* * *
She came into the Cave with her arms full of the flowers Mick had sent, feeling light-headed from the sweet and heady fragrance. She wanted to call him to thank him, but found herself in that classic female dilemma: the man is supposed to call first or you look too eager, too clingy.
Screw that, she thought. She set the flowers down on a side table and reached for the phone, an old-Hollywood-style Sultan with a huge silver receiver and a big rotary dial. Then she hesitated, visions of Dorothy Parker floating unwanted in her head.
But he sent flowers, the eager part of her piped up. He wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t want to see you again.
Unless he wanted to let you down gracefully, the cynic replied.
That’s not a let-down bouquet, her eager side argued, and she reached for the phone again.
Don’t you dare, the cynic snarled.
Barrie pulled back her hand as if the handset had burned her. She bit a nail, looking at the phone, debating....
And it rang.
She caught her breath—and snatched up the receiver. “Hello?”
“Is this the staggeringly beautiful, breathtakingly sexy Barrie Gryffald?”
His voice absolutely turned her molten; she felt as if she were going to pass out.
Somehow she managed to sit on the plush chair by the telephone table and smiled into the phone. “Never heard of her.”
“Damn, I was afraid it was too good to be true.”
“I got the flowers,” she said, almost whispering, though there was no one but Sophie the cat to hear them. “They’re gorgeous, thank you.”
“The pleasure was all mine.”
She laughed and blushed. “If that’s what you think you weren’t paying attention.”
She could hear the smile in his voice. “I’ll have to look again. What are you doing tonight?”
“What did you have in mind?”
“I plan to show you,” he said, and she nearly swooned again. Then his voice got serious. “But first, we need to talk. I don’t think you should see DJ alone.”
Barrie came down from her dreamy cloud in a rush of irritation. Did everyone think she was going to be stupid about this? She had to see DJ alone; she was sure it was her best chance of having a real talk with him.
“My cousins beat you to it. They’ve already insisted I not go alone,” she told him. It wasn’t really lying. She didn’t say that she’d agreed to take them.
Mick sounded relieved. “Good. Even if he weren’t a possible suspect, DJ is unpredictable. A vampire and a substance abuser.”
“And an actor,” Barrie quipped, but Mick didn’t seem to think it was funny.
“I want you three to be very careful.”
Now he was sounding protective and possessive in a way that thrilled her as much as it pissed her off.
“Don’t worry, Rhiannon has already given us the ‘vampires are dangerous’ lecture.”
“All right, then. I want you in one piece tonight.”
“Really?” she managed nonchalantly. “What for?”
And he proceeded to tell her. Which took up a very hot half hour.
As Barrie hung up the phone, it was more than clear to her that she was in real trouble with this man. And worse...she didn’t care a bit.
* * *
What do you wear to a movie star’s house?
If Barrie hadn’t been so completely floating in afterglow, she might have had another full-fledged clothes panic. As it was, the aftermath of yesterday’s clothes panic was still cycloned all over the room.
She smiled, remembering how Mick had joked about it—and then how he’d removed that perfect dress....
Okay, stop that, she told herself sternly, pulling herself out of her dreamy daze. You need to have your mind squarely on this interview. No fantasizing, or flashing back, or any of that—stuff.
She zapped on her bedroom TV to check the local news as she dressed. She started with her favorite La Perla lingerie. In her experience knowing that you were wearing the best, even if it went completely unseen, was a major confidence boost.
As she was hooking her lacy flowered bra, the entertainment report came on, and there was Harvey Hodge with a larger-than-life smirk, delivering his review of Rocket Man.
Of course H.H. made it sound as if the premiere had been the party of the year, which in her state she was not about to argue. She got a big kick out of Harvey’s rundown of the attending celebrities; by her count Mick’s shifts accounted for half of the guest list. Laughter bubbled up in her, and she flung herself onto the bed, giggling into her pillow. After a moment there was a featherlight bounce on the bed as Sophie jumped up to see what was happening, and Barrie reached for the kitty and cuddled her....
