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

by Heather Graham

  “That’s not going to protect you—not against a vampire who’s truly on a rampage,” he told her. “Keepers have been killed in the past, Rhiannon. Some of them by their charges, because they weren’t prepared.”

  He stood quickly, unable to go on touching her or even be so close to her. A burning sensation was filling him, heating his blood to boiling.

  He was a cop, he reminded himself. And she was a Keeper. This was a serious situation. Three men were dead already, with more to come if he couldn’t stop the cycle of violence....

  He stepped back. “You’ve got to get to work, and I have to check in at the station and then get out to the theater. I’ll see you later, and you can tell me everything you overheard at the café.”

  She nodded and stood, as well. She seemed a little shaky, and when he reached out to take her shoulders, for a moment their eyes met.

  Hers were deep, beautiful pools of green. He felt as if he was sinking, as if he were lost in the depths of an ocean.

  She forced a laugh, stepping by him. “Sorry about that. Clearly I need more sleep,” she said.

  As he walked toward the door, Brodie found himself stopping by one of the fortune-teller machines. It was the Magician, an older man with bright blue eyes and a mischievous smile, dressed in a magician’s traditional tux.

  Brodie didn’t touch the machine.

  Suddenly the magician started moving, picking up a card in one white-gloved hand as eerie music played. The card dropped into the receptacle, as if daring Brodie to pick it up.

  He glanced over at Rhiannon, slowly arching a brow in question and smiling.

  “Faulty wiring. Mr. Magic goes off now and then by himself,” she said.

  He picked up the card.

  “What does it say?” she asked him.

  “‘Remember to keep your enemies close, and as you do, beware of those you would call friend,’” he read aloud.

  “Merlin, are you here?” Rhiannon called out.

  Brodie was surprised; even when his opinion of her had been at its lowest, he had considered her sane.

  There was no answer, and she didn’t attempt to explain herself. She simply picked up one of her guitars and joined him, carrying the instrument as if she were carrying gold from Fort Knox.

  He followed her out, and as she turned to lock the door she at last caught the way he was looking at her. “He’s still here, you know.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Ivan Schwartz. Merlin. He’s still here.”

  “The old man who used to own the place? The magician? Are you telling me that he’s still here...as a ghost?” he asked skeptically.

  She laughed suddenly. “You’re Elven. I’m the Keeper responsible for the Canyon vampires. We deal with werewolves and shifters on a daily basis. And you’re going to doubt the existence of a ghost? Speak to me. Tell me what you’re thinking. I don’t want any more cover-ups and half-truths between us, please.”

  Brodie had to laugh, too. “Okay, for a moment I was thinking you were crazy. I didn’t know who you were talking to.”

  “And now?”

  “Now I’m curious to meet him.”

  She let out a soft sigh and smiled slowly. “I’ll try to see that you get that opportunity,” she said.

  They were close again. Too close.

  This time she was the one who stepped away quickly.

  “Work,” she said firmly, as if to remind herself. And then she led the way toward her car.

  * * *

  Brodie greeted the cast and crew as he went into his dressing room to change for the night’s performance. He shared the room with Hunter Jackson, but the other man hadn’t come in yet.

  He was just finishing getting dressed when he heard the door open and turned, assuming that Jackson had arrived, but it wasn’t Hunter Jackson who stepped into the room.

  It was Audrey.

  “Audrey? Do you need something?” he asked.

  “No, I’m just ready and getting bored waiting,” she told him.

  She had perched on the chair in front of his dressing table. She was dressed for her first scene, and her costume was provocative, to say the least. Victorian finery in shreds, with plenty of heaving bosom. She was attractive and flirtatious, but so far she’d been professional, as well, even if her conversation was always full of innuendo.

  Brodie buttoned his shirt and walked closer, ready to start on his makeup, but she didn’t move from his chair.

  “So you’re seeing the vampire Keeper,” she said. “My Keeper. But you know that, of course.”

  “Of course.”

  “Is that allowed?” she asked.

  “She’s the vampire Keeper. I’m Elven.”

