Keeper of the Night (The Keepers: L.A.)

by Heather Graham

  “Just the man I wanted to see,” Brodie said, and Rhiannon stared at him.

  Just the man he wanted to see? Now?

  “Why, what’s happened? Have you found the killer?” Merlin asked.

  “No, but we know who attacked Sailor, or at least we’re pretty sure we know. Celeste Monahue,” Brodie said.

  “Celeste?” Merlin was clearly surprised.

  “You knew her? And she’s been in the House of the Rising Sun before?” Brodie asked.

  “Of course I knew her. Years ago she was quite the femme fatale. She was certain she could compete with the young crop that appears yearly forever. She was a real vixen in her day, and she’d attended many a party at the House of the Rising Sun.”

  “So she had been invited in,” Brodie said.

  “Yes. But...why would Celeste attack Sailor, much less kill a bunch of actors who hadn’t even gotten a part?” Merlin asked.

  “I think,” Brodie said, “that we’re looking for more than one person, and the person we’re looking for—who may or may not be human—is getting vampires who want to get into, or back into, the business to—”

  “—to commit murder,” Rhiannon said, then grimaced. “These killings took place before my father left, but I’m sure whoever’s behind this isn’t worried that the bodies have come to light. He thinks that I’m too young and inexperienced to catch him. But he’s wrong.”

  Merlin stared at her. “Then you’d better find him quickly. Because he might just get away clean, because the actual killers will have vanished—into ash.”

  “Barrie’s article will hit the street tomorrow,” Brodie said. “With luck we’ll force our puppet master out into the open.”

  Merlin looked ready to start ranting, so Rhiannon quickly cut him off. “Sailor doesn’t want to be alone, Merlin. She asked if you’d go over there and watch out for her.”

  “Of course,” he assured her, already walking to the door. “What you girls need is a good dog.”

  Rhiannon stepped forward to open the door for him, but he was too upset for courtesy. He walked right through it, and when she looked through the peephole, she saw that he was heading toward the main house with a purposeful stride.

  She turned to find Brodie standing directly behind her.

  It was amazing, the response that an Elven, her Elven, could arouse in the human body. She’d thought that the reality of their situation would weigh so heavily on her that nothing could distract her.

  She’d been wrong.

  All Brodie had to do was touch her and her only thought became that all time was precious, and their time together rarest and most precious of all. He swung her easily into his arms. “I think we’re alone now,” he said huskily, moving toward the stairs.

  “You know, I really can walk,” she told him.

  “Why bother?”

  Later she didn’t remember being carried up the stairs or reaching the bedroom. All she knew was that they were suddenly just...there, on the bed together, urgently kissing and trying to struggle out of their clothing at the same time. As soon as she was naked, Rhiannon looked up at him breathlessly.

  “Did we teleport?” she asked.

  “No...but we did travel at the speed of light,” he said, smiling into her eyes.

  And then he was kissing her again. She kissed him in return, breathing him in, and even the scent of him seemed golden. When he moved against her, she moved against him, her body curving to echo his every shift. The taste of his kiss was sweet and suggestive and erotic, and when they finally broke away they were both breathless, staring at each other in wonder for a long moment. And then they were touching again. She pressed her lips to his shoulders while he ran his hands along the length of her back and down to her hips. Her fingertips seemed to streak with fire as she touched him. And where his kiss fell on her bare flesh, her blood felt as if it was boiling beneath her skin. They hungered, as if they could never have enough of the simple taste and feel of each other, until the urgency created by that longing become unbearable. They melted together, suddenly one, in a movement as natural as breathing....

  Rhiannon felt as if she were soaring toward the sun, his every caress erotic, and the feel of his flesh, the thrust of his body, wickedly abandoned and so, so real. She felt everything acutely, each slightest brush of his fingertips, the pressure deep inside as he moved within her, driving her ever higher.

  Her climax burst through her. She relished it, drifted on the wave, clung to the wonder that filled her, as molten and sweet as release itself had been. And then she saw that the sun had risen and the day had begun, golden light seeping in between the curtains.

