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

by Alexandra Sokoloff

  Sailor and Rhiannon looked at each other. “All right, you’re starting from the beginning,” Rhiannon said, and herded them all into the kitchen to make tea.

  Barrie filled them in over steaming cups of her favorite, black currant. Truthfully, in her own kitchen, with her cat purring in her lap, it was hard to be as spooked as she had been out there on the island, in the dark, with the feeling of the movie all around her. “Mick Townsend is a new hire on the paper,” she started.

  “Mick Townsend,” Sailor repeated. “He sounds hot.”

  “That is so not the point,” Barrie said murderously, and Rhiannon gave Sailor a warning look. Barrie continued warily. “He’s been following the connection between Tiger and Saul Mayo, too. And tonight we went out to Catalina to talk to this old fisherman from Otherworld—”

  “The one in the boat scenes?” Rhiannon interrupted. “He was great.”

  “He’s for real,” Barrie said. “As real as it gets.”

  She quickly filled her cousins in on their interview with Captain Livingston, and his startling insistence that Johnny Love had died during production.

  “Oh, my God!” they exclaimed at once.

  “I know,” Barrie agreed.

  “So, that’s why I haven’t been able to find out anything about the Elven Keeper who handled Johnny’s death,” Sailor said.

  “Exactly. He didn’t die in L.A.,” Barrie said. “And I think the reason no Elven knows the real scoop about his death is the water. It happened out on the island. There are no Elven out there. It must have been excruciating for Johnny to be out there filming.”

  “I can’t believe he did it,” Rhiannon said.

  “He was an actor,” Sailor argued. “A role like that? Anyone would have done it, excruciating or not.”

  “I agree,” Barrie said. “But for sure there wouldn’t have been any other Elven out there with him. So, if he did die out there—on set or off—there was no one of his Kind out there to help him or attest to what happened.”

  The cousins fell silent, contemplating this. Finally Barrie spoke.

  “The thing is, I think Mick already knew. Not just that Johnny died on Catalina, but that he died during filming.” She looked at her cousins. “Look at the way you two just reacted. It’s huge. It changes everything we think about Johnny’s death. But Mick—when Captain Livingston told us about Johnny, Mick acted a little surprised, but not anywhere near what you would expect.” Talking it out, she realized at least part of what was bothering her so much about the situation. “So, why would he take me all the way out to Catalina in the middle of the night to find this guy and interview him when it was something he already knew?”

  “Maybe he was trying to seduce you,” Sailor said, the exact same thing that Barrie had been thinking earlier in the evening.

  “Sailor, this is serious,” Rhiannon reprimanded her. “If Barrie thinks there’s something off about it, she has to be very careful about this guy. What do you know about him, anyway?” she asked Barrie.

  “Besides that you like him,” Sailor said.

  “I don’t like him,” Barrie started, but the words sounded like a lie even to her. “Okay, maybe he’s smart, and perceptive, and an ace journalist....”

  “And hot?” Sailor suggested.

  “Yes, and hot. And a great dancer,” Barrie said, a little wistfully.

  Sailor raised an eyebrow. “He sounds like a dream. So, what’s bothering you about the guy?”

  Barrie could never get anything past her cousins; they all knew each other too well.

  “Well, for starters he’s a shifter,” she said. “But it’s hard to explain. I think he’s lying to me about something.” In fact she knew he was lying; she just didn’t have any proof.

  “The thing is, he’s not just a shifter, he was concealing being a shifter, completely passing as human...and he did it so freaking well. I had no idea. Really, none. It’s kind of scary.”

  “I’m going to have Brodie check him out,” Rhiannon declared, and Barrie was about to protest when she realized that Rhiannon was right; it would be useful to have Brodie get some real background on Townsend.

  “That would be great,” Barrie thanked her. “And, Sailor, I need a huge favor from you, too.”

  “Anything, honey,” her cousin offered instantly.

  “I need to talk to Darius Simonides.”

  “Why? I mean, of course, I’ll call him first thing in the morning, but why do you need to talk to him?”