Until something on the TV made her bolt upright.
Harvey had continued down the guest list and was now talking about Travis Branson. Barrie scooped Sophie up and stood, walking toward the TV to make sure she heard every word Harvey spoke.
“There’s a rumor around town—and you know I don’t spill it if I can’t stand by it—that the remake of the cult classic Otherworld has a silent backer. So, it looks like those sexy, scary Others will be back, film fans, coming soon to a theater near you. This is Harvey Hodge, your Entertainment Connection, wishing you an entertaining evening. Stay tuned and stay hip.”
The news cut to the latest high-speed car chase, and Barrie muted the TV, frowning in concern.
So, the remake was going through.
Her heart fluttered with apprehension.
What would that mean for everyone associated with the film...who was still alive?
* * *
DJ lived in Brentwood, where Sunset Boulevard turned into canyon and park as it began its winding descent toward the ocean.
When she’d looked at the map DJ’s assistant had e-mailed her, Barrie had found it odd that DJ wasn’t in some swank place on the beach in Malibu. But as she drove the winding roads up to his compound, she understood. It was the land. Even the biggest movie people and rock stars in Malibu sacrificed the American dream of a backyard for their beachfront properties; there was just no extra inch of sand to be had. In contrast, it looked like DJ had not just acres but miles of land: grassy, wooded hills, and total seclusion.
For whatever, Barrie thought morbidly, and immediately scolded herself. Open mind, remember? Keep an open mind. Vampires are human, too. I mean—they’re something, anyway.
The gate was a set of tall metal doors in a thick concrete wall and there was a guardhouse. Barrie had to steady her voice to give her name, and the guard walked around the car, checking under it with a mirror on a long hooked pole like the ones guards used at airports and studio gates.
What is he expecting, a terrorist attack? she thought, unnerved. For the first time she wondered if maybe Mick and her cousins had been right about the “don’t go alone” thing. Then the gates rolled open electronically, and she swallowed and drove forward.
There was a long, winding drive up to the house, and it felt like driving through several different countries; as far as Barrie could tell the grounds had not been landscaped with gardens but rather there were whole different, discrete ecosystems, just as you would find at museum-class botanical collections like the Huntington Gardens.
The money it must have cost to develop and maintain all this... she marveled, and then forgot all that as the house came into view. It was Tudor and huge, more like a European estate than an American one, towering against the setting sun like a Transylvanian castle.
Barrie parked the car in the circular drive, right in front of the massive front steps.
What the hell...?
For costuming, at the last minute she’d decided on the Audrey Hepburn look, a simple wine-shaded sheath that let her legs and coloring do all the work for her. After all, there was no way she could out-starlet the starlets DJ was used to having around. Keep it simple and keep it professional, that’s all.
She checked her fac
e in the mirror, decided she looked terrified and shouldn’t have looked, and got out of the car to climb the grand sweep of steps up to the portico.
An assistant opened the door, a young male vampire with dark hair moussed to within an inch of its life. In Hollywood assistants did everything, from picking up dry cleaning to walking their employers’ dogs to procuring drugs and prostitutes, so it was no great surprise to see this one doing double duty as a butler. And no surprise that he was a vampire, either. Others very often hired assistants, secretaries and coworkers of their own Kind so they could be free in their behavior instead of constantly guarding the secret of their Otherness.
“Barrie, hi!” the assistant said with manic enthusiasm. “I’m Brad! He’s just finishing up another meeting! He’ll be just a few minutes. Just come with me!”
