“Nothing our screens have detected so far.”
“Thank you, Tony,” she said stiffly.
He nodded. “I’ll let you know if...anything happens. And you’ll return the favor?”
“Of course,” she told him.
“Where are you going from here?” he asked her.
“To prepare for a night at the theater. I’m going to see a new vampire play. One of the actors told me I should see it.” She tried not to think about how much she was actually looking forward to seeing Mac Brodie again—no matter how hard she tried to convince herself she didn’t care. “And then I found out about the bodies.”
“Yes, Rhiannon,” he said after a moment, “I believe you should go to the theater. I think it will be a very enlightening evening for you.”
Chapter 4
Brodie stood by the lake that lay about a hundred and fifty yards behind the theater. He knew that if he turned and faced the theater he would see a service station to the left, beyond the parking lot. To the right there was a warehouse. The lake itself was man-made. It had been dredged to build the housing project on the other side; however, the contractors had apparently run out of funds. The entire shore was overgrown, the lake itself green with alga, and, as twilight fell, the scene was forlorn.
He had already walked the area, carefully surveying the ground, but any clues that might have been left behind were long gone.
But he hadn’t come to see if the crime scene unit had missed anything; he had come to figure out why the perpetrator had chosen this location.
The killer had method. He drained his victims of blood, then discarded the bodies in water, which washed away any biological evidence, making it impossible for the M.E. to tell if the punctures had been inflicted by the fangs of a vampire or a sharp, probably metal, object of some kind.
All three locations where the bodies had been found were lonely, derelict—perfect for leaving a body without being seen, and with a reasonable expectation that it wouldn’t be found for days or weeks, if ever.
It chafed Brodie no end to realize that he’d been working at the theater when the last victim had been dumped.
Frustrated, he hunkered down and skipped a stone across the lake. He had no leads. The bodies were giving them nothing—not even identities. The crime scenes had been cleansed by nature long before any first-on-scene officer could examine them.
The only possible connection between the victims and their killer was the play. He thanked whatever stroke of luck had led to the role being open just when he needed it. His natural Elven abilities had seen to it that he’d landed it without any trouble.
In his mind, his abilities made him a good cop. Unlike so many of his kind, he’d never yearned for the stage; he’d longed to keep order. He hated realizing that he and so many Others would be loathed and feared if their true natures were known by the general populace. He believed in equality, and that meant he believed in the law, as well, not to mention simple decency. Everyone deserved respect, the right to live, to seek happiness and to enjoy the freedom to follow their dreams.
He turned away from the lake. He wasn’t particularly fond of water. Elven were creatures of the earth. They didn’t melt or anything, but they hadn’t populated the new world until the airplane had been invented—they couldn’t be away from solid ground for the time it took an ocean liner to make it across the Atlantic. They lost strength and eventually died if they didn’t feel the power of the earth beneath their feet.
He glanced at his watch. It was almost his call time, and he prided himself on never being late. He made a point of talking with his cast mates every night, though so far his investigation hadn’t netted him anything. He hadn’t been sure about the connection to the play at first, but now he was. Instinct, perhaps. Which meant he had to be close to someone who at least knew what was going on—even if they didn’t know they knew.
As he reached the cast entrance, he noticed that an old Volvo had pulled into the parking lot. Three women emerged.
The Gryffald cousins had arrived.
He was pleasantly surprised. Rhiannon hadn’t called him, but at least she was coming to see the play.
He watched Rhiannon Gryffald as she stood by the driver’s door, surveying the area. Her eyes were on the lake. She didn’t see him as she studied the water.
She’d found out, he thought. She knew bodies had been found drained of blood. And she knew where they had been found; he could tell from the way she was looking at the water.
Yes, she definitely knew. Which meant she definitely hadn’t come to see him. Damn it.
Intrigued, he stood by the rear door for a moment. He recognized Sailor Gryffald, of course. She’d grown up in L.A. and had often accompanied her father when he’d met with the Elven elders. She was an actress.
