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

by Heather Graham

  Darius shook his head as if recalling himself to the present and turned to Jack Hunter

  “Hunter Jackson, meet a very dear friend of mine, Rhiannon Gryffald,” he said. “Jack is adapting a fantastic vampire play for the screen. Rhiannon, Hunter Jackson.”

  Hunter took her hand and smiled at her, his eyes bright with amusement. “It took me a moment to recognize you, but we almost met last night. I must say, Ms. Gryffald, you’re a courageous young woman. Everyone else was screeching and screaming, and you rushed out like Joan of Arc on a mission.”

  The others laughed. Rhiannon forced a smile, not feeling the least bit amused.

  “I believe you were introduced last night as Jack Hunter,” she said, frowning, not the least bit impressed that she was meeting the illustrious director Hunter Jackson. Sailor was going to be thrilled, though.

  “You’ve unmasked me, Darius,” Jackson said, then turned back to Rhiannon. “Like a lot of directors, I started off with an acting career, and I decided to direct and star in the stage version of the show myself. A little bit of ego going on there, I’m afraid.”

  “You should be careful with your promo stunts, Mr. Jackson,” she said. “I’m just a musician. What if there had been a cop there last night and he’d pulled a gun on you?”

  “It’s not likely, Ms. Gryffald,” Hunter said, and shrugged. “This is Hollywood. The cops usually know a show from the real thing.” He looked at Darius and laughed. “So I take it that this charming Miss Gryffald is not looking for a career on the big screen?”

  Darius shook his head. “Musician, as she said.”

  Hunter turned back to Rhiannon, grinning. “Good for you. Because—my ego speaking again, I’m afraid—aspiring actresses always feel the need to suck up to me, and it can get pretty tiresome.”

  She forced a pleasant smile. “I’m sure that when you choose a star for one of your productions, you base your choice on talent and not just because she sucked up to you.”

  “Such a diplomat,” Hunter said, but he was laughing.

  Rhiannon realized that she ought to be nice to the man; she wanted to know why one of his actors had insisted that she come to the show. She managed to keep her smile in place. “My cousins and I are going to see the show tonight,” she told him.

  “That’s great. Is one of the cousins you’re referring to Sailor Gryffald?” Hunter asked.

  She nodded.

  “I’m glad. She’ll get a good feel for the material by seeing the play. It’s not just a horror story. It’s about the many different kinds of hunger that can drive us, even ruin our lives, and about what we’re willing to do for love. Of course,” he said thoughtfully, “it’s about redemption, as well.”

  “It sounds interesting,” Rhiannon said.

  “It’s a musical,” Darius said. “You’re going to love it, Rhiannon.”

  Declan smiled. “They’re going to film some scenes at the Snake Pit,” he said.

  She nodded, trying very hard to keep a pleasant smile glued to her lips. She might have accepted a job offer from the man, but she didn’t trust shapeshifters. They were pranksters. And when they went bad, their ability to shift into any guise meant major trouble. Their Keepers could be just as...shifty, and Declan definitely was.

  “Sounds just great,” she finally said, knowing how lame she sounded.

  “Gotta go,” Declan said. “I’ll see you Friday night?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  He shook hands with the other men and started toward the stairs. As he was leaving, Hunter said, “Well, I’d best be on my way, too, Darius. Ms. Gryffald...a pleasure. And please, come see me backstage tonight. I’d love your opinion on the show.”

  “I’m not really a theater expert, but I’d be delighted to see you after the show,” she said.

  “Any audience member is an excellent theatrical judge,” he said. “I’ll see you later.” He gave them both a wave and left.

  Darius looked at Rhiannon assessingly, and she could see that he was well aware that she hadn’t just dropped in on him for a casual chat.

  “Shall we enter the inner sanctum, my dear?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Thanks.”

  Mary had returned to her desk while the others talked, but she spoke up then. “Darius, shall I hold your calls?”

  “Yes, please, Mary,” Darius said. “Thank you.”