Three “justs,” four verbal exclamation points and no reason to refer to DJ by name, Barrie noted as she followed Brad! into the manor. He walked her into a high entry hall and through an archway...into an atrium that had to be bigger than a Vegas casino. But this one looked startlingly like an African jungle. There were groves of trees that didn’t look as if they belonged in California, a small river—okay, stream was probably more accurate—with bridges at convenient places, landscaping as realistic as any movie set. The room was alive, and not just with plant life. Barrie could hear what she was sure were real monkeys chattering in the trees above her, and as she looked around her, wild colorful birds took flight from the undergrowth, up toward the light of the domed ceiling. Though it was going to be dark outside, in here it seemed like a sunny afternoon.
“This is the African Room!” Brad explained.
“Yes, it is,” Barrie murmured. Island of Lost Souls is more like it. “Is there an Arctic Room?” she joked.
“Of course!” the assistant answered.
She had no idea if he was serious, but she wouldn’t have been a bit surprised if there were any number of life-size dioramas in the manor. She stared into the luxuriant foliage, half expecting to see elephants—and then flinched back in shock. Gleaming eyes stared at her from the undergrowth, and she made out the gold-and-black fur of a huge cat, poised to spring....
“Don’t worry about Steve,” the assistant said quickly, but with a touch of amusement; Barrie got the distinct feeling he enjoyed this part of his job. “He’s stuffed.”
“Steve?” she gasped.
“He’s the greeter. DJ likes to get people’s blood flowing.”
Vampire humor. Charming.
“This way.” Brad took her along a path that crossed the river twice on different types of bridges. As she followed him, Barrie felt more and more as if she were in a dream—or a movie.
There were living spaces in this jungle: a cave with a collection of rocks vaguely shaped like furniture, a harem sort of tent with gauzy veils and low pillows, an enormous tree straight out of Lord of the Rings, but with a bar and conversation area carved into the hollow trunk. Throughout the room the temperature was higher than outside, a suggestion of warmth while still being perfectly comfortable. It was impossible to tell how big the space was, as the path and river took circuitous routes that made walking through it seem like a real journey, and the wall-size murals and scrims were trompe l’oeil, giving the impression of vast distances. No doubt it had all been put together by some Oscar-winning production designer. It never ceased to amaze Barrie how much talent was crammed into the city, and DJ had the money to pay for the absolute best.
She followed Brad around another curving rock and stopped. The path ended at a large canvas tent decked out with all the luxury items one would expect on a fantasy safari: a teak desk, carved teak chairs, along with wicker ones in intricate patterns, a zebra rug.
And then there were all the modern accoutrements: desktop computer, laptop, iPad, phone system. She assumed there were concealed speakers, as well.
“The office,” Brad explained unnecessarily.
And beyond the tent there was an elephant. Life-size, and too realistic to be anything but the real thing, professionally taxidermied. Barrie felt a frisson of horror and anger at the sight of that magnificent creature, stuffed and displayed. It’s just not right.
But social outrage was going to get her nowhere here. She stifled her human response and followed Brad into the tent.
He crossed to a wet bar in the corner and poured rosy, icy drinks from a chilled glass pitcher.
She took the glass warily. There was no obvious smell of blood, so she sipped, and found she was drinking a virgin version of a Cosmo.
“Expecting something just a bit stronger?” a familiar voice said behind her. Barrie jumped; the voice sounded as close as if someone had leaned in to whisper into her ear. But when she turned, DJ was standing several yards away, observing her with a hint of amusement. Words like hypnotic, feral, mesmerizing, predatory ran through her mind in a jumble, and she found herself as intimidated as she had been the night before. The actor’s eyes were especially riveting—nearly black—and he never seemed to take those eyes off her.
Brad the assistant had disappeared, and Barrie was acutely aware that she was alone in a secluded, guarded manor with a volatile and possibly not entirely sane vampire who might well be out of the reach of all human law.
I am in such trouble, she thought. And then she got hold of herself.
“This is an amazing place,” she said, to break the spell.
“Do you know Africa?” he asked.
“I’ve heard of it,” she said dryly.
“It’s bigger,” DJ said. “You should go. The game alone...”
Barrie had no idea what to say to that. DJ walked the tent in a prowling circle that was more animal than human.