He hoped that she wouldn’t recognize him, though of course she would know that he was Elven. Her interest in being a Keeper had been minimal when he had last seen her, so hopefully she hadn’t paid any attention to him.
He smiled, taking a moment’s pride in his people. She was the Elven Keeper, so by definition she possessed a bit of Elven charm. She didn’t seem to have a passion for her hereditary responsibilities, but maybe that didn’t matter so much. The Elven tended to be peaceful. They brooked no interference and could fight when drawn into battle, but they tended to live according to a philosophy of “Do as you will but harm no others.” It was unlikely that she was going to have to solve a massive Elven crime spree.
Barrie Gryffald was now the Keeper of the shapeshifters. They were mischief-makers, and if any race was prone to misbehavior, it was them. But from what he knew, Barrie was a serious young woman, dedicated to becoming an investigative reporter.
For a moment he swept his concerns about the situation and the Gryffald cousins from his mind. They were all standing together, looking out at the stagnant lake. They were close to one another in height, and they all had varying shades of the same sleek hair. They looked like three Muses as they stood there, young, still naive and hopeful, and beautiful.
And, he feared, ineffectual.
He opened the stage door and came face-to-face with Bobby Conche, the tall, leanly muscled shapeshifter who’d been hired to take care of security. Bobby was from the Malibu area and fell under the jurisdiction of Declan Wainwright. He loved the theater, but as a fan, not a participant. He loved to guard the stage door, because it meant he got to see new productions in rehearsal. He knew, of course, that Brodie was Elven.
He didn’t know he was cop.
“Hey, Bobby, thanks. I think I have some friends coming tonight. Three young women, the Gryffald—”
“Yeah, yeah, the Gryffald girls, the new Keepers,” Bobby said, and grinned at Brodie. “Glad I’m with the Malibu pack—takes new Keepers a while to learn the ropes, you know?” Bobby nodded. “I’ll make sure they find their way to you.”
“Thanks,” Brodie told him, then left to start getting ready for that night’s performance.
* * *
Mac Brodie was a good actor. Damn him.
Not that Rhiannon had really expected anything else. Elven were known for their ability to charm—and to make others see them as they chose to be seen.
Vampire Rampage took place in modern London, but it was a riff on Bram Stoker’s Dracula. It opened in a sea of mist, and then a car appeared. Mac Brodie, as Vince Anderson, stepped out, along with Lena Ashbury, who was playing a character named Lucy. They were lost in Transylvania, seeking her old family home, while on an extended honeymoon, and poor Lucy—who had dreamed of finding her distant cousins—was now terrified. Their rental car had died; the sound of wolves howling filled the air with a plaintive and spooky symphony. The writing was good, the dialogue occasionally funny as Lucy dreamed of the Transylvanian Automobile Association coming to the rescue. And then the fog thinned, revealing lights in the darkness, and they headed off to the house they saw in the distance.
The house was, of course, Drago’s ancest
ral castle, where they were greeted there by Nickolai Drago and his household, which included an eerie butler and several sinfully sexual maids, all the action accompanied by a winning combination of dialogue and duets. Drago was charming, assuring Lucy that he would help her find her relatives in the morning, then having the newlyweds shown to a room. Later that night, however, Lucy rose and wandered downstairs to Drago’s lair, where he proceeded to turn on his supernatural charm. Meanwhile, two of the sexy maids—Rhiannon recognized the actresses she’d seen outside the Mystic Café—broke in on Vince and attempted to seduce him. Rhiannon found her attention riveted on him with an intensity she couldn’t fight as he escaped his would-be seducers and broke in on Drago and his wife. The audience was left to wonder if the vampire’s teeth had or hadn’t sunk into Lucy’s lily-white throat.
