-practor and the cute doctor I'd met in the ER all dressed up in slave costumes. I spun the wheel of various scenarios and envisioned them feeding me grapes, rubbing my feet, and carrying me in one of those Egyptian-type chairs.

Then I got totally distracted by a quick visual of the six of us having a private party in a luxurious, curtained bed. Maybe a cold shower would do me moregood than a hot one. I laughed out loud, removed the dress from the plastic bag, and spread it out on my bed. Then I clipped off the price tags.

An hour later my makeup was done and the curls of my hair were picked out into a long, shining thickness. I was per-fumed, high-heeled and poured into a slinky, floor-length, cleavage-exposing black dress. The ever-present, recently-life-saving necklace was nes-tled in the valley.