Barrie was now in Gwydion’s Cave, the house Merlin had built for their grandfather, and she herself had the original 1920s guesthouse, called Pandora’s Box.
Pandora’s Box. A fitting name for all of L.A. in her opinion.
The main house really was beautiful! Regal, haunting and majestic, high up on a cliff. The style was Mediterranean Gothic, and it seemed to hold a thousand secrets as it stood proud against the night sky.
As a matter of fact, it did hold a thousand secrets. All right, maybe not a thousand, but a lot of them. Like the tunnels that connected all three houses. And the little red buttons that looked like light switches and were set randomly around the three houses. Little red buttons that set off alarms in all three residences, in case someone in any one of them needed help.
The property could only be reached via a winding driveway that scaled the cliff face, and the entire property was protected by a tall stone wall. She had to open the massive electric gate with a remote she kept in her car or else buzz in and hope someone was home to answer.
Grudgingly, she had to admit that she loved the House of the Rising Sun and living on the estate wasn’t any kind of punishment. It was still breathtaking to watch the gate swing wide to allow entry to the compound, and then awe inspiring to see the beautiful stone facades of the houses appear.
Sometimes she wondered why Merlin had bothered with the wall. The Others that the Keepers were assigned to watch weren’t the type to be stopped by walls or gates. But then again, Merlin had lived in the real world with its real dangers, too, as did they—although calling the surreal world of Hollywood “real” seemed like a contradiction in terms.
She clicked the gate shut behind her and drove forward slowly, noting that Barrie’s car was parked on the left side of the property, while Sailor’s, unsurprisingly, was not. Since there was no garage—all the available land had been used for the houses—she assumed that if Sailor’s car wasn’t there, neither was Sailor herself. Barrie was determined to save the world, not only by overseeing the shapeshifters but also by practicing the kind of hard-hitting journalism that could bring about change in L.A., if not the world, so, she tended to keep reasonable hours. Sailor, Keeper of the Elven, was determined to rule the world from the silver screen, which meant she was likely to be out and networking at all hours.
Still thinking about the way the Elven had handed her his card and told her that she should see the play, Rhiannon pulled into her usual parking place and exited the car, bringing her guitar with her as she headed for Pandora’s Box. Slipping her key into the lock, she shoved a shoulder wearily against the door, stepped in and flicked on the lights.
She was tired. And she worked in a café, for God’s sake. She should have brought home a gourmet tea to sip while she unwound, but after only a few minutes with Mac Brodie she had been too disconcerted to think of it.
She set her guitar case in its stand and headed into the kitchen. There she quickly brewed a cup of tea and added a touch of milk, then headed back out to the living room to sink into the comfortable old sofa and lean back. She closed her eyes.
“No, you really should come see the show....”
There was a tap at her door. She listened for a minute without rising. She was tired. And frustrated. And, she had to admit, unnerved.
An Elven had come to her and told her that she needed to see a vampire play.
Why?
It was just a play, a pretense. No vampires were out there killing people. Or other vampires, or anyone else. If they were, she would have heard about it on the news, wouldn’t she?
The tapping became more persistent. Rhiannon forced herself to rise. It could only be one of a very few people at this time of night. Maybe Sailor had come home early and might listen to the story of Rhiannon’s night and give her some advice.
It wasn’t Sailor or even Barrie who stood at her door. Merlin had come by to visit. “I hope I’m not disturbing you?” he asked anxiously.
Yes, you are, she almost said, but she refrained. Merlin was a ghost. If he wanted to, he could be anywhere—perched on the end of the grand piano in the living room, day and night, if he felt like it. But he was a polite ghost, one who had learned to manifest corporeally. He had mastered the art of knocking on doors to announce his presence and behaved at all times as if he was not only living but a gentleman. He had maintained his old room in the main house, and he was careful to be the best possible “tenant.” They all loved him, but Sailor, in particular, was accustomed to living with him—both before and after his death.
