Alan continued staring at me and I frowned. ‘What?’
‘I’m just amazed by the transformation.’ He laughed. ‘I came to pick up Kismet Knight, Ph.D., conservative scientist and instead I find Xena, Warrior Princess. Not that I’m complaining.’
I laughed too, feeling surprisingly lighthearted. Evidently, kicking Tom’s metaphorical butt and his unexpected apology had perked me right up. ‘You don’t know me yet. Who can say what other personalities might be hiding in here?’
‘I’m looking forward to finding out.’ His eyes wandered down my body.
I could swear I physically felt the movement of his eyes. Oh my. Either the wine is going to my head, or my pilot light just got turned up.
‘Ahem,’ Tom said, drawing my attention back to him. ‘I’m surprised, Kismet. It used to be worse than pulling teeth to get you to attend a dance club with me. You never enjoyed them. What’s special about this one?’
Well, well. Is the most famous psychologist in the world jealous?
‘We’re doing some research. Alan is also a psychologist and he’s introducing me to a subculture I’m interested in writing about.’
‘Hey, that’s terrific. Can I come?’ Tom asked.
What the hell’s he up to now?
I turned my gaze to Alan and he shrugged. ‘It’s okay with me.’
‘Are you sure, Tom,’ I asked him, ‘because it will probably be field study – just observation. I remember how you felt about that in grad school. You thought it was boring.’
But I could almost see the wheels turning in his mind as he imagined the sweet young scantily dressed subjects he’d be observing. No. Not boring at all.
‘I’m sure it will be fun,’ Tom asserted, flashing another of his game-show-host smiles. He ran his fingers through his abundant hair.
Hmm. This could be interesting. A chance for me to hold my own, not only with old-baggage-laden Tom, but also with Alan, a handsome non-client. Am I up for the challenge? Hell, yes!
‘Okay. Who wants to drive?’
CHAPTER 10
We wound up taking Alan’s Jeep Cherokee because Tom and I had already put a healthy dent in the bottle of wine.
‘What kind of subculture are we observing tonight?’ Tom asked from the backseat in a disdainful tone.
Alan and I glanced at each other, grinned and voiced in unison, ‘Vampires.’
Tom pressed himself against the front seats. ‘Excuse me? Vampires? Dracula pretenders?’
His ability to saturate certain words with such arrogance and affectation had to be an art form. Insufferable Tom, once again present and accounted for.
I had to give Alan points for keeping his eyes on the road and not laughing in Tom’s face. Half-turning within the confines of my seatbelt, I fixed my eyes on Tom and gave him my best blank expression. ‘Yes. Vampires.’
He rested his hand on my shoulder. ‘Please tell me you’re not serious.’
I shook off his hand. ‘I’ve stumbled across a group of people who believe they’re vampires and I’m going to write about them. I think it’s a valid topic for research.’
I sounded way more defensive than I meant to. As if I dared him to contradict me. I didn’t know why I felt the need to explain my work to Tom, but I did. Or maybe I was just trying to convince myself.
Tom moved his head from side to side, exaggerating the theatrical back-and-forth motion, his lips tightly compressed. ‘Kismet, Kismet. You had so much potential. You could have gone to California with me and shared the limelight. You could have been interviewed by Leno. You could have taken a meeting with Dr Phil. Now here you are, studying pathetic fringe elements in Cow Town. I had no idea my breaking up with you would hit you so hard.’
I must have hallucinated the human Tom in the bathroom.
I straightened rigidly in my seat, kept my eyes riveted directly in front of me and took a deep breath. My hands automatically fisted in my lap and I bit my lower lip to hold back the avalanche of words gathering there. I wasn’t going to allow the only female psychologist in the group to have a public meltdown. I wouldn’t let him push me over the edge.
Apology, my ass. Arrogant jerk. Self-centred, obnoxious, smarmy asshole. Once again, his brain is caught in his zipper. Maybe I can push him out of the car at the next stop sign.
My muscles tensed and sweat dampened my armpits. It was all I could do to keep myself buckled into my seat, because I was seriously fantasising about diving into the back and pummelling a little colour into Dr California’s face with my knuckles. Maybe give him youthfully puffy lips without him having to go visit his plastic surgeon. Of course, he might have to check in with his dentist afterwards. It was so thoughtful of him to remind me he hadn’t invited me to accompany him to the West Coast and that he was now a big shot.
I’d never had a chance to confront him after he dumped me and left town. All those repressed feelings now threatened to break free. No matter how supposedly sorry he was now, my anger obviously had unfinished business.
Breathe, Kismet. Don’t let him press your buttons.
Alan glanced at me, his tongue pushing against the inside of his cheek. ‘Tom,’ he quickly interjected, obviously catching my hostile intentions. ‘Do you remember a series of murders in Los Angeles a while back? They got a lot of media coverage – several bodies found drained of blood? I’m searching for those killers and I’ll find them in the vampire subculture.’
Alan sounded a lot more formal than I’d ever heard him. Psychologists are a competitive lot and we never miss an opportunity to puff ourselves up for each other. Or maybe it was Tom’s hyper-pomposity that brought out the pretentiousness in everyone. Regardless of the reason, he did give me a moment to rein myself in. Lucky for Tom.
Oblivious, Tom droned on. ‘So what are you, a forensic psychologist? What are you going to do with the killers after you find them?’
Alan ignored the superior attitude Tom displayed in his over-pronunciation of the words ‘forensic psychologist’, but I heard him sigh.
‘I work for the FBI. I’m an expert on serial killers, in addition to other psychotics and I’m the agent assigned to the case.’
‘How did Kismet get involved in all this?’
‘She’s the Vampire Psychologist.’ Alan grinned. ‘Here we are.’
Our heads pivoted towards the window as we passed The Crypt, cruising for a place to park. Milling about in front of the main entrance were large groups of twenty-somethings: goths, vampire wannabes, heavy-metal gods and goddesses, Lady Gaga pretenders, androgynous individuals covered in body-art and piercings and some reincarnated hippies.
‘It appears we’re going to be the oldest people there,’ Tom noted, with a hint of annoyance.
‘Especially you,’ I teased, smiling sweetly. Okay. Just because I’m a psychologist doesn’t mean I can’t be as nasty as anyone else. I knew Tom was sensitive about his age and that he’d avail himself of every plastic surgery procedure possible in order to stave off the ravages of time. Not that I was above a little nip and tuck myself in the future.
We finally found a place to park several blocks away and walked back to The Crypt, the club where I’d seen Devereux on the stairs after my first session with Midnight. It was huge, taking up almost the same space in square feet as it did in height.
The club had its own personality. The closer we got to it, the more ominously powerful it felt. I could hear music throbbing on the airwaves.
The first thing I noticed about the building was its eyes – the stained-glass windows that filled half of each wall. Extraordinary colours and shapes formed pictures and abstract patterns in each window. There were images of angels and demons, religious symbols, Celtic crosses and spirits rising from graves. I could imagine how amazing they’d look with the sun pouring through them. The windows were brightly lit from behind and the rainbow colours splashed down onto the dark sidewalk, bathing everyone in etheric hues. The architecture was gothic, with ornate towers and archways. The upper level had many nooks and crannies, and standing guard at various outposts were large gargoyles.