On a flawless June weekend in an unremarkable Rodeway Inn in Medina, something remarkable unfolded. House Kheperu, a "magickal society" held its annual open house. The eclectic group is composed chiefly of psychic vampires, which, unlike their sanguinary counterparts, "must actively take in human vital energy in order to maintain their mental, physical and spiritual well-being."

House members, prospective "dedicants" and curious attendees did not wear fangs or capes, but both wardrobe and make-up were heavy on the black. Median age of the 60-odd attendees: thirtysomething.

"I've waited nine years to come here," said one woman who hailed from the East Coast. They came from the West Coast and the other side of the Mason-Dixon Line as well.

House elder Michelle Belanger, however, calls Northeast Ohio home. Compliments of her stacked heels, the drop-dead gorgeous redhead stood a few inches taller than her au naturale 6 feet. She kicked off the event with introductions, then instructed everyone to form a circle.

"Everyone join hands in order to sync the group's energy," said Belanger. The man to the left of me interlaced his fingers in mine, the man to the right of me did not. An uneven dizziness bloomed as Belanger's lilting voice guided us. When the short ritual concluded, I shook my head against the disorientation.

In the first energy workshop, we beginners paired off. My partner was to silently focus his energy into one hand while I hovered my hands over his and "sensed" where the energy was. I felt heat through my arms and neck and the sensation of being pulled into him. When asked to describe it I said, "It's like putty. I want to play with it," although I'm not sure if that was accurate. I couldn't think straight.

"You can play with my putty," offered my next partner. His energy was less intense, but still unmistakable. A woman with crystal blue eyes and brown hair that fell to her knees was my third partner. She had traveled from Seattle and asked me if I was a little priestess. "Um, yes?" I said. "I mean, no. I mean, I'd like to be. Um, no. Maybe." The feeling she impressed upon me was not as hot or magnetic as the men's. Nor was it weak, just different. I described it as feminine to the group.

I had not expected this. I was getting drawn in.

In between workshops, members discussed the energies of hospitals and funeral homes, and that of a crowded sporting event. The residual energy left in a theater lobby the moment just after everyone returns to their seats is free for the taking. They mused on the dynamics of lovers and fighters.

I'd been drained by brooding curmudgeons and lifted by lovers throughout my life. Who hadn't? Wasn't this just the study of the essence of life, something that was completely common? Were some energy exchanges extraordinary? Supernatural? Could one actively feed on another's energy? Everything was getting blurry.

Enter Belanger's The Vampire Codex.

"A draw can be enacted in conjunction with tantric magick ... a tendril is inserted into the subtle body of your partner. Through intense visualization, this tendril is guided down through your partner's body to the root chakra. Here the Kundalini energy that is so crucial to Tantra lies coiled."

Yeah? Say "tantric" again, baby.

"You are a warrior," boomed Group Rites workshop leader Jay. "Your job is to seal and protect the ritual space." I moved my hand around the walls as directed. I sealed and protected as best as a housewife from Broadview Heights could. As Jay talked us through energy channeling, that strange dizziness welled up again and nearly knocked me down. This time when I reached for the wall, it was for support, sealing be damned.

Bewildered and stunned by the whole experience, all I wanted to do was fall into bed Saturday night. But how could I decline an invitation to go to a goth club with a bunch of vampires? I dragged a comb through my hair and headed to the Chamber in Lakewood.

Fishnets and corsets flashed beneath hypnotic black lights. One Kheperian donned a pair of inflatable bat wings. The vamps undulated inside the music. They petted and necked. I watched on like a 12 year old gazing at a full moon on Halloween.

"Imagine the ambient energy is a mist all around you," cooed the beautiful young Cesare into my ear. "Just breathe it in. It's better than cocaine." I wanted to do as he advised, but I was reluctant, almost fearful. If I inhaled with a particular intent, would I be taking in more than a simple breath?

I slept poorly amid surreal dreams and woke late, squinting against the blinding sunlight. Exhaustion, as well as a craving for eggs over easy and a large V8, washed over me. I stumbled into my office and pulled up Belanger's Codex.

"Sometimes a feeding vessel may manifest the symptoms of vampirism, but this is merely a sympathetic state brought about through prolonged or obsessive contact with one of our own," it said. "Such a person will gradually recover and return to a normal, non-vampiric state." Well, that's a relief, I thought. "In some cases, the afflicted person does not wish to give up the state of sympathetic vampirism." I blinked at the screen. Sympathetic vampire? I crept back to bed.

I curled around my husband, a supple minx. "I'm going to feed on your energy," I whispered as I pressed my flesh against his. My fingertips rested upon his pulsing throat.

"I know exactly how you can suck it out," he said.

The spell shattered in laughter.

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