  “It’s morning,” she murmured, snuggling again him.

  “Morning,” he agreed, and groaned. “Matinee today.”

  “We need to get a few hours’ sleep,” she said huskily.

  “We do,” he agreed, cradling her against him.

  Moments later she felt the liquid fire of his kiss moving along her back.

  She turned in his arms, looking at him with a curious smile. “This is how you sleep?” she asked.

  “I’ll sleep...soon,” he promised as he studied her, a slight smile on his face.

  “Are you reading my thoughts?” she asked him.

  “Not the way you’re suggesting,” he said. “But I’m reading what I can from the way you’re looking at me. What’s your real feeling about sleep?”

  She smiled. “Soon...” she whispered. And then her lips met his and time lost all meaning.

  Chapter 12

  Is a wannabe-vampire serial killer on the prowl in L.A.?

  Rhiannon started reading the story underneath the headline. Barrie had done an excellent job. Her story wasn’t front page, but at least it was the lead story for the local section.

  Barrie had included information on all five murders, information credited to an “anonymous source” at the police department. She listed the victims and the dump sites, and included the detail that every victim had been drained of blood. She listed the number for the police hotline, urging anyone who had any information whatsoever to please call.

  There was a tap on the door just as Rhiannon finished the article. She jumped up and went to answer the summons.

  Barrie was standing there looking decidedly nervous. “Well?” she asked.

  “It was excellent,” Rhiannon assured her.

  “Where’s Brodie?” Barrie asked.

  “On his way to the theater—matinee today. Have you seen Sailor?”

  “I was just over there—she and I are going for a run,” Barrie said.

  “Wait,” Rhiannon said. “I just need a minute to grab some sneakers, and then I’ll go with you.”

  “I’m warning you,” Sailor said when they joined her, “I’m not slowing down just so you can keep up with me.”

  “We’ll struggle along as best we can,” Rhiannon said, laughing.

  Twenty minutes later Rhiannon was regretting her words. Sailor was in excellent shape and had no trouble with the hills, while Rhiannon was appalled to realize that she was quickly panting and sweating.

  “Have mercy!” Barrie cried at last, saving Rhiannon from having to be the one to cry uncle.

  Sailor paused, and Rhiannon bent over, gasping for breath. As she did so, she realized that they had reached the area where she had found the body in the pond.

  “Cops walking around—look,” Barrie said, breathing heavily between words.

  Rhiannon looked. There were two patrol cars parked on the private road, and she could see two sets of officers knocking on two front doors.

  Then she noticed that someone was standing on the sidewalk, a notebook in his hands, watching as the officers went door to door.

  “Isn’t that Adam—the guy from the club last night?” Sailor asked.

  Rhiannon nodded and straightened. A pain shot through her rib cage, and she gasped.

  They had to find the killer fast, she thought, or she would perish just from trying to
keep up with Sailor.

  Adam must have heard them talking, because he looked up and saw them, then smiled, waved and started in their direction. “Morning, ladies,” he said cheerfully.

  “Hi, Adam,” Rhiannon said. “You working the streets now?”

  He nodded, then looked at Barrie. “I guess I don’t have to wonder who your source is, but don’t worry, I won’t tell anyone. Your article got the phones ringing, at least. We got an anonymous tip that someone saw a pair of lovers out here a few weeks ago, walking down toward the water. We’re trying to find the tipster, see if he can’t tell us more.” He shook his head glumly. “It’s just hard, you know? If coyotes could talk, we might get better information.”

  “If coyotes could talk,” Rhiannon agreed.

  “Well, ladies, have a beautiful day. I’m going to get back to work,” he said, then met Rhiannon’s eyes. “I’m surprised to see you out here. Yesterday must have been hell for you.”

  “It wasn’t pleasant, that’s for sure,” she said. “Well, time for us to get going.”

  She waved and was about to start jogging again when something on the sidewalk caught her attention. She didn’t want Adam to see, so she quickly paused to do some stretching, keeping an eye on him until he was safely out of range.