  Rhiannon grabbed her coffee and followed Darius into his office. It was huge, with massive windows that looked out over the city. In addition to the requisite designer chairs in front of a chrome and glass desk, the room boasted a comfortable sofa against a wall, a full stereo and wide-screen system and a wet bar. There was also a bathroom—all chrome and glass and marble. Darius easily could have lived there and sometimes did, despite the fact that he had a fabulous mansion in the Hollywood Hills.

  “Drink?” he asked her.

  “I’ve got coffee. I’m fine,” she told him.

  “I’ll help myself, then,” he said.

  He reached into his refrigerator, which was filled with his “specials.” Mary didn’t fill his refrigerator; his assistant, Rob Cantor, took care of that chore. His specials looked like Bloody Marys, but they would have gagged a vegetarian. His blood came from a meatpacking plant he owned in west Texas.

  “Sit,” he told her, taking his own chair behind the desk, easing back and planting his feet on the shiny surface. “You doing okay?” he asked her once she’d taken a seat.

  “I’m all right, yes, thanks,” she told him.

  “You can’t be all right if you’re here to see me so soon. What’s the problem?” He took a sip from his glass, sighed and seemed to sink back farther in sensual delight.

  “I saw a piece of the play last night, Darius. Your friends staged it right in front of the Mystic Café.”

  “How is that old dog Hugh Hammond?” Darius asked, laughing at his own joke.

  “As growly as ever,” Rhiannon assured him.

  Darius enjoyed that. He didn’t reply, but his easy smile deepened. He took another sip of blood and then looked at her. “And...?”

  “Your play—or movie,” she said.

  He frowned. “What about it?”

  “Darius, it’s about a vampire on a killing spree,” she said.

  “Oh, please!” Darius said. He was clearly irritated. He swung his feet down and stared at her hard across the desk. “What? I’m going to stop the world from making vampire movies?”

  Rhiannon drew a deep breath. “It’s come to my attention, Darius, that three bodies have turned up in the area, drained of blood.”

  He arched a brow. “Really?”

  “Really.”

  “Then you’re not doing a very good job, are you?” he asked her.

  She froze but refused to let him see her reaction in her expression. Instead, she leaned closer, staring at him. “The first body appeared before I ever arrived, Darius, and the second when I had just gotten here. But now there’s a third.”

  “Then I suggest you bring it up at the local council meeting,” he told her. “I haven’t heard anything about this.”

  She didn’t know that much herself yet, but she decided to fake it. “It sounds like a serial killer—a vampire serial killer—is at work.”

  “How dramatic, Rhiannon. Maybe you should have gone into acting,” he said. “Bodies drained of blood. If you’re accusing me of covering up for someone—which you had best not be—remember that I’ve been making my way by playing the human game for a very long time now. I love my life, and I’m not about to jeopardize it. If I did know of any suspicious vampires, I’d let you know. But I don’t. Period.”

  “I didn’t accuse you of anything,” she said.

  He continued to eye her suspiciously. “Did you come to me for help?”

  “Yes, I suppose I did.”

  That, at least, mollified him.

  “You still need to bring it up at the council meeting,” he told her. “But I think it’s pretty unlikely th
at a vampire’s really behind this. I’m not the only one out here who is extremely happy. We make movies. We have a great supply of blood—I bring a lot of it in from my home state, where people are always lined up to donate—booze and women. We live in peace out here. All of us, not just the vampires. I know a dozen gorgeous Elven who are big successes in this business—I get them roles, they make me money. Werewolves, shifters and all the rest...things work for them here in L.A. This is a city where we get along.”

  “It’s also a city where lots of people don’t make it,” she reminded him. “Waitresses remain waitresses. Valets remain valets.”

  He lifted a hand. “I still don’t see it, Rhiannon. I really don’t.” He leaned toward her. “What makes you think the murders have some connection to the play?”

