In their new Keeper roles, these extraordinary women must balance the fate of the world with their desires…
New Keeper Rhiannon Gryffald has her peacekeeping duties cut out for her—because in Hollywood, it’s hard to tell the actors from the werewolves, bloodsuckers and shape-shifters. Then Rhiannon hears about a string of murders that bear all the hallmarks of a vampire serial killer, and she must confront her greatest challenge yet. Together with Elven detective Brodie McKay, they head to Laurel Canyon, epicenter of the danger, where they uncover a plot that may forever alter the face of human-paranormal relations.
She set her fingers on his chest, straightening the collar of his tailored shirt. “That’s okay—I don’t think I could even begin to describe my first impression of you.”
He caught her hands. “But it’s changed?” he asked softly.
“The jury is still out,” she told him. It wasn’t, though. Not really. He was dedicated. He was…noble, even, she thought. He was Elven, she was a Keeper. Elven could be anything, and he had chosen, like her, to protect and serve.
There were a million reasons she should back away. They were embroiled in a horrible situation together, surrounded by death and tragedy, by a threat to everyone and everything they knew, to the entire world of the Others and the city where they all hid in plain sight.
And yet the worst of it was that she was worried not for her world but for her heart and soul.
And not a drop of the fear tearing through her could save her.
HEATHER GRAHAM
New York Times bestselling author Heather Graham has written more than a hundred novels, many of which have been featured by the Doubleday Book Club and the Literary Guild. An avid scuba diver and ballroom dancer and a mother of five, she still enjoys her south Florida home, but loves to travel as well, from locations such as Cairo, Egypt, to her own backyard, the Florida Keys. Reading, however, is the pastime she still loves best, and she is a member of many writing groups. She’s currently vice president of the Horror Writers’ Association, and she’s also an active member of International Thriller Writers. She is very proud to be a Killerette in the Killer Thriller Band, along with many fellow novelists she greatly admires. For more information, check out her website, theoriginalheathergraham.com.
Keeper of the Night
Heather Graham
Dear Reader,
Welcome to the world of The Keepers: L.A. I hope you enjoy this new four-book foray into the world of the guardians of the supernatural known as the Keepers. Writing these books—joined for this go-round by Harley Jane Kozak and Alexandra Sokoloff, two very good friends—has been a true labor of love.
When Harley and Alex and I began to think about this second go-round, our first concern was...where else? And, again, the answer came to all of us at the same time: Los Angeles, City of Angels, City of Dreams.
And a city where at any given time you might see any kind of performance, any kind of costume, any kind of anything happening right there in broad daylight—or the dark.
I’m actually in L.A. as I write this. Contestants for The Voice are scurrying around my hotel, all of them filled with hopes and dreams. And naturally, to sustain all the dreamers in the city, you have the exclusive clubs, the new “it” places and all the people who own and run them. And then there are those with the true power: the producers, the agents and the directors, who are thrilled—and sometimes challenged—by the choices the producers make.
What better place for a few new Keepers—a bit disconcerted by their sudden call to duty—to govern those denizens wearing masks beneath their masks?
I hope that you’ll have as much fun reading about these new Keepers as we had writing about them.
Thank you, and enjoy!
Heather Graham
Sometimes in life we get to meet people and in a few minutes we feel we’ve known them all our lives.
I’ve known both Harley and Alex now for years,
but from the time I met them I felt that I’d known them since childhood. To my prized and beloved cohorts on this Keepers journey, Alexandra Sokoloff and Harley Jane Kozak. I cannot remember a time when we weren’t friends, and I certainly can’t imagine not having you in my life.
Contents
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Epilogue
Prologue
Perception, to paraphrase the old saying, is nine-tenths of the law.
And so the world happily—well, mostly happily—accepts the truth of that. And, perception, of course, is the main duty of those born to be Keepers and maintain order among the paranormal races.
As centuries slipped by, man became a “show me” species and lost his belief in what he couldn’t see plainly with his own eyes, and that was good for all the decent and law-abiding creatures. As the twenty-first century progressed, populations exploded. Human beings covered the earth, with birth rates at an all-time high.
And other beings flourished, too, learning how to coexist in a world where the magic of the earth and skies was no longer recognized, and human credence was more and more limited to one particular sense: sight. Many people began to lose faith not just in the unexplainable or unknown, but even in their own omnipresent God.
While those of an...unusual bent had once headed strictly to places like New Orleans, where even many among the human population believed themselves to be vampires or other denizens of the night, many places in the world became the destinations of choice for the truly different. The well-known among the races—vampires, werewolves and shapeshifters—were ready to expand their territory, as were Others who had once chosen to remain in their native lands, the Elven, gnomes, leprechauns, fairies and more.
With that expansion came the need for an international council, the first of its kind, to keep order, and Keepers from across the world were selected to meet at a secret rendezvous in order to construct a code that would be universally accepted. They would serve as the last word when it came to events that could disturb the status quo, because even the Otherworld races considered the most vile and beastly in human mythology were trying to blend in and survive.