  “What are you doing?” Sailor asked her.

  “Stretching to pick up...this.”

  She reached down for the bit of white cardboard that had attracted her attention. It turned out to be a matchbook.

  “House of Illusion,” Barrie said aloud.

  “Want to have a late lunch there?” Rhiannon asked.

  “I don’t know. We’re going tomorrow night anyway, and Brodie will be with us then,” Sailor said.

  “We’re just going to have lunch, not storm the place,” Rhiannon said.

  “All right,” Sailor said. “Race you home!”

  * * *

  As soon as he finished with costume and makeup, Brodie stepped outside to the parking lot to call the station. He was surprised when he got Adam’s voice mail and a message saying he was out for the day. Brodie hit “0” for the switchboard and asked to be transferred to Bryce Edwards, his werewolf friend in Vice.

  “Hey, Brodie.”

  “Bryce, sorry, I was trying to reach Adam Lansky in tech assistance, and I thought you might know where he is.”

  “He’s out on the streets, with the uniforms, going door to door by that pond you were at yesterday,” Edwards told him. “The kid is trying to earn some brownie points with you, I think. So, how are you really doing on this case, Brodie? Do we need to start worrying that it’s going to blow up on us?”

  “I promise you, I won’t let it get to that. Can you get me patched through to Adam? I don’t have his cell number, since he’s never away from his desk,” Brodie said.

  “I’ll make it happen. That article in this morning’s paper has brought out the crazies. Are you going to get in here to help sift through the tips?” Edwards asked.

  “First thing tomorrow morning,” Brodie promised. “And if anything comes in that you think I should know about...”

  “I’ll call you, anytime, day or night,” Edwards promised. “Okay, hang on. I’ve got Lansky for you.”

  A minute later he was connected to Adam.

  “Hey, Brodie,” Adam said.

  “What are you doing?” Brodie asked.

  “Helping.”

  “That’s great, Adam, but I need you on the computer.”

  “It’s Saturday, you know. I’m working on my own time,” Adam said. “I came in this morning to print out pictures for the patrol teams to show around. Head shots of the victims, stuff I found online. I know I’m a geek, but I’d like to make detective one day.”

  Brodie wasn’t sure why he felt uncomfortable. Adam had been a godsend many times in the past, digging up all kinds of information on the internet.

  He’d also followed Sailor the other night at the club. For her safety? Or for some other reason entirely?

  “All right,” Brodie said, seeing that he wasn’t going to get Adam to back off, at least not today. “I’ll give you a call after the matinee, okay? You can catch me up on what’s going on.”

  “Sure. I’ll do that. You going to the Snake Pit tonight?”

  Brodie frowned, thinking quickly, and said, “Yes, I’ll be there to watch over Rhiannon. I’ve got friends watching her, too, keeping her safe ’til I can get there.”

  “Good to know. Well, I guess your show is about to start. Break a leg. I’ll talk to you later,” Adam promised.

  Brodie hung up, not happy with the situation. He’d worked with Adam a long time. He’d seemed a good enough kid. But now...

  Everybody wanted something. The kid didn’t want to be a geek all his life. But how would that turn into a compulsion to kill?

  “Hey, Mac!”

  He looked up. Bobby Conche and Joe Carrie were standing at the cast entrance.

  “Getting late,” Bobby warned him.

  “Places in five,” Joe called, then added, “You all right, Mac?”

  “Yeah, I’m great, thanks. I’m coming,” Brodie said.

  He was afraid it was going to be a long performance.

  The story had broken, and something was going to happen—he could feel it.

  Adam wasn’t the killer. Brodie had been convinced from the beginning that the killer had something to do with the play, and he was even more certain of that than ever.

  The killer was here.

  But the killer had accomplices—he was convinced of that now, too.

  But how many? That was the question.

  * * *

  Jerry was in the entry hall, chatting with one of his magicians when the cousins arrived. He seemed surprised to see them, but also pleased.