  “I never said they did,” Rhiannon said. That was true; she hadn’t said any such thing. She had suggested that both the play and movie might be in bad taste—for a vampire, at least—but that was all.

  Suddenly she didn’t want to tell him about Mac Brodie’s insistence that she see the show. She wasn’t sure why. Maybe because it seemed that Darius, like everyone else, didn’t have any faith in her. Maybe it was because the two men knew each other, and until she knew how well, she didn’t want to take chances.

  And on top of that, she was a Keeper.

  Which meant, for the time, as she felt her way forward and dealt with situations as they were thrust upon her, she was going to learn to keep things to herself.

  She rose, determined not to make an enemy. “Darius, thank you. I’m glad I can look to you for help. I will bring this up at the council meeting.”

  “It’s going to be your first,” he told her. “I’ll be happy to introduce you.”

  “Thanks.”

  “Thursday at midnight, the old church off Bertram,” he told her.

  “I’ll be early,” she promised.

  He escorted her out of his office, giving her a hug. Moments later she found herself out on the street, wondering what to do next.

  The answer was obvious. It was time to pay a visit to a werewolf.

  * * *

  Dr. Anthony Brandt arrived in the reception area of the morgue in his clean white coat.

  He smiled when he saw Rhiannon, as if he were actually happy to see her. “Well, look who’s come to see me,” he said, then gave her with a hug she was sure was intended for the benefit of the receptionist. She knew Tony—she’d known him since she was a child. He thought she was spoiled and had felt free to tell her parents so on occasion.

  “It’s so nice to finally see you, Tony,” she said, her tone filled with artificial warmth. “You could have called me, you know.”

  “Well, I was thinking that you’d just arrived, that you were busy,” he said.

  As in, too busy to do what you should have been doing—being a good Keeper!

  “I’m here now,” she said.

  “Well, then, come on back to my office,” he told her. “Sign in first, though. You’ll need a visitor’s pass.”

  She got her pass and then followed him down the hallway.

  His office was neat—sparse, actually. His desk held his computer and a stack of files, bookshelves lined two walls, while a single window looked out on the city. L.A. and life were all around him, but Tony lived in the realm of the dead.

  “Have a seat,” he told her.

  He’d closed the door as they entered. She took a chair in front of the desk and leaned forward. “Don’t go giving me that superior-than-thou look. I just got to town. If there was a problem and you knew about it, it was your responsibility to tell me. I shouldn’t have had to rely on the grapevine to tell me about these murders—and the condition of the bodies.” She stared challengingly at him. “You would have called my father.”

  He was quiet for a minute. “Yeah, I would have,” he said quietly.

  “Tony, I know you’re a werewolf and you don’t officially owe me anything, but can’t you help me—the way you always helped my father?”

  He looked a little abashed. “All right, Rhiannon, I’m sorry.”

  “Thank you. I’m learning, Tony. I can use all the help I can get.”

  He lifted the files on his desk and riffled through them, then produced three and handed them to her. “John Does, all of them. We can’t get IDs on any of them.”

  “Did you find anything on the bodies? Any DNA from the killer? What about the bites? Any saliva?” Rhiannon asked.

  “You know as well as I do that if they were bitten by a vampire, there would be no DNA. Vampire DNA disintegrates almost instantly. But, beyond that, all the bodies were found submerged in water and massively decomposed.”

  “No fibers, tickets, wallets, anything?”

  “Totally empty pockets. All I know for sure is that they were bitten and exsanguinated.”

  “Is that what you put on the death certificates?” Rhiannon asked him.

  He shook his head, indicating the reports. “The bodies were drained of blood, but due to the condition in which they were found, I couldn’t determine an absolute cause of death. In fact, the really strange thing is that there was water in the lungs, so it’s a crapshoot as to whether they drowned or died from blood loss, but whatever happened probably happened in the water. Or maybe they were just this side of dead when the killer tossed them in the water. No way to know, really.”