With so many of the most experienced Keepers serving on the council, some of the most promising young Keepers were thrown into difficult situations with little warning.
And since so many of the paranormal races still liked to settle where the abnormal was the norm, where theatrics abounded, even the most absurd people and situations frequently went unnoticed, it was no wonder that the population of the Otherworld exploded off the charts in one particular place: La-La Land, also known as Hollywood, California.
City of dreams to many, and city of lost dreams for too many others. A place where waiters and waitresses spent their tips on head shots, and the men and women behind the scenes—the producers—reigned as the real kings.
So many of the paranormal races—the vampires, the shifters, the Elven and more—traveled there, and many stayed, because where better to blend in than a place where even the human beings hardly registered as normal half the time? With so much going on, no one set of Keepers could control the vast scope of the Greater Los Angeles Otherworld, and so it was that the three Gryffald cousins, daughters of the three renowned Gryffald brothers, were called to take their place as peacekeepers a bit earlier than had been expected.
And right when L.A. was on the v
erge of exploding with Otherworld activity.
Hollywood, they were about to discover, could truly be murder.
Chapter 1
There was blood. So much blood.
From her position on the stage, Rhiannon Gryffald could see the man standing just outside the club door. He was tall and well built, his almost formal attire a contrast to the usual California casual and strangely at odds with his youth, with a Hollywood tan that added to the classic strength of his features and set off his light eyes and golden hair.
And he was bleeding from the throat.
Bleeding profusely.
There was blood everywhere. It was running down the side of his throat and staining his tailored white shirt and gold-patterned vest.
“Help! I’ve been bitten!” he cried. He was staggering, hands clutching his throat.
No! she thought. Not yet!
She had barely arrived in Los Angeles. This was too soon, far too soon, to be called upon to take action. She was just beginning to find her way around the city, just learning how to maneuver through the insane traffic—not to mention that she was trying to maintain something that at least resembled steady employment.
“I’ve been bitten!” he screamed again. “By a vampire!”
There were two women standing near him, staring, and he seemed to be trying to warn them, but they didn’t seem frightened, although they were focused on the blood pouring from his wound.
They started to move toward him, their eyes fixed on the scarlet ruin of his neck.
They weren’t concerned, Rhiannon realized. They weren’t going to help.
They were hungry.
She tossed her guitar aside and leapt off the stage. She was halfway to the group milling just outside the doors of the Mystic Café when she nearly plowed into her boss. Hugh Hammond, owner and manager, was staring at the spectacle.
“Hugh,” she said, trying to sound authoritative and confident. “Let me by.”
Hugh, a very tall man, turned and looked down at her, weary amusement in his eyes. He wasn’t a bad sort, even though he could be annoyingly patronizing at times. She supposed that was natural, given that he had been friends with her father and her two uncles. Once upon a time he’d been a B-list leading man, and he was aging very slowly and with great dignity.
He was also the Keeper of the Laurel Canyon werewolves.
“Hugh!” she snapped.
“By all means, Miss Gryffald, handle the situation,” he told her.
She frowned and started to step past him, refraining from simply pushing him out of the way. This was serious. Incredibly serious. If a vampire was ripping out throats in broad daylight, in front of witnesses...
“Stop!” someone called out.
Another man, dark where the victim was blond, not quite as tall, his face lean and menacing, broke through the crowd and addressed the bleeding man. “Give in to me! Give in to me and embrace the night. Savor the darkness. Give your soul to me and find eternal life and enjoy eternal lust. Drink from the human soul, the fountain of delight, and enjoy carnal delights with no fear of reprisal.”
She was ready to shove through the crowd to reach the victim’s side and defend him against the newcomer, but Hugh had his hand on her arm. “Wait,” he whispered. “Rhiannon, take a look at what they’re wearing and how they’re acting, and think about it.”
She was dying to move, but she stood still, blinked and heeded Hugh’s words.
The two young women reached for the victim’s arms, holding him up as the dark man spoke. One licked her lips in a provocative and sensual manner.
“Lord, forgive me,” the bleeding man pleaded. “God, help me, for Drago comes and would have his terrible way until none but monsters walk the earth.”
Drago walked forward threateningly, then stopped suddenly and turned to the crowd. He grinned pleasantly, and menace became humor as he said, “If you want to see any more, you need to listen up.”
Where there had been silence, as if people were frozen with fear, there was a sudden eruption of laughter and applause.
“Thank you! Thank you!” the “victim” announced, lifting his hands to silence the crowd. “I’m Mac Brodie, actor at large. The diabolical Drago is portrayed by the illustrious Jack Hunter, and...” He turned to the sensual vixens at his side. “Erika is being performed by the beautiful Audrey Fleur and Jeneka by Kate Delaney. Please, everyone, take a bow.”
They did. Drago was darkly handsome, and both young women—Audrey, a brunette, and Kate, a blonde—were extremely pretty. They, like the two men, were in Victorian attire, but in their case it was Victorian night attire. Beautiful white gossamer dresses, with gorgeous bone corsets beneath, and silky pantalets.
