"So, Mr. Peterson, if you don't mind, we need to start with the basics," Jessica said, smiling. She had her notebook open, her pen in hand, seated in a large, overstuffed leather recliner while Jacob Peterson, her last patient of the day, sprawled on the sofa in her New Orleans office. She never suggested that anyone lie down; she simply suggested they get comfortable. For Jacob Peterson, being comfortable apparently meant half sitting, scrunched down in the sofa, legs sprawled out and fingers laced as he scowled.
It was her first session with him, but over the years, she'd worked with many teenagers like Jake, as well as adults.
"The basics," he murmured. "The basics are that my folks are making me come here."
"Because they're worried about you. Tell me, do you believe you're a vampire?" She kept her tone serious, nonjudgmental.
"I should have known years ago," the boy told her. "I stay up all night."
"So I understand. And it makes it very difficult for you to get to school."
He waved a hand in the air. "School is for mortals."
"Mr. Peterson-"
"Jake. Just call me Jake."
"Jake, let's say youare a vampire. Even vampires have to make a living."
He frowned, startled. "Vampires...have to make a living?"
She leaned forward. "Jake, there are diseases that create a physiological desire to drink blood."
"I don't deserve blood, Ineed it."
"You need blood, or you've convinced yourself you need blood?" she asked.
"I'm not the only one," he said defensively. "Not the only one who needs blood."
"I'm not sure I'm the person you should be seeing. I'm a psychologist. If you reallyneed blood, we should be looking at a number of physical tests."
He shook his head. "They-I-no."
"Why not?"
"They won't find anything." He scowled again. "Don't you understand? I'm a vampire."
She lowered her head, hiding her sigh. She had had this very conversation so often. Too many people came to this part of the country because they thought they were vampires, or because they wanted to rebel and become part of a cult. Some had even committed murders, so convinced were they of their own supernatural tendencies.
She thought back to the horror she had seen in Transylvania. Perpetuated by men, or by pure evil?
"Iam a vampire," Jake said.
"When did you first realize you were a vampire?" she asked.
"You believe me?"
She put down her notebook and uncrossed her legs, leaning forward. "Jake, listen, you're in a lot of trouble. I just want to help you, but I can only do that if you'll tell what's really going on with you. Okay?"
He nodded and leaned back against the sofa, looking tired. Much better than before, when his attitude had reeked of sheer hostility.
Jake started to talk. As she had expected, he started off with esoteric words, trying to make her see a different world, one in which hewanted to exist. But once he started talking, his words flowed with very little encouragement from her. It became clear that Jake's case was very similar to several she had dealt with before. After all, this was New Orleans, city of voodoo and vampires.
Jake was a brilliant kid, nice-looking, if a little thin. But he was shy and didn't speak to girls easily. He was great with a computer. He'd read extensively.
And everything he had read he had skewed in a certain direction.
"You said there are others like you," she said softly. "That you feel the urge for blood most often during nights when there's a full moon. And that you walk frequently during those nights. So...where do you walk? What do you do?"
He flushed a beet red suddenly. "Um, well, once...I paid for it."
Jessica frowned. "Paid for...it? Do you mean sex?"
"Yeah, well, that...and blood."
That was New Orleans, too. Most diversions could be found somewhere-if you had the money to pay for them.
"I see. You just wound up at a peep show, or...someone solicited you on the street, or...?"
She was startled when she saw that her question had left him seriously perplexed.
"Jake?" she prodded gently.
"I-I don't remember." He stared at her, still looking lost and confused. "I mean...I knew that I had drunk blood. But now that you ask..."
"Were you alone?" she asked him.
The confusion was gone. There was a hard mask in its place. "I can't tell you who I was with. Iwon't tell you who I was with. You can't make me."
"I'm not forcing you to do anything," she said with a shrug. "Tell me what you want, but I hope you'll learn to speak freely."
"There are others. Many others. And more are coming," he said.
"Oh?"
Once again he appeared confused. Her heartbeat quickened. This was worrying.
"I'm not the only one," he said.
"I'm concerned about you, Jake," she told him. "And since I can't make you tell me anything, I'll tell you what I think, and we'll leave it at that. You have friends who feel as you do, and you were out with one or more of them. I don't think you had a particular destination in mind, and you wandered into a bad area, where you were accosted. Don't take offense-you were easy prey. And when you left, you were probably minus every cent you had in your wallets, and maybe a nice watch or some jewelry, as well."