In the morning Vince tried to convince his wife, who had no memory of the night’s events, that they had to get away, because there was something evil afoot in the castle. Lucy, however, was clearly under Drago’s spell, and refused to leave. That night Vince lay awake and waited, and when he heard the howling of the wolves in the forest, he saw Lucy awaken as if in response to their call. He followed her downstairs and managed to get her out of the castle without running into Drago, who was waiting with fangs bared. Vince dragged her through the forest, until they finally came upon an inn, where they were welcomed and warned that those who go to the castle were usually never seen again. Lucy met her long-lost cousins, who warned her that she had to be vigilant and avoid Drago and his castle at all costs.
Rhiannon tried to think why Mac had been so insistent that she see the show, because while she’d certainly enjoyed it—and him—she hadn’t found anything so far that seemed relevant to the murders. Of course, maybe the problem was that she had been paying too much attention to Mac and not enough to the play.
There was a fifteen-minute intermission. As Rhiannon rose, she noticed that Sailor was still staring at the stage.
Her cousin looked up at her, rapt. “Isn’t he magnificent?” She lowered her voice. “Imagine, Hunter Jackson playing Jack Hunter playing Drago. I can’t believe the press hasn’t pointed that out yet. I mean, someone besides me must have recognized him.”
“I’m sure he’ll be recognized once the show finishes previews and the reviewers descend. It’s probably all part of his plan to start a major buzz about the whole project. He wants huge box office numbers when the movie opens. Clever, really,” Rhiannon admitted.
“I am beyond excited. I’m going to be playing Erika, the upstairs maid.”
“I wonder how the current upstairs maid feels,” Barrie said drily.
“They’re not using any of this cast for the movie,” Sailor explained. “The show is going to keep running while the movie is being made. They’re expecting to open on Broadway and hoping for a long run. After that, touring companies, if all goes well. It’s not as if any of this cast will be out of a job.”
“Still,” Rhiannon said, “I wonder how they feel about not even getting the chance to be in the movie.”
Sailor sniffed. “Well, certainly not angry enough to go around killing innocent strangers as if they were real vampires,” she said. “They’re working. In Hollywood, if you’re not waiting on tables, you’re a success.”
A few minutes later, out in the lobby after Sailor decided she wanted a glass of wine, Rhiannon idly scanned the crowd. She was startled to see that Declan Wainwright was there. He must have known that he was going to be there that night when he’d seen her at Darius’s office, but he hadn’t said a word.
Not that he looked as if he really wanted to be found. He, too, seemed to be watching the audience members as they milled around, but unlike her, he was leaning against a support wall, mostly hidden from view.
Declan was a shifter Keeper, and he’d worked hard to take on the abilities of his charges. With enough concentration, he was capable of shifting. If he really hadn’t wanted to be seen, he could have come to the show as anyone.
He could even have come as the proverbial fly on the wall.
Of course, shifting was taxing and exhausting. Maybe he was just here because he had an interest in the show. But why hadn’t he mentioned that he was coming?
He hadn’t seen her, so she walked up behind him and cleared her throat.
He whirled around in surprise. For a moment he looked disconcerted. Then he smiled. “Ah, there you are. I was looking for you and your cousins. How are you enjoying the play?”
“I love it. The songs are excellent,” she said. “I didn’t know that you were coming tonight.”
He grinned at her. “I didn’t know if I’d make it or not. The Snake Pit doesn’t get busy ’til late, but I lost a manager a few weeks ago, and if I don’t have someone I can trust going in to open, I don’t like to be away. But I found someone to handle it, so I’m here to get a feel for how they’re going to be using the club when they film there.” He shrugged. “I’m hoping the film’s a big hit. We do extremely well, but it’s a fickle world. One day the lines are out the door. The next day you’ve been dropped for the newest thing down on Sunset or Vine.”
Rhiannon smiled. “Declan, the Snake Pit has a built-in clientele.”
It did, of course. Otherworld denizens flocked there by the dozens—especially vampires, who really liked the nightlife.
Declan shrugged. “I know. But I have to say, it would be pretty cool to be as well known as the Viper Room.”
“Maybe not, given the deaths associated with it.”