They had all sobbed at his funeral—until they realized that he was standing right there with them, comforting them in his new and unearthly form.
“Come in, Merlin, please,” she said. “Have a seat. My home is your home, you know. Literally,” she added with a warm smile.
Merlin had always been so good to her family, and it had been a two-way street. Her grandfather had saved him from jail when a shapeshifter had impersonated him and perpetrated several lewd crimes while posing as the noted magician. Her grandfather had been the shapeshifter Keeper and had worked with a friend on the police force—a werewolf—to prove that someone had been impersonating Merlin, and ensure that the proper person was caught and punished.
She stepped back from the door, sweeping a hand wide to indicate that he should join her.
Merlin stepped inside, looked around and sighed with happiness. “I’m so glad that you girls are living here,” he told her.
He walked to the sofa and sank onto it, looking like a dignified and slightly weary old man. Which was exactly what he had been when he’d died. He’d lived a good, long life that had left him with a charmingly lined face, bright blue eyes and a cap of snow-white hair. Having him around really was like having a grandfather on the property.
“And we’re glad to be here,” Rhiannon said.
What a liar she was, she thought. She’d been about to get her big break when she’d been called home and been told that she was an adult and the good times were over. Her responsibilities had crashed down upon her with no time for her to think about it, to say yes or no. Suddenly all three Gryffald brothers were being sent overseas and their daughters were taking their places, and that was that.
Of course her father and her uncles hadn’t been given a chance to say yes or no any more than she and Sailor and Barrie had.
The brothers had been summoned to serve on the new high council of Keepers at the Hague, a council that would act as a worldwide governing body for the Otherworld and the Others.
“Are you fitting in okay?” Merlin asked her, sincere concern in his voice.
“Of course.” She forced a smile. None of this was Merlin’s fault. Or her father’s. He’d tried to be so fierce when he’d talked to her. You are the Keeper for the vampires, Rhiannon. They are powerful and deadly, and yours is a grave responsibility.
At the time, of course, all she’d seen was that her band was finally getting a real break—and she wasn’t going to be there to experience it.
Merlin nodded thoughtfully. “I was just wondering...I mean, this is L.A. It’s not as if there isn’t plenty of murder, mayhem and scandal on a purely human level.”
“Merlin, what are you talking about?” she asked wearily.
“You might want to talk to Barrie. There have been a few mysterious deaths lately.”
Something hard seemed to fall to the pit of her stomach. This couldn’t involve her. Not already.
“Mysterious deaths?” she asked.
Merlin nodded. “They haven’t gotten a lot of coverage, because none of them have been on one of those trashy reality shows or even made Hollywood’s D list. These poor people have gone from this world unnoticed and unknown.”
“Like you said—this is L.A.,” Rhiannon said, frowning.
“Well, speak to your cousin, because she’s got contacts who have told her a few things. There have been three similar deaths, and all three corpses were discovered in a similarly advan
ced state of decay.”
“And?” She whispered the word, as if that could keep her fears from becoming real.
“The cops have been trying to keep the details out of the papers, but someone leaked one important fact,” Merlin told her grimly.
“And that fact is...?” she asked.
He winced. “I’m sorry, Rhiannon. The corpses were almost bone dry, sucked dry of...”
“Of?” she asked, even though in her heart she knew the answer.
“Blood,” Merlin said gravely. “Sucked dry of blood.”
Chapter 2
To a lot of people in L.A., it wasn’t all that late.
But to Rhiannon, after her wretched shift at the café, nothing sounded more welcome than her bed and a pillow.
Still, she knew she wouldn’t sleep if she didn’t try to talk to Barrie, though with any luck Barrie would already be in bed and wouldn’t answer the knock at her door.
To Rhiannon’s dismay, Barrie was up.
A single light was on in Barrie’s living room, where she had been sitting on her sofa and working. Her laptop was sitting on a pile of newspapers and magazines.
Barrie definitely tended to be a workaholic.