His hand instantly went to his throat, though he wasn't wearing any kind of medallion. His lips tightened, and she could tell that she had hit on the truth.
"Jake, I want you to do a couple of things for me. First, we'll rule nothing out, okay? So I'm going to have you go to your primary-care physician and get a complete physical, all right?"
"Look, I'm fine. I just-"
"Then, because it would be good for you, you're going to see a nutritionist and start on an exercise program." Before he could start complaining, she added, "Jake, I know you're extremely intelligent and can slide right through all your schoolwork, and that part of the reason you don't care if you make it to class is that you're way ahead of most of the work going on. That may mean you need to skip ahead, or start adding some university classes onto your schedule. We have a long way to go to get to the root of your unhappiness."
"I'm not unhappy."
"You're not?"
He flushed again, looking down. "I just don't belong."
"Then we'll find out where youdo belong. And where you want to go."
"Games," he said.
"What?"
"I'd like to design computer games. I think I could do it. I think I'd be good at it."
"I'll bet you would be," she assured him. "Next week, same time. And I'll give your parents a call to-"
"I thought you couldn't repeat anything I said here," he demanded angrily.
"I'm not going to repeat anything. I just want them to get you set up with the right professionals. Now, if you want to say anything else, if you think we haven't covered anything, we still have a few minutes," she told him.
She was startled when he stood and took a step that brought him right in front of her chair. His eyes were alight; he was tense, excited. "I heard you were there," he told her. "In Transylvania. I read about it in the paper. I heard you blew the whistle on the vampires, that you were the one who called the police."
Oh, God, this again!
But she didn't intend to be secretive and feed into his fantasies. She stared at him levelly.
"I met some students over there. One of them left me a note, and I passed it on to the police," she said.
She was startled again when he set his hands on the arms of the chair. Leaned down and looked deeply into her eyes. "Aren't you afraid? Afraid the vampires will come after you-for revenge?"
She stared straight back into his eyes and let out a weary sigh. "From what I heard, Jake, someone freaked out way before the police got there, and the party was already over. Am I afraid the vampires will come after me? No. Feel free to stay if you have something important to discuss, Jake, but if you're just trying to turn the tables here, forget it. Okay?" Her voice was calm and steady. Bored. He had expected to get a rise out of her, but she knew better than to let him.
He shrugged, pushing away from the chair. "Sure sounded like a hell of a party," he murmured.
"Yeah, great party. A girl is still in the hospital," Jessica said, making a mental note to drop by the hospital over the weekend. She had left Romania soon after the students' parents had arrived, but she knew from the newspaper that Mary had been brought home to a New Orleans hospital. The papers had turned the event into a decadent costume party and little more, but anything that mentioned vampires intrigued the public, and even the national papers had picked up the story.
When Jake was gone, she walked to the front desk. Since they were expecting a lodger, she'd sent Stacey home early. Now she pulled out her appointment book, curious to see what her schedule was for the following Monday. When she opened the book, she sat back thoughtfully.
Jeremy had made an appointment for himself.
Bryan MacAllistair felt he'd arrived at the perfect time in New Orleans-not just the season, but the time of day, as well-when he first stood in front of the old Montresse place.
The dead heat of the day was gone, and night was just coming on. It came softly, perhaps deceptively, to this area of the French Quarter, just beyond reach of the neon lights, the blare of the music and the laughter of inebriated tourists. Here, only the faint sounds of a distant waltz could be heard, or perhaps they were only imagined as shadows fell over leafy trees. The Montresse house stood back beyond a brick wall and iron gate, gently cradled by the darkness. The night was kind, he thought. There was no aura of decay about the place. The grounds were slightly overgrown, and looked as if the paint were threatening to peel but hadn't quite reached the point where it was willing to abandon the splendor of the facade.
He stared at the house for a while. Then he found the hinge on the wrought-iron gate and entered, following the stone path from the sidewalk to the porch. Montresse House was old, built when there was still space to be had in the French Quarter. There was a graceful lawn, dotted with flowers and trees that dripped lazily with moss. The porch was more reminiscent of an old plantation house rather than a city dwelling.