  “He repped all three of the Pack, and Travis Branson, too.”

  “Of course, that makes sense,” Sailor murmured. She sounded troubled.

  “But really, I need to talk to DJ,” Barrie said.

  “Talk to DJ!” Sailor exclaimed.

  Rhiannon looked equally startled, and Barrie knew why. The actor was so famous it was sort of like saying she wanted an audience with Kate and William, and somehow crazily expecting to get one.

  “I know,” she told them. “But he’s the one who’s really going to know what happened on set. Well, him, and Travis Branson, the director. Captain Livingston said they were shooting the last scenes on a closed set, and only the principal actors were there. And realistically, DJ and Branson are prime suspects. God knows I’d love to talk to Robbie Anderson, too, but—”

  She stopped, with a sudden thrill of realization.

  “Maybe I can. If Robbie is dead, then there’s a chance I can talk to him. And Johnny Love, too.”

  She stood, then hurried out the back kitchen door toward the main house.

  * * *

  Inside Sailor’s house, Barrie moved into the back wing where Merlin kept his own room.

  Merlin was the most polite ghost imaginable, an impeccable gentleman, and very firm about keeping civilized human boundaries. He would never think of just appearing in a room; he used doors just like anyone else, and when any of the cousins wanted to get in touch with him, she knocked on his door just the same as she would for anyone.

  Barrie knocked, and waited, and after a moment the door opened, as if by itself. It took Merlin a moment to fully appear; he must have been out of the house—somewhere else—when she’d knocked. He’d been a man of medium height and weight, with a charmingly lined face, bright blue eyes and a cap of snow-white hair, and that was how he appeared as a ghost, as well. At the moment, though, he looked anxious.

  “Barrie, my dear. Is something wrong?”

  His concern made her remember the hour. “No, nothing like that,” she reassured him. “I’m sorry to disturb you so late.”

  “Oh, the hour doesn’t matter in the slightest, as long as you and your cousins are all right.”

  “We’re all fine, truly. But we’re discussing a case, and you may be able to help.”

  “How lovely. I’d be delighted.”

  The door closed behind him on its own, and he followed her out into the great room where Sailor and Rhiannon were already waiting. There were air kisses all around; not that any of the Gryffalds were into air kisses as opposed to the real thing, but with a ghost, air kisses were what you got.

  When all the women were seated, and not a second before, Merlin took a seat on the sofa and put his delicate hands on his knees expectantly.

  “Now, what can I do for you girls?”

  “I’m looking for a ghost,” Barrie told him. “That is, the case I’m investigating revolves around a dead actor, and possibly two. One of them—I don’t know if he’s really dead, and if he’s not, it would be really useful to know, so that I can start looking for him. The other one is definitely dead....” She stopped, wondering if she could even assume that much. “Probably definitely. But, since we have this most excellent connection to the spirit world, I thought...if there was any way of getting in touch with him—or them...”

  “Who are these fine ex-personages?” Merlin asked her.

  “Johnny Love and Robbie Anderson.”

  “Ah, yes,” Merlin said. “I remember what a stir that caused, those t
wo young men. So much talent, snuffed out so quickly.”

  Barrie quickly did the math in her head and realized that Merlin had still been alive when Johnny died.

  Merlin nodded as if he knew what she was thinking. “Of course, I was still on this earth plane when Johnny Love made his transition, so I have no idea what kind of stir there may have been in the afterlife. I’ve never run into him over there, but you know, there are so many levels—continents, really—and it’s not as if I’ve been looking. I’ll certainly nose around and see what I can find out.”

  “Thanks, Merlin,” Barrie said in real gratitude, and Sailor and Rhiannon echoed her. “And if you could see what you can find out about Robbie Anderson, too... The thing is, I just don’t know. He disappeared at about the same time, and there’s definitely something wrong with the whole situation, and it seems to be the key to a couple of recent deaths as well, a shifter and a mortal.”

  “My, my,” Merlin tutted. “Very complicated. I assure you, I shall do my best.”