She had a good job in her chosen field, but she still wasn’t where she wanted to be in her career. At the moment she mostly got stories that ran under headlines—often handed to her whether she liked them or not—like “West Hollywood Woman Reveals Secret Behind Amazing Weight Loss.”
Barrie was a crusader; she had strong opinions on right and wrong. She wanted to be where the action was. She wanted to get off the crime beat and into issue-based investigative journalism, but her Keeper duties would always have to take precedence, and that was a problem.
Rhiannon sympathized with her. She knew how difficult it was, trying to have a real career and deal with this sudden shift in purpose.
“Hey, I didn’t expect to see you tonight.” Barrie grinned and rolled her eyes. “Merlin, maybe—sometimes he forgets the time. Thought you’d come home exhausted and ready to crash.”
“Am I interrupting?” Rhiannon asked her.
“No. Yes—but it’s all right, honestly.” She sighed. “I’m trying to come up with a story and an angle no one’s thought of yet, so I can take it to my boss and maybe—finally—get a green light.”
“Good luck,” Rhiannon offered.
“So, how did things go at the café tonight?”
“They sucked. Totally sucked. Some actors staged a vampire attack right out front to publicize their play and nearly gave me heart failure—and in all the fuss my tip jar was stolen.”
“You’re right. That sucks. Want a cup of tea?”
“I just had one, but sure,” Rhiannon said.
Barrie led the way into the kitchen.
All three of their houses might have been curio museums, filled as they were with Merlin’s collections from a lifetime of loving magic—and the bizarre. The main house held the bulk of it, because it was so large, with five bedrooms upstairs, a grand living room and a family room that led out to the pool. Tiffany lamps were everywhere, along with Edwardian furniture, and busts and statues, and paintings that covered the walls. Pandora’s Box had a Victorian feel, with rich, almost stuffy furniture, and a collection of sculpted birds, with the largest being a magnificent gesso rendition of Poe’s raven. It also boasted a few of Merlin’s old coin-drop fortune-teller machines.
Gwydion’s Cave, Barrie’s house, was decorated with old peacock fans, marble sideboards and rich wood pieces from the decadent days of the speakeasy. The service she used for tea was Royal Doulton. As she entered the kitchen, Rhiannon caught sight of herself in one of the antique hall mirrors, and though she knew it was distorted by the old glass, her own image troubled her.
She had the shocked look of someone who had stuck a finger in a live socket.
Barrie hummed as she boiled water and then looked at Rhiannon. “Something more happened than what you’re telling me, didn’t it? I always think of you as the go-getter among us. Nothing fazes you. But tonight you look...fazed.”
“What if that attack had been real? Would I actually have been able to do anything to stop it? I guess we didn’t think we’d be handling this kind of thing so quickly,” Rhiannon said.
“None of us did. But it’s not like we had a choice.”
“I know. I just want to play my music, you know? It’s all I’ve ever wanted. I missed my shot with the band, but at least I get to play at the café, you know? And that’s what I was doing when those idiots interrupted.”
“Listen to you, being so whiny.”
“Whiny?” Rhiannon protested indignantly.
“Yes, whiny. ‘Everybody but me gets to play in the band, while I’m stuck in a coffee shop playing for tips.’ Buck up, buttercup.”
“All right, all right, I have been whining. A little bit. But, honestly, I just wish...I wish we’d been a little better prepared. I mean, my dad is in great health. I never thought...”
“You never thought you’d have to be a Keeper until you were old and gray. I know. Neither did I. But here we are. So, what else is bothering you? Because I know there’s something.”
“All right, I came here to tell you, so...one of the actors was an Elven. I saw him when I was closing up my guitar case for the night. He came up to me and chatted, and I—I wasn’t exactly rude, but I felt like he was comparing me to my dad and it bugged me. You know that Keepers all over the state put us down all the time. ‘The Gryffald girls. What a shame their fathers were all put on the council. There used to be good Keepers in the Canyon.’ So I guess I was a little rude. But really, I don’t want to get all warm and cozy with the Elven—I’m going to have my hands full with the vampires.”