  Audrey laughed, a sound that originated low in her throat and was meant to seduce. “Oh, yes, you certainly are Elven. I’ve been rather surprised that you haven’t been acting like one.”

  “We’re in a play together, Audrey. And, as you just commented, I’m in a relationship.”

  “Would that really stop an Elven?”

  “Audrey...”

  “I wouldn’t mind a threesome. And I’ll bet you wouldn’t, either.”

  “Audrey, I don’t know what you think you know about Elven, but we pretty much function the same way human males do,” he told her.

  That elicited another delighted laugh. “Then you’re willing to bed pretty much anyone, under the right circumstances.”

  She stood and walked over to him, and before he knew what she was doing, she had slipped a hand down and grabbed his crotch. His reaction was purely physical.

  “Oh, no, you are much better than other men,” she assured him.

  Was she really bent on seducing him? Or was something else really on her mind?

  It was worth temporarily sacrificing some of his strength to practice telepathy, he decided.

  But what he could read was purely carnal.

  Nice dick. He’d be scrumptious if I could get him into bed. I’ll bet he knows what he’s doing, too. That would so relieve some of the boredom....

  At this moment, at least, her thoughts weren’t worth reading.

  He caught her hand, glad of the strength of his race, which was greater than hers in such a battle. He pulled her hand away and spoke to her gently. “Audrey, you’re beautiful, you’re sexy and I’m in a relationship.”

  Angry, she flushed and stepped away. “Are you really in a relationship? Or are you two really just snooping around to see what I’m doing?”

  “What?”

  “You heard me,” Audrey snapped at him. “Yes, I can be a little wild at times. I do like three-ways, and yes, dammit, I really do like sex! And yes, I’m bisexual. That’s not a bad thing—it just means I love everyone. So what if I organized an orgy at the Theater on the Square last month? Half the people in this city are having sex with anyone who’ll look at them. If your little prude thinks she’s going to come after me for my behavior, she’ll have to clean out the whole city—not to mention the rest of the country!”

  Brodie stared at her, ready to break out laughing. He fought the urge.

  “Audrey, I swear to you that Rhiannon is not planning to chastise you for your sexual behavior. I sincerely doubt she knows about it, and if she did, I’m sure she’d say that so long as you’re having your fun with consenting adults, more power to you.”

  She looked back at him, her anger fading, though she was still frowning slightly.

  “You really don’t want to get it on with me?”

  Brodie pondered that question. Since he’d been here, he’d been focused on catching a murderer. He’d barely noticed Audrey’s playful sexual innuendos on anything other than an intellectual level. And yet he’d seen Rhiannon and immediately responded with every fiber of his being.

  Audrey was extremely attractive and sexual, but she just wasn’t his type. Rhiannon, on the other hand...

  “It’s a real relationship, Audrey,” he said quietly, and he knew it was true, even though they hadn’t so m
uch as kissed yet.

  “Hmm,” Audrey mused thoughtfully, studying him.

  “She’s only been here a week.”

  “It only took a few days,” he told her.

  She lowered her head for a moment and then looked back at him. “Then congratulations. What you have is rare. Anywhere, but especially here in La-La Land. And I promise, I’ll behave, and I’ll even be nice to her. For you.”

  “That’s great of you, Audrey,” Brodie assured her.

  As Audrey was going out, Hunter Jackson was coming in. He brushed past her in the doorway.

  “Good evening, Hunter,” Audrey said. There it was again: that sultry, sexual purr in her voice.

  Hunter watched her as she walked away. “Damn, she’s sexy,” he said. Then he turned back to Brodie and said, “Hey, full house last night. And it was nice to meet your lady, Mac.”

  “Yeah, thanks. I heard it’s another full house tonight,” Brodie said. “Here’s hoping for good reviews.”

  Hunter nodded, pleased. “This could be it, Mac. This could be the project that takes me from being successful to being legendary.” He raised an imaginary glass. “Here’s to another great night.”

  “To another great night,” Brodie agreed.