As he walked, he was aware that, above him, from a window on the second floor, a curtain had been pulled back.
His arrival was being watched.
With a shrug, he stepped up on the porch and reached for the heavy door knocker, but before he could touch it, the door swung open.
The woman standing there appeared to be in her early twenties. She had a pretty face and a cheerful smile.
"Hi."
"Hi," he returned.
"You're the professor the travel agency booked?" she asked.
"Yes, that's me. Bryan MacAllistair."
"Cool. Come on in."
He stepped inside, and the woman shut the door behind him.
"I'm Stacey LeCroix, Ms. Fraser's assistant. Welcome."
"Thanks. This place sounded like heaven," he said. "It's a beautiful house. Is Ms. Fraser from New Orleans? Has she owned the house forever?"
"Oh, no, Jessica's from...actually, I'm not sure where she's from originally, but she was practicing in Jacksonville before she came here. She'd been here for a few years before I started working for her. I know about the house, though-a friend had been keeping an eye open for her and called her when it came up on the market. But, you're absolutely right. It's beautiful. Come on. I'll show you around."
A sweeping staircase was the central focus of the foyer, and he could well imagine being swept back through the decades to a time when cotton was king and Southern belles had whisked along the hallways in elegant ballgowns. There were broad double doors to both the right and left, closed now.
"The ladies' parlor was to your left and the men's smoking room to the right. Of course, we prohibit smoking in the house, though your room has access to the wraparound balcony, just in case."
"A cigar here and there," he told her, shrugging. Her expression clearly displayed what she thought of cigar smoke, but he refused to back down. "However, I prefer my cigars with good brandy, right time, right place," he told her reassuringly.
"Humph," she murmured. "Well, in the morning, the doors to the right are open and it's a lovely dining room. The original dining room is Ms. Fraser's office. The bedrooms are upstairs. If you lose your key or have any maintenance problems, there's a groundskeeper's cottage just to the rear of the main house-you can reach it through the yard. Ms. Fraser and I both work but Gareth Miller, our handyman, is just about always around."
"No problem," Bryan said.
She set one foot on the first step of the stairway, and turned, an uncertain look on her face. "You're a professor, right?" she asked. He had the feeling that she was uncertain, and irritated with herself because of it.
"Yes, just as the booking agency promised."
She nodded, still frowning. "Of course. Um...sorry. Follow me."
Up the stairs and to the left, she opened the first door on the right side of the hallway. "I'm sure you'll be very comfortable," she assured him. "The bath was added soon after the turn of the last century. Deco fixtures," she said proudly. "We do charge a bit more than most, but..."
"Worth every cent," he assured her, and he meant it. The room was huge, and the bath was really something. The room itself offered a queen-size bed, the usual modern entertainment center, a period dresser with a contemporary coffeemaker and microwave, a nineteenth-century desk with a printer and fax machine, and an ample closet. French doors opened out to the wraparound balcony. He strode out, inhaling the rich scent of new-grown foliage, and noting the attractive garden and small pool below. The backyard wasn't vast, but it was big enough to offer the swimming pool-blessed relief in the dead heat of summer, he was certain-and a small patio and garden. And from back here, the street might as well have been a million miles away. The house was a treasure and, he surmised, worth a small fortune.
He turned. Stacey LeCroix was waiting just inside the room, watching him, still looking uncertain.
"It's perfect," he told her.
She smiled. "Yes, isn't it? Sorry, I must be a little tired today. I...never mind. Ok, what else? Maid service only if you're out of the room by twelve. We only have two women who come in, and they both have school-age children. If you don't find anyone in the dining room in the morning, you'll find apetit dejeuner set up on the patio. And you're welcome downstairs anytime, except in the office or our private apartments."
"Naturally," he agreed.
"So that's all you have? That backpack?" she asked him.
"For now," he said simply.
"Well, then...I hope you'll be comfortable."
She smiled a little awkwardly. "Oh, your key." She dug into her skirt pocket and produced a key. "It opens both the front door and your room, and please try not to lose it. We're not set up with computer cards, so it's the real key thing."
"I seldom lose things," he assured her.
"Glad to hear it." She stared at him for a moment longer, then left.
He closed the door behind her and walked to the balcony.
It was perfect.
He closed his eyes. If he listened, he could hear the faint sounds of the city. To the rear, all was tranquil. And yet, out there, New Orleans teemed with life.