“I understand all that,” Barrie said calmly. “So, why are you so upset?”
“Well, he invited me to see his show. Like I want to see some ridiculous play about a bunch of vampire attacks. I brushed him off. But he knew who I was, and he said, ‘No, no, you really should see the show,’ or something weird like that, and when I got home...” She paused for breath.
“When you got home?” Barrie prompted.
“Merlin dropped in on me. And he told me that I should speak to you—that there have been three recent murders in L.A.—”
“Only three?” Barrie interjected drily.
“Three in which the bodies have been found drained of blood and decayed and...I don’t know. Merlin just said to talk to you.”
“Oh,” Barrie said.
“Oh?” Rhiannon repeated. “Come on, Barrie. You must know something. You work at a newspaper, for God’s sake.”
“You know all they give me is fluff,” Barrie reminded her.
“Yes, but you’re there and you must hear things.”
“I don’t remember anything that sensational, but maybe the police are keeping the details quiet. I do remember hearing about a John Doe found in a lake near some half-built apartment complex. That might have been one of your victims. I’ll see what I can find out,” she promised. “So—when are you going to see the show?”
“Now that Merlin’s talked to me? Tomorrow night,” Rhiannon told her, then sighed. “Hugh told me not to be late tomorrow night. He’s going to give me a buttload of grief, not to mention dock my pay.”
“Tell him you can’t be there—that you have Keeper duties and that’s it. I’ve seen you in action. You’re great fighting other people’s wars—fight this one for yourself. For all three of us,” Barrie added. “We have to prove ourselves. You might as well start tomorrow night with Hugh.”
As Barrie poured hot water into the teapot, they heard the sound of a car door slamming. “Sailor’s home,” she commented.
“So she is.”
“I’ll get another cup.”
Rhiannon walked to the door and opened it just as Sailor was about to knock.
“Hi,” her cousin said.
Sailor spoke with a cheerful voice and had a perfect smile to go
with it. Rhiannon thought that while they were all decent looking, Sailor was their true beauty. It made sense that she was so passionate about being an actress. She had both the talent and the looks.
Maybe it had to do with the fact that Sailor had been destined to be Keeper of the Canyon Elven. Elven were beautiful, Rhiannon reminded herself drily, thinking of Mac Brodie.
Guilt bit into her. Several times she’d caught herself feeling impatient with Sailor for not taking their calling seriously, but hadn’t she wanted to deny it herself? And now she was facing her first real challenge—because even if the murders proved to have nothing to do with the Canyon vampire community, standing up to Hugh was going to be no picnic—and all she wanted was to run away.
“I saw the light, so I thought I’d stop by,” Sailor said.
“Come on in,” Rhiannon said.
Sailor swept past her and headed straight for the kitchen. “I had a great night—I mean a great night. I went to this fantastic party at the club—Declan Wainwright’s club, the Snake Pit.”
Declan Wainwright was the shapeshifter Keeper for the Malibu area. They’d known him forever, though Rhiannon wasn’t sure she would actually call him a friend.
* * *
“Declan told me he was going to ask you to play there a few nights a week. Well, he didn’t tell me. He’s kind of an ass to me. I’m not A-list enough for him, so mostly he ignores me. But I was with Darius Simonides, and he told Darius that he was going to talk to you. Pretty great, huh?”
“It’s nice that you spent some time with Darius,” Rhiannon said, filing away the potential offer of employment to consider later. Darius Simonides was Sailor’s godfather and a big-deal Hollywood agent, but as far as Rhiannon could tell, he hadn’t done much for her. At least not professionally. There was also something...slimy about him, she thought. Maybe it was because he was so...Hollywood. In his line of business, double-talk was really the only talk. Maybe that was at the heart of her reaction to him, but she still didn’t trust him.
Keeper of the Night (The Keepers: L.A.) Page 3