Fire Within (8 page)

The rich furnishings were no doubt impressive, but the first thing that drew her attention was the unusual collection on the wall. Two display cases held an assortment of antique knives and short swords. Rather disconcerting in a business setting, especially a counseling agency.

Shale responded to her obvious surprise. “A hobby of mine, I’m afraid.” He waved a hand toward the wall. “I suppose I should take them down, but it took me years to collect them all. I enjoy sharing my treasures with others.”

That explained Ms. Binderman’s letter opener, a gift from her boss. Ari walked over to examine the exhibit. Some were simple instruments of death; others were ornate, heavily jeweled. Shale was a man of unique and expensive taste.

“Interesting collection.” She turned away. A weapon was just a weapon to her.

Shale wasn’t fooled. He gave her an indulgent smile. “Not everyone shares my love of the past.” He steered her away from the large executive desk that dominated the room, seating her at a smaller round table. A more intimate setting, casual, probably used during counseling sessions to promote conversation. A surprising choice for this interview. She had pegged Shale as a man who liked to be in charge. The desk would have been more in character.

Proving her assessment, Shale reasserted himself by taking the initiative in the conversation. He talked openly about Lorraine’s grief, Mrs. West’s motherly support, and how disruptive the murder had been to his clientele. After letting this go on for several minutes, Ari interrupted.

“I’m more interested in knowing specifics about the victim. His relationship with Lorraine. Problems they might have had. Maybe we could start with why Jules and Lorraine were in counseling?”

Shale frowned. “This is not a comfortable situation, Ms. Calin. I don’t like talking about my clients or the important work that goes on in counseling sessions. But, as Lorraine has given her permission, I’ll share what I can. She came to me five months ago, said she was considering a vampire bond, but her family was very much opposed. She wanted help in dealing with the issues. We talked. After a few sessions, she brought Jules in to join us.”

“And what was your impression of him?”

Shale gave a dismissive nod. “Mixed. He didn’t talk much about his present lifestyle or his past. Not even the most basic details—interests, friends, habits, financial condition. Unusually secretive.”

“Unusual, how? Most vampires are secretive.”

“Yes, of course, they are.” His nostrils flared briefly, and Shale drew himself up, as if feeling challenged. “When you’ve worked with vampires as long as I have, Ms. Calin, you pick up the nuances. Jules was holding back. He never elaborated, left most of the talking to Lorraine.”

“Hiding something in particular?” Ari’s interest quickened, distracting her from the counselor’s pompous attitude. Maybe Jules had a secret that had gotten him killed.

“I wouldn’t go that far. But not cooperative. Not at all.” His lips thinned in disapproval. “Jules was here only to placate Lorraine. He didn’t want my help. Obviously didn’t think he needed it.”

Well, jeez, she thought, somewhat deflated. Who wants to go to counseling? Especially if the shrink acted like Shale. The counselor’s snobbish manner was beginning to annoy her. “What else did you notice about him?”

“He was polite. Civil to our staff.”

Talk about damning with faint praise. Ari got the distinct feeling Shale had not liked Jules. Maybe it was the difference in personalities. Shale’s pushy manner, expecting all that personal information, might put any vampire on edge. That Shale had been irritated with Jules’s lack of response could have been predicted. A poor counseling match. Why hadn’t Shale reassigned the couple to another counselor?

Shale hadn’t given her a very professional assessment. Despite Jules’s reticence, this was supposed to be the shrink’s field of expertise. He should have seen the personality beneath. Well, no matter, she thought. What he’d said seemed to be skewed anyway and probably told more about Shale than Jules.

“What did you end up advising Lorraine to do about the bonding? Were you opposed?”

“Not exactly. I try to remain neutral, Ms. Calin.” He gave her an ingratiating smile. “May I call you Arianna?”

“Ari. Most people call me Ari.” In fact, only one person consistently called her Arianna. Shale wasn’t going to be the second.

“Then, Ari it is. But in answer to your question, I was hesitant to encourage the bonding. Human-vampire relationships are the most difficult we see. So many unavoidable obstacles. Lack of children, aging of one partner, different day/night schedules. Not to mention the physical danger.” He hesitated. “In this case, my biggest concern was Lorraine. Too gentle, too fragile for that lifestyle.” He started to shake his head, then shrugged. “They thought differently and seemed to be a devoted pair.”