  “You’re sure you found puncture marks?” Rhiannon asked, flipping through the files. There was information the police had given the medical examiners, and there were outlines of the male bodies, with notations and drawings. She looked back up at him. “It looks like they were tiny...you’d think that they’d be obvious. Vampire marks aren’t usually as tiny as pinpricks.”

  “The fact that the flesh was so swollen around would have compressed them and made them harder to see. Still, there’s nothing usual about these cases.”

  “I’m assuming you have a contact in the department?” she said.

  “I have a lot of police contacts, but I don’t think they’d appreciate my sharing their names. For now, you’ve got what you need to go on, so don’t go barging into the station, telling one and all that you’re the new vampire Keeper—especially since most of the bodies look like vampire victims.”

  Rhiannon had never actually ever been in a morgue in her life; even coming into the reception area had seemed difficult. Now...

  You’re at the morgue, she told herself. This is what you’re supposed to be doing, seeing the dead.

  She rose and followed Tony, who led her to a chilly room holding what appeared to be massive file cabinets, except that she knew they weren’t. Each drawer contained one of the county’s dead—those who still needed an autopsy, and those who were waiting....

  To be claimed? Or because they were unclaimed?

  Either way, it was sad.

  She slipped into the white gown, mask and gloves Tony handed her, despite the fact that she had no intention of touching the bodies. She tried to appear professional.

  But, no matter what her resolve, she wasn’t ready for what she saw when he opened the first drawer.

  The body was recognizable as human, but just barely.

  “John Doe number one,” Tony said. “He’s our oldest, dead about a month. As you can see, the decomp is very bad. And, as you can also see, his fingers are missing.”

  Rhiannon willed herself not to gag. Despite the mask and the chemical smells in the air, the scent of decomposition was overwhelming. The flesh appeared absolutely putrid. His eyeballs were missing, and the flesh of his face was so puffed up that she couldn’t have recognized anyone in such a state—even her own mother.

  “The fingers...were they eaten by some creature? Or maybe they...rotted off?” she asked.

  He shook his head. “There are telltale signs that a blade was used to remove them.”

  “So no one could make an ID?” she asked.

  “It certainly makes it impossible to search the fingerprint database,
” he said.

  She swallowed hard. “This seems like the work of a madman.”

  Tony looked around, but they were alone. “Or a hungry vampire, breaking the rules, attacking humans and trying to remain anonymous by making sure we can’t ID the victims and connect them to him.”

  She stared into his eyes. “Yes, the killer could be a vampire. But it’s far from certain. Do you have anything else to show me?”

  Tony reached out and turned the head. “Here, right here. As the report said, they’re tiny and surrounded by swelling, but the puncture marks are here. Now let’s move on to John Doe number two.”

  He shut the drawer and didn’t even glance her way as he led her to the next. The second body was in no better shape. Again he showed her what he had determined to be puncture marks and pointed out the missing fingers. The third body was the worst. He swept the sheet all the way down to show her the thighs, and at that point she thought she was going to black out or at least vomit.

  Somehow she managed not to do either.

  “Alcohol? Drugs? Had they been doing anything prior to their deaths? Stomach contents? Can their last meals be traced?” she asked.

  Tony looked at her for a moment, then nodded. “All three men had been drinking. They were just above the legal limit, for whatever that’s worth. I’m afraid that their last meals had been well digested, suggesting that they’d been drinking rather than eating during their final excursions into the wilds of the L.A. nightlife. Or day life. I don’t have a time of death—I can’t even guarantee a day of death. Water is vicious on human remains. And it’s summer, so...” His voice trailed off.

  Rhiannon silently willed him to close the last drawer. He did so, and then walked her back out to the hallway, where she dropped her lab coat, mask and gloves into the appropriate disposal bins.

  She hadn’t needed the gloves. She’d known she wouldn’t.

  She could still smell the terrible stench of death. She steeled herself against it. Had the hall smelled so strongly when she had arrived, or was the scent engrained in her forever?

  “No poisons in the tox screens, right? You would have told me,” she said.