Mac continued to speak. “Please, join us at the Little Theater on the Hill this evening or anytime throughout the next three months, where we’re presenting Vampire Rampage, which will soon begin production as a major motion picture, as well. We ask that you come and tell us what you think. Shows start at eight o’clock every night except Sunday and Monday, but to make up for that, we do have matinees on Wednesdays. Thank you!”
He bowed low, lifted his head and waved to the appreciative crowd.
Hugh stepped up close behind Rhiannon. “Actors,” he said, sounding tired, as if he knew the profession and its attendant promo stunts far too well—which of course he did. “This is Hollywood, Miss Gryffald. Everyone’s a bloody actor. Get used to it. You’ve got a lot to learn about life out here.” He smiled down at her in that patronizing way that made her crazy, and shook his head. “Looks like your tip jar just disappeared.”
Rhiannon turned quickly toward the stage. It was true. The lovely little tip jar her great-aunt Olga had made for her was gone. Along with her tips. And they hadn’t been half bad today; a lot of people had thrown in bills instead of nickels.
She wanted to scream. Worse, she wanted to run back to Savannah, where so many people—and...Others—survived on the tourist trade alone that they behaved with old-fashioned courtesy and something that resembled normal human decency.
But Hugh was right. This was Hollywood, where everyone was an actor. Or a producer, or a writer, or an agent, or a would-be whatever. And everyone was cutthroat.
It’s Hollywood, she told herself. Get used to it.
Go figure that the Otherworld’s denizens would be starstruck, too.
“I’m calling it quits for the day, Hugh. I’m heading home.”
He lifted her chin and stared into her eyes. “Calling it quits? That’s what they sent us? A quitter? It’s up to you, but I’d get up there and play if I were you. You can’t quit every time there’s a snafu. Lord above! We need Teddy Roosevelt, and they send us a sniveling child.”
“I’m not a sniveling child, Hugh. I just don’t see the sense of going on working today. Since there’s certainly no imminent or inherent danger—”
He interrupted her, laughing. “Imminent or inherent danger? The world is filled with inherent danger—that’s why you exist, Rhiannon. And imminent? How often do we really know when danger is imminent? Did you think being a Keeper was going to be like living in a Superman comic? You see someone in distress, throw on a red cape, save the day, then slip back down to earth and put your glasses on? How can you be your grandfather’s descendant?”
Rhiannon felt an instant explosion of emotions. One was indignation.
One was shame.
And thankfully, others were wounded pride and determination.
“Hugh, I know my duty,” she said quietly. “But my cousins and I were not supposed to take over as Keepers for years to come. No one knew that our fathers would be called to council, that the population explosion of Otherworlders in L.A. would skyrocket the way it has and we would need to start our duties now. It’s only been a week. I’m not quitting, I’m adjusting. And it’s not easy.”
Hugh grinned, released her chin and smoothed back her hair. “Life ain’t easy for anyone, kid. Now get up there and knock ’em dead.”<
br />
She looked around the place and wondered drily if it was possible to “knock anyone dead” here. It was basically a glorified coffee shop, but she did need to make something of herself and her career here in L.A.
She’d left Savannah just when Dark As Night, her last band, had gotten an offer to open for a tour. Her bandmates had been incredulous when she’d said that she was moving, and distressed. Not distressed enough to lose the gig, though. They had found another lead guitarist slash backup singer before she’d even packed a suitcase.
Wearily, she made her way back to the stage. Screw the tip jar. She didn’t have another, and she wasn’t going to put out an empty coffee cup like a beggar.
She could not only play the guitar; she was good.
Unfortunately, given the recent twists in her life, it seemed she was never going to have the chance to prove it.
She stepped slowly back up on the stage. Earlier the crowd had been watching her, chatting a bit, too, but and enjoying her slow mix of folk, rock and chart toppers.
Now they were all talking about the latest Hollywood promo stunt.
Rhiannon began to play and sing, making up the lyrics as she went along, giving in to her real feelings despite her determination not to be bitter that she was suddenly here—and with little chance for a life.
I hate Hollywood, I hate Hollywood, oh, oh,
I hate Hollywood, I hate Hollywood, oh, oh, oh, oh.
Everyone’s an actor, it’s a stark and frightening factor,
I hate Hollywood....
And I hate actors, too,
Oh, yeah, and I hate actors, too.
Okay, her cousin Sailor was an actress, and she didn’t hate Sailor, although she wasn’t certain that Sailor was actually living in the real world, either. She was too much the wide-eyed innocent despite the fact that she’d grown up in L.A. County—and had also spent a few years pounding the pavement trying to crack Broadway and the New York television scene. Maybe the wide-eyed innocence in Sailor was an act, too. No, no, Sailor really wanted the world to be all sunshine and roses. And, actually, Rhiannon loved her cousin; Sailor always meant well. And now, according to the powers that be, she and Sailor and another of their cousins, Barrie, a journalist with a good head on her shoulders, were to take their place as Keepers of three of the Otherworld races right here in L.A.
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