  A few minutes later Joe Carrie, in his role as stage manager, stuck his head into the room. “Curtain, gentlemen, ten minutes.”

  “Thanks, Joe,” Brodie said.

  Another night, another show.

  And he still needed answers.

  * * *

  It seemed that her song “I Hate Hollywood” had earned her some fans the other night; she received a request to play it not long after she took to the stage.

  The night was, in all, a great deal better than that night had been, at least musically speaking.

  Yet as for making any progress toward learning the identity of the murderer, she didn’t come up with any information at all. The clientele was virtually all human; the only Other she saw was Anthony Brandt, who stopped in after his shift at the morgue. She took a break while he was there and sat down beside him, cradling a cup of blended black tea that was delicious.

  “Anything?” she asked him softly.

  He shook his head wearily. “Tonight? Nothing to do with the murders. A woman in her nineties who had to have an autopsy because she died in her son’s custody. The son is seventy and on oxygen himself, but by law...”

  “And she died of...?”

  “Pulmonary arrest,” he said. “The son isn’t going to be far behind her. Heavy smoker—likely to blow himself up. He goes from his oxygen to a cigarette.”

  “Well, at least no one was murdered,” she said.

  “Yeah, at least no one was murdered. Today.”

  “I’m really angry with you, by the way,” Rhiannon informed him. “Thanks a lot for telling me the truth about your buddy.”

  He flushed, looking down at his tea. “So,” he said softly, “you’ve figured out that your Elven actor is a cop?”

  “Yes, thank you, I’ve figured it out,” she said.

  “So?”

  “We’re working it,” she said.

  “Good,” he told her.

  “You could have just told me the truth, you know. Much easier on both of us.”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe you two had to learn to respect each other.”

  “Do you know anything else you haven’t told me yet?” she asked him.

  “No, do you?”

  She nodded. “If it should come up in conversation anywhere, I’m with Brodie. Or Mac. The actor Mac Brodie. As in we’re seeing each other,” Rhiannon said.

  “Good ruse,” Brandt said. “I like it. You’ve filled Hugh in?”

  “Yes, I had to. And he still gave me grief about taking last night off so I could see the play,” she said indignantly.

  It was almost as if she had given Hugh a cue. He walked up to where they were sitting and stared at her. “You’re slacking off again.”

  Rhiannon looked at her watch. “I actually have sixty seconds of break left, Hugh. I’m not slacking off at all.”

  “Hey, Hugh, let’s give the kid a chance here, huh?” Brandt asked.

  “She’s getting her chance,” Hugh said. “She’s working for me, isn’t she? I’m showing her the ropes.” He turned to Rhiannon. “This is Hollywood, kid. You fly or you die. Brutal, but that’s the way it is. I’m doing you a favor toughening you up,” he assured her.

  “Thank you. Thank you ever so much,” she said, then turned away and smiled at Brandt. “Brodie is coming by after the play. We’re going to the Snake Pit, if you want to join us.”

  “Hey, don’t mind if I do,” Hugh said, as if she had spoken to him. “Don’t mind if I do at all,” he repeated as he headed back behind the counter.

  Rhiannon decided that she really wanted to write a song about how much she hated werewolf Keepers, but she decided that she wouldn’t, discretion being the better part of valor and all. Instead, she sang songs she knew by rote, watching as Hugh came back and sat down with Anthony Brandt, then wound up deep in a heated discussion with him.

  She couldn’t help it. She wondered what they were talking about and whether it was something she should know, too.

  Chapter 6

  Brodie was grateful for one special Elven attribute that night: his ability to move like the speed of light. Since the theater, the Magic Café and his apartment were just different stops right off the 101, he left quickly after the show and stopped at his apartment for a shower. For some reason—maybe it had been his few moments of something like intimacy with Audrey Fleur and the realization they’d forced him to reach about his feelings for Rhiannon Gryffald—he’d felt the heat of the lights and the grease of his makeup a little too much that night.

  He arrived at the Mystic Café to find that Rhiannon was ready to go.