Night was falling, darkness sweeping down...with a hint of red.
"Oh, my God!"
Jessica stood in the doorway, staring at her wide-eyed assistant as Stacey caught hold of her arm and pulled her back out to the front porch, closing the door behind her.
"Oh, my God what?" Jessica demanded, amused to see Stacey lose her cool.
"He's gorgeous."
"Who?" Jessica asked.
"The professor. Wait till you see him. I just...I had to warn you."
"Warn me? Why? Is he dangerous?"
"Of course not. I'd have never opened the door to someone who looked as if he'd..."
"As if he'd what?"
"Be dangerous. He just wasn't what I expected," Stacey assured her.
"I don't think it's a prerequisite to be ugly to be a professor," Jessica said, still amused. And she was glad to be amused, she realized. Nothing had seemed right since she'd returned from Romania. The sky continued to bother her. And even her sessions with kids like Jake seemed disturbing, even though she'd worked with plenty of kids before who had been acting out fantasies, looking for attention. Looking to belong.
"Fine, laugh at me," Stacey said a little indignantly. "Wait until you see him."
Jessica stepped past her, entering the house, setting down her purse and briefcase. Stacey followed, hovering near her. Jessica shook her head, laughing. "This isn't a big corporation," she whispered. "You're welcome to have a crush on a guest."
Stacey flushed. "Don't be silly. I'm seeing Bobby Munro, and I wouldn't have a crush on a guest, anyway. He's just...oh, you'll see."
"I'm sure I will." She still felt a smile twitching her lips as she turned and walked back to the entry table to leaf through the mail.
"Oh, hey," Stacey said, "Big Jim wants to know if you're up for a game of Trivial Pursuit."
"Tonight?"
It was Stacey's turn to laugh. "Hey, Friday night, wild excitement, you know."
"Ha, ha."
"It'll do you good to have some fun."
"Well, I mean, your trip turned out to be...eventful," Stacey said. "I only know what was in the papers, but it sounded pretty awful."
"My heart bleeds for those kids, but I'm fine. Don't go tiptoeing around my feelings. Thank you for your concern, but it's not necessary. I'm not obsessed with it, so don't you be, okay?" What a crock. It was all still there in her mind, no matter whom she was working with or what she was doing.
She turned. "Trivial Pursuit will be fine. I want to take a shower and chill out first, though. Will you call Big Jim back for me? Tell him about eight. We'll play here. Who else is coming?"
"Sure. I'll call him. And Bobby and I will be there, too."
"We should invite Gareth, as well. And there's always Barry Larson. You know, the keyboard player."
"The one with the crush on you?"
"That's taken care of. He knows I'm not interested."
"Sure," Stacey said. "Strange guy. It's like he wants so badly to belong. He wants to be invited over here all the time. Maybe he has a crush on the house, not you."
"Maybe. But you know what? I don't think I will call him. Just Gareth."
Stacey shook her head. "Gareth isn't just reclusive these days-he doesn't even seem to want to come in for a cup of coffee. I bet he won't come"
Jessica frowned. Gareth had always been shy. He had come with her when she bought the house, and she had been surprised he was willing to leave the small town outside Jacksonville where he had taken care of her house. But he was wonderful at keeping the place running, a true jack-of-all-trades, polite, and sincere in his gratitude for not only getting to live in the cottage, but receiving a generous paycheck. He was loyal to a fault, Jessica thought, and she was equally grateful to have him.
Stacey grinned and looked up the stairs. "Maybehe'll come down and play. He's a professor-maybe he can beat you."
"Maybe he can. Or maybe he just wants to be left alone. I'm going to run up and shower."
"I'm going to call the Italian place and order in."
"Go for it."
Stacey headed for the office, and Jessica started upstairs. It was getting dark way too early. The time hadn't changed yet, though it would soon. Still, the last nights had seemed...
Dark. Dark, and far too...red.
Get a life, she told herself.
And a soft voice added,A real one .
She didn't head straight into her long, hot shower. She stayed out on the balcony, watching the evening come on with a strange, whispering, red malice. Ever since Romania...
She bit her lip, glad she would be seeing Jeremy again on Monday, but dreading the day, as well. It seemed to be gathering again....
What "it?" she demanded irritably of herself.