  It was really useful, sometimes, having a house ghost.

  Chapter 9

  She was in a huge round domed room with three ornate thrones set in a triangle in the center of a parquet floor, and candles blazing in wrought-iron candelabra. The three young actors slouched in the chairs like indolent crowned princes: Johnny Love, as blond as the sun; DJ, black-haired and black-eyed; and Robbie Anderson, hair the color of an antique gold piece and flecks of gold in his eyes. They were drunk, passing a flagon of wine and drinking from silver goblets.

  And none of them could see the flames all around them, creeping higher and higher, across the floor toward the thrones....

  * * *

  Barrie woke with her heart pounding and a strangled scream in her throat. Sophie meowed her concern from the pillow beside her, and Barrie picked up the little cat and held her to her chest to calm down.

  Of course you were dreaming the movie, she chided herself. Being over there on Catalina was like walking into the film. This is all getting under your skin. Just follow the clues, do your interviews—and try not to lose it.

  She sleepwalked to the kitchen for coffee, and while she fed the cat and the caffeine started to spike through her veins, she discovered she had a text from Sailor confirming a two-thirty appointment with Darius Simonides. Barrie was impressed; she hadn’t at all expected to be able to get in to see the agent so soon. Thx, S. IOU, she texted back.

  It was already well past noon, so she showered quickly and found something expensive and marginally conservative in her closet, a tight-fitted, tailored skirt and suit coat that looked like something Rosalind Russell would have worn, with forties heels to match. Then she ran out to her car and got herself down to Beverly Hills.

  The Global Artists Agency offices were built to intimidate, and they did. The three-story building was an imposing pink rectangle, grim as a prison. Barrie gave her name to the guard on the first floor, who asked her to wait in the atrium. Instead of seating herself, she drifted. Inside, the building was gorgeous, airy, clearly designed with impeccable attention to feng shui and the flow of energy. The atrium was lined with modern art. Despite the airiness, the place was terrifying, and not just for the blatant display of money; the entire feeling of it was heartless and cold. She understood why people in town called the agency “The Forbidden Planet.”

  She sensed movement above her and looked up as a young, bright-eyed and hard-edged assistant came down the stairs to meet her. Barrie recognized him instantly as a shifter, and the way he eyed her made her think that he recognized her as a Keeper, too, though he didn’t say anything of the sort. Instead they made small talk about the traffic as he led her up the broad spiraling staircase to the second floor, where he ushered her into the inner sanctum.

  It was an exquisite office: huge, with a wraparound wall of windows that looked out over the city. Designer chairs were set in front of the chrome-and-glass desk; a spacious conversation area boasted a full stereo, wide-screen system and a wet bar; and another door led to a private bathroom.

  Darius turned from one of the glass walls as she walked in. He was a little over six feet, a striking man with sharp hazel eyes and dark, slightly graying hair, who radiated the dangerous sensuality of his kind. Barrie had no idea how old he was; with vampires, any guess would almost surely be wrong. The overwhelming aura was power, a feral and dangerous charisma. Combine a superagent with a vampire and multiply by ten, and that was Darius.

  He stopped a few feet in front of her and looked her over. It was not a sexual look; Barrie felt more that her every physical characteristic was being assessed and assigned a monetary value. She half expected him to ask her to open her mouth and show him her teeth. She was willing herself not to redden when finally he spoke.

  “You Gryffald girls did well in the gene pool. If you ever decided to give up this Keeper business, I could have you all up on-screen in no time, not just Sailor.”

  She had to suppress a shudder at the thought. Her mother had wanted the acting life, and because of that Barrie knew too much about it ever to be tempted. Besides, she knew full well that Darius hadn’t exactly supercharged Sailor’s career to date, and he could have if he’d chosen to.

  “I’ll stick to being a Keeper,” she said with a forced smile. “Acting’s riskier.”

  “Perhaps,” he said cryptically.