“So, Keeper,” he said, and his voice was so sibilant it could have been the voice of a snake. “You are sworn to protect all Others.”
“All Others who live by the Code,” she said, and was amazed at how steady her voice sounded. But suddenly she was not a starstruck thirteen-year-old meeting a legendary movie star. She was a Keeper, as responsible for that movie star as she was for a teenage street urchin. She felt the power of her ancestral duty surge through her veins, and she faced DJ as an equal. She thanked her father in her heart.
“Ah, the Code,” DJ said with irony. “How would we live without it?” He looked around them and then spread his hands theatrically. “Let’s stroll, shall we?”
Barrie nodded and followed him into the jungle.
As DJ walked her through the trails of the African Room, Barrie understood what a feat of design the...set? Diorama? Terrarium?...actually was. She forgot that they were in an enclosed, designed space, because the sights and sounds and smells were so perfectly orchestrated to create the illusion of an African veldt. She gasped as they came across a perfectly poised lion.
“It’s beautiful,” she told the actor.
“It was delicious, too,” he said. She looked at him, aghast, and he gave her a catlike smile. “Of course I killed it. I killed everything here. Not a single part goes to waste, as you see.”
She had to force down her feelings of revulsion and focus herself to remember why she was there, but when she spoke it was with amazing calm.
“I came today because I’m investigating what I believe is a dual murder. And I think it’s intimately connected with the death of Johnny Love and whatever happened on the set of Otherworld.”
It was absolutely impossible to read the look on the actor’s face. “You’re talking about Solly, obviously. Are you saying he was offed because of the movie? Fifteen years later?” He sounded incredulous, skeptical and bored all in the same breath.
Barrie ignored his tone and kept on point. “I think it’s a strong possibility.”
DJ stopped on the path and looked at her. “This requires a drink.” He headed toward the hollow tree with the bar. After a moment Barrie followed him. She was acutely aware that he had not asked her about the “dual” part of the murder, only about Mayo. Does that mean
he already knows about Tiger?
Inside the tree, behind the bar, DJ was pouring a shot of some intensely red liquid from a decanter. “And you?” he asked her, gesturing to the well-stocked shelves.
“I’m fine, thanks,” she said, and sat on one of the wicker barstools to wait while the star downed his drink.
He touched his fingers to his lips, dabbing away a drop of crimson. “Murder would be inconvenient, seeing as I’ve been in talks to star in the remake. Does that mean I’m in mortal danger?” He gave a mocking full-body shudder.
Barrie looked at him steadily. “I think it means that you need to take every precaution for your safety until we get to the bottom of these murders.”
He dropped the comic posture, and his black eyes pierced hers. “As reassurance goes, that was an epic fail.”
Again, he was not asking about the other murder, but as ominous as that was, she kept her voice calm and purposeful.
“It wasn’t reassurance, it was a warning. I don’t think you can be too careful right now.”
“Grim, but honest.” He moved out from behind the bar, circling her, studying her. In the enclosed space, it was hard for her to keep cool, but she steadied herself and held her ground. “So, what is it you want from me, Keeper?” he challenged her.
“I want to know what happened to Johnny Love,” she said straight-out. She had not at all known that she was going to say it, but once it was out, she knew it was the only possible thing she could have said. He was going to talk to her or he wasn’t; there was no small talk she could possibly make.
He half smiled, but his eyes were distant. “You and the entire world.”
“But do you know?” She was amazed that her voice sounded so firm. Inside she was shaking like a leaf. She felt on the precipice of some vast unknown.
DJ leaned suddenly forward on the bar. His voice was expansive and dangerous. “You mean, was I conscious enough to understand? To be able to give an accurate account?”
“Were you?” she asked back without flinching.
He straightened, lifted his hands. “So sorry. I don’t remember,” he said.
Keeper of the Shadows (The Keepers: L.A.) Page 15