  “We should have met at the Snake Pit,” she told him apologetically. “I have my car here, and also, I’d really love a quick shower. I feel like twenty varieties of Hugh’s best Colombian beans tonight, for some reason.”

  “That’s fine. I’ll follow you to your place and wait for you. We don’t need two cars at the Snake Pit. Parking off Sunset is a bitch.”

  “All right,” she told him. “Thanks.”

  “Hugh will be at the Snake Pit tonight, too,” she told him as they walked out to their cars.

  “Oh?”

  “Anthony Brandt stopped by, and I suggested he come. Hugh assumed that I was inviting him, too.”

  Brodie shrugged. “Maybe Hugh wants to keep an eye on you,” he suggested. “Keep his newest employee safe.”

  “Hugh doesn’t want to keep me safe from the wolves, he wants to throw me to them—or rather, to the werewolves,” she said. “He gave me a speech about life being brutal—sink or fly, that kind of thing.”

  “In a pinch, I think he’d help,” Brodie said. And then he found himself wondering if that was true. Maybe Hugh was bitter about not being asked to be on the council and wanted to exact his petty revenge on Rhiannon, since she was handy. He decided to keep that thought to himself.

  At his side, Rhiannon shrugged.

  He followed her to the estate and up the drive to her house. “You all keep late hours,” he commented when he saw that her cousins’ cars were absent.

  “Sailor is always schmoozing—and Barrie is always on the hunt for a good story she can use to make her name,” she explained as she led him inside. She set her guitar case carefully in its place as they entered and indicated the living room and kitchen. “Make yourself at home. I promise, I’ll be back down in ten minutes.”

  She raced up the stairs and he was left to wander the house. The fortune-telling machines fascinated him. He walked over to the Mr. Magician machine. “Any more fortunes for me?” he asked it aloud.

  But it didn’t answer, and no card dropped into the receptacle.

  He could faintly hear the shower start to run above him. With his supernaturally acute hearing, he could hear
it clearly. And with the sound of water splashing against tile came the visual. He could imagine her standing there, water cascading down on the naked beauty of her flesh, red hair streaming behind her. He could imagine being a bar of soap, sliding over that sleek naked flesh....

  He gritted his teeth sharply. He might be Elven and still acutely aware of where and how Audrey had grabbed him earlier, and yet...

  Audrey’s blatant approach hadn’t done a thing for him. All it had done was make him think of the redheaded Gryffald beauty who was up in the shower at this very minute. All he could think about was mounting the stairs and wrenching back the shower curtain. She would turn to him in surprise, of course, but he had a feeling she wouldn’t really be surprised. She would be waiting for him, and he would see in the green depth of her eyes the look she had given him earlier....

  “Good evening.”

  He was startled from his imagination-run-amok by an elderly man.

  “I’m sorry. You do see me, right?”

  Brodie blinked. Of course he saw the man, clear as day. He frowned sharply. “Who are you, and what the hell are you doing here?” he demanded, his hand dropping to the Smith & Wesson tucked into its holster at his waist.

  “I’m so sorry. I usually knock. I’m Merlin, master magician. And who are you, please?”

  Brodie paused, stunned into silence. He’d met all kinds of creatures in his life, but he’d never had a ghost come up and introduce himself.

  “Sir, I can see that you are Elven, but even the Elven are far more attractive with their mouths shut,” Merlin said.

  Brodie came quickly back to life, instinctively offering his hand, then realizing that the ghost couldn’t shake it. “Detective Brodie McKay, Mr. Merlin. I’m Rhiannon’s guest.”

  “Finally! Thank the Lord above us, the two of you have connected,” Merlin said.

  Brodie decided not to broach the subject of just how he had imagined being connected to Rhiannon just moments before.

  “Have you found out what’s happening yet?” Merlin asked him. “With those murders?”

  “No, sir, we haven’t.”

  “What are you waiting for?” Merlin demanded indignantly. “You need to solve this case quickly. Men are dying—and you’re doing Rhiannon a huge disservice. The girl just got out here, and you’re behaving as if she should have done all your work for you by now.”