  He raised an elegant, long-fingered hand, motioning her to the conversation area of low couches and designer chairs, and remained standing until she sat, a chivalry that always threw her. When she was settled on a sofa, he seated himself in the largest chair. Earlier the assistant had placed drinks on the table in front of them: sparkling water for her and a tall glass of red liquid for Darius. She knew better than to ask.

  “Thank you for seeing me,” she began. “I—”

  “Sailor tells me you have questions about Otherworld,” he said bluntly, before she could finish the sentence.

  Time is money, I guess, she thought.

  “Is this something to do with Saul Mayo’s death?” he demanded. Well, not exactly demanded, but his tone was challenging, to say the least.

  “It’s possible,” she said, and was proud of herself for her cool tone.

  His eyes narrowed. “My dear, you’re a shifter Keeper. Mayo was not Other. I’m aware that you’re new to your calling, but may I remind you that it’s not part of your job description to investigate mortal passings?”

  “I’m not investigating Mayo,” she said, and could see that her brevity was getting under Darius’s skin. She didn’t want to alienate him, but she wasn’t about to tell him about Tiger, either. “But since we’re on the subject...you knew him well, didn’t you?”

  “Professionally,” he said. “We’ve done quite a bit of business together.”

  “Do you think he was murdered?” she asked point-blank.

  He smiled slowly, and for a moment, only because she knew to look, she caught the gleam of fangs.

  “Almost certainly,” he said. “Half the town wanted him dead. The trouble would be finding someone with the actual balls to do it.”

  She had to suppress a shiver.

  Darius looked at her. “But we’re not talking about Mayo, are we?”

  Barrie recovered herself. “No. This is a possibly related incident. A suspicious death that seems to be tied to Otherworld.”

  He flicked a hand dismissively. “I’ve heard that rumor. That someone had Mayo killed because of the remake. The denizens of our little community are the worst gossips in Hollywood. Why should anyone kill anyone over a remake?”

  She answered carefully. “Didn’t the original movie cause a lot of controversy in the community because it came so close to revealing the existence of the Otherworld? Maybe someone felt there was a danger that Mayo—or someone—would go further and actually break the Code with this new film.”

  “Utter nonsense,” Darius said. “Mayo didn’t break the Code with Otherworld, and he hasn’t since. He liked to think he
was flirting with the edge, but the truth is, he always stayed safely behind the line. He enjoyed the power and prestige of knowing something very few mortals are ever privy to, and he wasn’t about to make that secret common knowledge. The clear proof is he’s had fifteen years since Otherworld with multiple opportunities to expose the Otherworld, and he never has.”

  Barrie had to admit Darius had a point.

  The agent smiled as if he’d heard her thought, and continued, “My dear, mortals see what they’re comfortable seeing. In the end, it’s nothing but a movie, all sets and makeup and special effects, and we Others go on as we always have—unseen, unsung.”

  He sat back and sipped his drink, which left his mouth just a little too red.

  “Now, I strongly suggest you leave Mayo’s death to the police. There are ten thousand mortals who would have liked to see Mayo dead. The chances that the killer is one of ours is very slim, and there’s no sense in your getting involved.”

  Then you don’t know about Tiger. Or you’re pretending you don’t, Barrie thought.

  “I really don’t have any intention of investigating Mayo,” she said.

  He raised an eyebrow. “Then, what exactly are we talking about?”

  “I’m trying to find Robbie Anderson,” she said. Up until the moment the words left her mouth, she’d had no idea that she was going to say them. But from the startled look on Darius’s face, she realized it had been the right thing to say. It wasn’t easy to catch him off-guard, and yet she’d managed it.

  “Well, well,” he said softly, and for a moment his eyes were far away. “Don’t think I haven’t tried. Losing Johnny and Robbie at the same time, and the way we did—that was half my client base at the time, and more talent than I’ve seen before or since.” His business mask had slipped, and the look on his face was something like regret.

  “You really have no idea what happened to him?” she asked.

  “I think he’s dead.”

  He sounded so certain. Barrie felt a chill...and a strange sense of grief. Why? Robbie Anderson was just a childhood fantasy, an abstraction on the screen.