He waved a hand dismissively. “Death happens everywhere, Rhiannon. You must be aware of that. Deaths don’t happen because of clubs, they happen because people—and Others—can get out of control.” The lights began to flicker, indicating that intermission was over. “It’s always good to see you, Rhiannon,” he said, inclining his head slightly.
There was something old world about him, she realized. And she was lucky, getting a chance to perform at the Snake Pit. Not only was it a well-known venue, but it had after-hours and then it had after-hours. The club was a success in the world at large—and in the Otherworld, as well.
He turned and walked back into the theater. Rhiannon walked back toward the snack bar, but her cousins were gone. She quickly returned to her seat, just in time for the lights to go down once again.
Act II brought Vince and Lucy back to L.A., where they returned to their jobs in Hollywood, Lucy in animation and Vince in casting. Vince believed they’d gotten away clean, but shortly after their return he was visited at work by one of Drago’s maids, and then another maid turned up as a barista in his favorite coffee shop. He realized that Drago was not far behind.
In the next scene the vampire arrived at Lucy’s studio looking for work as a sketch artist. Vince found out when he showed up to take her home and saw sketches of characters that looked like Drago—and Lucy. Afraid, he called on an old friend—Dr. Van Helsing—who told him about vampires and explained that there was only one way to save Lucy from Drago.
The customary climax brought a twist. Vince had allowed himself to be infected by the vampire barista in order to fight Drago. Van Helsing met them in a Hollywood wax museum’s chamber of horrors with a priest in tow, and Drago was put down. The scene ended with Vince and Lucy happy and still together—although they both had to adjust to a new lifestyle, since they’d both become vampires. Hand in hand, they headed off to a blood bank, starving after their exertions.
The finale had Drago rising again after the couple had departed, and he had a fantastic solo number—before dining on one of the policemen left to guard the “crime” scene.
Rhiannon didn’t think it was the best show she’d ever seen—and she still wasn’t sure what deeper meaning she’d been meant to discover—but it had certainly been entertaining.
The audience rose to give the cast a standing ovation, and she politely rose, as well. She noticed that Sailor was still staring at the stage as if hypnotized. “Hey,” she said, and nudged h
er cousin. “It’s over.”
“Oh, my God, I’m in love with it,” Sailor breathed.
“It did have a few twists,” Barrie commented.
“There was a lot that was the usual,” Rhiannon said. And, she thought, a lot that could only have been written by an Other, someone aware of what was and wasn’t real. Vampires didn’t need to wait for night to come out, and while they—like everyone in California—enjoyed sunglasses, they weren’t blinded by the sun. They could sleep pretty much wherever they wanted—after all, you couldn’t get dirt from a mausoleum.
Perhaps those were the points Mac had wanted her to notice? But why?
“I can’t believe I’m going to be in the movie!” Sailor said, still wide-eyed with awe.
“Let’s head backstage,” Rhiannon said.
“Can we?” Barrie asked.
“I don’t see why not,” Rhiannon said. “After all, I was practically ordered to be here.”
They walked out the front door and around to the stage entrance. Rhiannon felt someone walk up and slip an arm through hers. Startled, she turned to see that Declan Wainwright had joined them.
He gave her a grin and a shrug. “Safety in numbers,” he told her.
She arched a brow at him but couldn’t resist the blatant attempt to make her smile. “Sure, safety in numbers.”
Declan turned to greet Sailor and Barrie, but his tone was merely polite, as if he had no real interest in them. Barrie nodded and said hello in return, but Sailor actually gritted her teeth and turned away.
At the stage door, Declan spoke to the guard, greeting him familiarly. “Hey, Bobby.”
“Hey, Mr. Wainwright,” the guard said. He was tall, fairly young and muscular. He smiled—clearly he knew Declan well—and Rhiannon realized he was a shapeshifter.
“Bobby Conche is with the Coastal shifters,” Declan said softly, introducing them. Given that she was now a shifter Keeper, it made sense that Bobby stared at Barrie longest. He grinned. “Welcome, ladies,” he said. “Just walk on in.”
Keeper of the Night (The Keepers: L.A.) Page 6