It.
The evil that had walked in that distant country, that seemed to come with the night and fill the air, whispering all around her, touching her....
She turned abruptly, certain someone else was on the balcony.
But she was alone. Had a door just closed? Had their guest been out there, watching her, as she had watched the night? She squared her shoulders. She was no easily intimidated child.
She could handle whatever came her way.
She wouldn't give way to whispers on the breeze that seemed to touch her with fingers of ice.
"A life," she said softly out loud.
Determined, she walked inside. No shower tonight. A bath. As hot as she could take it, long and sudsy and relaxing. And if she still had that old brandy decanter in her room somewhere, she would sip while she soaked.
She wouldn't think about what had happened.
Yes, she would.
Because she was obsessed.
"I think I want this man on my team all the time!" Stacey exclaimed.
"What can I say? I know my European history," Bryan said with a shrug. He had been wondering how to get to know both women better when Stacey had surprised him with a knock on his door and an invitation to play Trivial Pursuit.
The owner of the house, however, had yet to make it downstairs. But they had decided to play a few practice rounds, so he had pinched up with Stacey, while her boyfriend, a cop named Bobby, had teamed up with the massive sax player.
Big Jim gave a deep, rich laugh. "You do seem to be something of a walking encyclopedia, MacAllistair."
He offered the sax player a rueful smile. "Occupational hazard," he explained. He had liked the other man from the moment he met him. There was a serenity about him that seemed to come from wisdom rather than simply from knowledge. He had the ability to make a stranger feel as if they had been friends for life. Bryan thought he would be good to have around in an emergency.
"You're no slouch yourself," Bryan commented.
Big Jim's smile was vast. "I do all right." He laughed again. "Maybe, when the nights are too quiet, I just study all the cards and learn all the answers."
"Do you?" Stacey gasped.
Big Jim's deep laughter boomed again. "No, but maybe I should start."
"He comes from a long line of voodoo priestesses," Stacey said, as if that explained something about the man's abilities.
"Yeah, and I just come from a long line of cops," Bobby said with a sigh.
"But you have all the sports stuff down," Stacey said, patting his hand.
"Yeah, I've got all the answers," Bobby said, and rolled his eyes. "That's why you ditched me for the professor."
"Yes, and I'm sticking with him," Stacey said firmly.
"You're giving up on me?" a new voice, feminine, rich and melodic, chimed in.
Bryan turned to see who had spoken, and it was as if he had been struck by lightning.
She was a beautiful woman, but then again, the world was filled with beautiful women. She was about five six, slender but curved, with golden-blond hair that swept sensually down her back, and deep blue eyes. It wasn't just her appearance that was arresting; it was the way she moved, her casual ease.
It was the fact that she seemed to touch a distant, forgotten chord in his soul, the fact that she was so very much like...
Someone long gone. Someone who should have been entirely erased from his mind by time gone by. He had met women before who had touched a core of memory in him. Something about them the same, the way they looked, spoke, moved.
But nothing like this. Never like this.
He stood, ready to introduce himself.
"Hey, you made it down at last," Stacey said.
"Yeah, sorry, the hot-bath thing was more seductive than I'd imagined," Jessica Fraser mumbled, coming into the room.
Then she saw him.
She stopped. And stared.
"You two haven't met yet," Stacey said. She was clearly amused, enjoying her friend's hastily concealed reaction to him. There was anI told you so smirk on her face.
"Hi," Jessica murmured, stepping forward with a welcoming smile and extending a hand. "Welcome to the Montresse House. I must say, you don't look like...well, what I had imagined." She blushed, then added, "Sorry."
He took her hand. The feeling of being touched by lightning, shot through by a bolt of fire, hit him again. He stared back at her, forcing a casual smile and an apologetic shrug. "No apology necessary."
Jessica nodded and chose a chair at the other end of the table.
Big Jim smiled at her. "We've been practicing, getting into the groove while we waited," he said. "We can start for real now. I'll have you and Bobby."
"Three against two," Jessica said.
"Gareth turned us down," Stacey commented. "But that's okay. I've got the professor."
"Feeling confident, aren't you?" Jessica asked Stacey, but she was staring at Bryan, and he knew he was staring back.
There was something about her....
He shrugged and leaned back.
"Let the game begin," he said softly.