Ari jotted a few notes. Even though the negatives in the relationship were significant, Lorraine and Jules had gone through the ceremony anyway. Had someone made them pay for that decision? She noticed Shale craning his head to see what she was writing. “Just notes,” she said, moving the pad. “You said Lorraine’s family was opposed. Did she realize that included her mother?”

“Oh, yes. Mrs. West had told her she was throwing her life away. Jules tried to win her over, but it never worked. She didn’t want that life for Lorraine. I assume you know how strongly Eddie felt.”

“I do. But tell me, in your professional opinion, is he capable of murder?”

“Don’t the facts speak for themselves?”

Ari looked up from her notes. “That’s not exactly what I asked you. For the moment, disregard his confession.”

Shale’s face registered annoyance. “Aren’t we all capable of murder? Under the right, or wrong, circumstances?”

Ari closed the notebook. “You sound pessimistic for a shrink. I expected you to see the best in people.”

His squared his shoulders. “Oh, but I do see everyone’s potential for good. At the same time, I try to be realistic. It’s not helpful for our clients to ignore the facts. If they do, well, we have tragedies like Jules and Lorraine.” He waved one hand toward his open doorway and the rooms beyond. “We work hard, provide whatever we can to give these difficult relationships a fair chance. It doesn’t always work, but we keep trying.”

“I’d like to hear more about the services you offer. Clients frequently approach me for references. Perhaps I can add your agency to the list.”

“Excellent. But I have another commitment. Let me find one of my associates to show you around.”

Shale flashed the smile he kept tucked away to be used on demand. It was becoming creepy. She assumed his good humor had returned because he was getting rid of her. He stepped outside his office door and waved to a young woman across the room. Ari watched his associate negotiate a path, skirting through the furniture with a confident, no-nonsense stride. Shale introduced them and explained Ari’s interest.

“It would be a pleasure,” Sarah Young said without hesitation. “We’re proud of our program.” Her hazel eyes radiated confident intelligence. Sarah was friendly but rather quiet at first, until Shale left and she became caught up in talking about the job. Her face lit with excitement, and her chestnut curls bounced with every emphatic nod of her head.

Sarah spent nearly an hour reciting the individual and group counseling options available and introduced Ari to two more counselors. Richard Batty, mid-50s, slender and wiry, was all business; Jerome Fitzhugh, a 30-something black man, displayed a wide grin and that loose-limbed walk of a former athlete. The fifth and final member of the counseling staff, Frieda Stanley, ran the evening support groups and wouldn’t be in for another hour.

By the end of the tour, Ari was impressed. “Your operation has a lot to offer our community.”

Sarah beamed. “One-stop shopping. We hope to meet all our clients’ needs, whatever comes along. Individual and family counseling. Problem solving. Violence and grief counseling. No one else offers this much specialty. It’s important to make each relationship experience a positive one, whether the relationship succeeds or fails.”

“What happens when a vampire bond goes bad?”

A slight grimace flashed across Sarah’s face. “We try not to get to that point. When vampires are involved, the counseling needs to come before the bonding.”

“I understand that, but what if it happens?”

“Then we’d help them adjust. Improve their blocking against each other’s thoughts. Teach them how to live apart, if we can. Whatever it takes to make their situation better. It would be difficult. Separation is easier for other species.”

“So you have divorce counseling? Or whatever you call it?”

“We do relationship counseling with all the couples. Sometimes that means we help them end dysfunctional relationships. A support group can ease the way.”

“Did you know Jules and Lorraine?”

“Not well. They appeared very compatible. Why do you ask?”

“Shale implied that vampire-human relationships are nearly impossible.”

“Oh, not impossible. Harold hates to see his clients fail, and the statistics are poor. I’m not that pessimistic, unless the spouse wants to be a parent. We try to catch those cases early, before a mistake is made. I’ve seen other vampire-human bondings work, and work well. It really depends on the individuals involved.”