  “How nice to see you,” he said. “There’s not much going on, but the lunch buffet is still open. Or I can give you a tour,” he suggested.

  “We’d love to have some lunch, Jerry,” Rhiannon said. “And a tour would be great.”

  “Wonderful. I’ll call ahead, have a nice table set for you—I’ll make sure you have a view of the valley.” True to his word, he pulled out his cell phone and called the hostess. Smiling, he hung up, but then his smile wavered. “I saw the paper today. Are you sure that was the right move?”

  “We need help, Jerry, and that article could bring in crucial information. And thank you, by the way, for everything you’re doing for us,” Rhiannon said.

  Jerry was visibly pleased. “All right, ladies, follow me.”

  The castle had been built in the late 1890s, and the generously proportioned main-floor rooms had been converted to both large and small showrooms, the dining room and what Jerry called the Magician’s Cave, an intimate space where a magician was currently staging a demonstration for a group of his peers. There was even an outdoor stage with a patio seating area that stretched right to the lip of the canyon, with only a low concrete wall to stop the unwary.

  “Downstairs, we have our staging area,” Jerry said. “You know, trapdoors, secret passageways...all the good stuff. Would you like to see it?”

  “The hidden underbelly? You bet,” Rhiannon said.

  “No spilling secrets,” Jerry warned Barrie.

  “My typing fingers are sworn to silence,” Barrie promised.

  Jerry smiled and led them through a small unmarked door. A sign on the other side read Magicians’ Staging Area and pointed the way to a set of stairs next to an elevator.

  “We need an elevator, and you’ll notice it’s quite large. Needless to say we can’t make a 757 disappear in a venue like this, but some of our performers use large boxes, tall glass tubes—like the one the Count de Soir used at the Snake Pit the other night,” Jerry explained, then gave them a wicked grin. “Come, enter my den of mystery!” he said teasingly.

  They followed him down the stairs to a basement with a definite dungeonlike feel—at least until she looked around and saw the electrical outlets everyw
here, not to mention the huge LCD monitors on the walls, each screen showing a different view of the rooms just above, most of them various angles of the stage in the large showroom.

  He pointed out a series of dressing rooms to the left, and then Sailor asked, “What are those doors to the right?”

  “Guest room for visiting performers, complete with coffins for beds. We get a lot of vampires, along with all sorts of Others,” he said quietly.

  “Is the Count de Soir on the program Sunday night?” Rhiannon asked, changing the subject.

  “Yes, he is,” Jerry said.

  “Interesting,” Rhiannon said. “We’ll look forward to seeing him.”

  Jerry nodded. “I hope I can help you. You’ll come here, you’ll see who you see and you’ll ask all the questions you want to ask.” He smiled suddenly. “And now lunch!”

  * * *

  The audience loved the show. Every Saturday they ran a fundraiser for the local animal shelters, and that went well, too. As he stood with a basket and greeted people, Brodie thought about how much he’d learned by going undercover as an actor. Take the fundraiser, for instance. He loved seeing how willing people were to donate to support creatures who desperately needed the help.

  He found himself thinking about dogs, wonderful creatures with a sixth sense about who was trustworthy and who wasn’t, and an ability to be useful in any fight against the kinds of danger a stone wall couldn’t keep out. The Gryffald cousins definitely needed to get one, maybe more.

  As soon as he could, he put a call through to Adam. “Found out anything useful yet?” he asked.

  “A couple of things, starting with a couple you may want to talk to yourself. They live in the house nearest to the pond where the last body was found. They saw a car parked out in front, some kind of dark sedan. They didn’t think anything of it at first, thought it must’ve been someone visiting a neighbor. A couple came out, and they were laughing, seemed happy. Another car came along a few minutes later, but they didn’t see it, they just heard the motor. They heard a lot of laughter coming from down by the water, loud enough that they were going to call the police.”

  “So did they?”

  “No, the laughter stopped, and they didn’t hear anything else. When the husband finally went out to look, both cars were gone,” Adam said.