“What about trust? Aren’t humans the natural prey of vampires? How does a couple get past that?” Ari remembered having this very discussion with Andreas. A discussion that was never resolved.

Sarah laughed softly. “I’m not a believer in ‘love conquers all,’ but it sure helps. Barriers come down if partners are committed. Some people question the ability of a vampire to love, but I’ve seen it for myself. The last thing they want is to harm their partners. We offer classes to increase the vampire’s control over his impulses and to minimize the partner setting off certain triggers. But, yes, of course, trust is a big issue. But that’s true of any relationship, whether a vampire is involved or not.”

Yeah, but could you ever trust a predator? Then again, maybe that edge of danger was part of the thrill.

That was a disquieting thought.

Ari checked her watch. Time had passed quickly, and she still planned to visit the magic lab on her way out of town. She stuck out a hand. “Thanks, Sarah. I’ve taken up a lot of your time, but you’ve been helpful.”

“Any time.”

The spark of energy from Sarah was carefully controlled. This woman knew her abilities.

“If the need arises, don’t forget we’re here,” Sarah said.

Ari stared at the counselor, momentarily speechless. Was this an offer of personal assistance? Had Sarah read something into Ari’s questions? Something she hadn’t intended to share?

“Didn’t Harold say you might be referring clients?” Sarah asked, ending the awkward pause.

Embarrassed she’d jumped to the wrong conclusion, Ari gave a weak smile. “Oh, yeah. I might do that.”

* * *

The Otherworld Forensics & Research Laboratory (OFR), known as ‘the kitchen,’ was housed behind an ordinary door at the rear of the Magic Hall. A small black sign marked the
Lab Entrance
to a scientific playground. In order to accommodate the expanding world of investigative processing, the lab had been recently remodeled with new equipment and more efficient workspace. It still retained its magical essence. Ari paused in the doorway and made a quick sweep of the room.

Multiple aisles, similar to a library, stretched from end to end. Instead of wooden bookshelves and tables, granite and stainless steel counters equipped with sinks and forensic paraphernalia—test tubes, beakers, microscopes and complex analysis machines—lined each row. If that had been the extent of the lab, OFR might have been any forensic facility in the country. But the OFR utilized many unique items. Electric caldrons, jars of non-human specimens, brightly colored bottles of rare chemicals, and the canisters marked with strange symbols. Those were the magical binding agents. The entire west wall of the room held a series of cubbyholes divided into sections containing herbs, tested and untested potions, and magical powders. The east wall housed the actual library, filled with thousands of books on science and magic.

This was Heaven to Ari’s witch blood. It sang in her veins, and her fingers twitched with the urge to jump into the nearest project. This was the reason history depicted witches as stirring cauldrons. Mixing magical ingredients and conjuring spells was at the core of witchcraft, an inherited talent shared by every member of the race of sorcerers, whether they were from the witch or wizard bloodline. Some were just better at it than others.

More than two dozen human and magical beings moved among the various collections, each absorbed in some experiment. Steam bubbled from a nearby shiny, silver cauldron and an aroma like spring flowers drifted in the air. Across the room, two young dwarves wielding large butcher knives chopped a black, lumpy substance and tossed the pieces into a three-foot blender. Pots hissed, tubing bubbled in the noisy and colorful landscape.

Ari’s attention was immediately drawn to the activity on her right. An old man with a long beard was standing in front of a steaming, bubbling pot. He shifted his weight from one foot to another and muttered under his breath. Every few seconds he punctuated his chant by dropping a pinch of powder into the fermenting broth. Ari briefly wondered if he could conjure something to stop the dreams, but she knew it wasn’t that simple.

She turned away and searched the room for Gillian, spotting her slim figure wrapped in yellow and purple. Gillian wasn’t blind to basic fashion, but she could argue forever about the negative effects of white lab coats on creativity. She looked up as Ari approached.

“Couldn’t wait for me to call, huh? Since you’re here, take a look at this.” She pointed to a jar on the counter in front of her and stood aside.

Ari looked at the squishy mass inside. “It’s a bunch of tiny eyeballs. So what?”

“Eye of newt,” Gillian said.

“What do you want with lizard eyeballs?”