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

by Heather Graham

  “Do you know who’s selling the stuff?” Mark asked.

  She gave him a long, dry look. “If I knew, don’t you think they’d be under arrest?” She shrugged. “Hang out around the Hotel Clinton—it’s a pay-by-the-hour. We found the latest dead junkie there in room 333.”

  “Thanks,” Brodie told her. “Sounds like a little surveillance is in order.”

  They left Janet and the station, and headed down to the seedy area that hosted the Hotel Clinton. Brodie flashed his badge at the desk manager, who barely looked up as he nodded.

  Mark sat in a chair and picked up a newspaper, and Brodie headed across to a worn-out sofa that faced an ancient TV.

  They waited, and they watched.

  * * *

  “It’s my understanding that you’ve already done some screen work,” Lisa Morgan, a talent agent at the ITC Group, said to Alessande. “Who represented you?”

  Alessande looked over at Sailor sitting next to her, thankful they could get in the very same day to see Sailor’s agent and mentally crossed her fingers that the woman would take Alessande on. “I’ve only done extra work, actually. But when I heard there was an open call for this film, I had to give it a try,” she told the woman.

  Lisa Morgan was perfect for Hollywood. Her age was impossible to determine, but she had obviously had work done on her face—the telltale stretching was there. But it had been good work, and she cut an impressive figure. She wore a tight-fitting business suit, the skirt short but not too short, and four-inch heels, and her expertly dyed hair was swept up in a sleek chignon. Alessande made a point of catching her eyes to read her mind, hoping to learn something useful.

  I’m not at all sure about this... The woman is really tall. And I don’t know... They’re friends, both wanting to read for the same role. Hmm. What the hell...maybe...

  “All right. Let me see what you can do.”

  She reached into a drawer and took out a copy of the screenplay.

  Death in the Bowery.

  “You want me to read right here, right now?” Alessande asked.

  “You want to be an actress, right? You’d better get used to cold readings,” Lisa said flatly. “Let’s go. Sailor, you be the villain—the rich banker, Martin Reilly. Alessande, you take Jane Adams, and then we’ll switch it around. I want you to read from a scene toward the end of the screenplay. Jane is an orphan, poor but respectable, and she knows that Martin is a killer. She’s trying not to let on that she knows, while he seduces her into going with him up to the room in the whorehouse that he owns—the room where he kills. Got it?”

  Alessande nodded, and they began to read. Sailor easily took on the persona of the male villain, and Alessande found it easy to respond to her in character.

  Halfway through the scene, Lisa had them switch parts, and once again Alessande was impressed by Sailor’s talent.

  When they were finished, they looked across the desk at Lisa, who nodded. “All right, I’ll set up the auditions. I’ll text you tomorrow with your times.”

  Alessande grinned as she and Sailor left the office. “I can’t believe we’re both in,” she said.

  Sailor laughed. “Yeah—you, me and a thousand hopefuls from around the world. But at least we’ll get our chance to read.”

  “Will we meet the screenwriter there?”

  “Most of the time, I’d say no. The writer is at the bottom of the totem pole—except that this one is Greg Swayze and he’s the man of the moment. He might be there. But Brodie and Mark are cops. They can get in to see him.”

  “Cops don’t necessarily get people to talk,” Alessande said.

  “No, but—”

  “We need to get Brodie and Mark to stay away from him until we’ve had a chance to talk to him.”

  “We can try.”

  “Hey, you’re the Elven Keeper. You can tell Brodie what to do.”

  “No, I can’t. A Keeper can’t tell someone not to do his job unless he’s actively hurting someone. You need to realize that, now that you’re going to be a Keeper.”

  “But, he’d listen to you,” Alessande said. “Right?”

  “I can try, but...”

  “But?”

  “Nothing.”

  “You were about to say that his partner is a vampire and doesn’t have to pay any attention to you, weren’t you?”

  “The vampires do listen to Rhiannon,” Sailor said, pride and loyalty in her voice.

  Her phone began to ring. Sailor dug in her ample over-the-shoulder bag until she found it. She mostly listened, saying yes, and then no, followed by yes again.

  “What’s up?” Alessande asked when Sailor disconnected.

  “We should head over to the House of Illusion. I need to get to work, and Rhiannon will be there soon. I think Barrie is going over with her, along with Declan and Mick. Brodie and Mark are on a case, but they’ll meet us there later.”

  * * *

  They’d been waiting for about an hour—a long hour in which Mark drove himself crazy thinking of other things he could be doing, wondering if this was all a waste of time—when a man finally entered with a girl of about eighteen on his arm.

  And she really was resting virtually her entire weight on his arm, because she was barely standing. They were both tall, and the girl had long, white-blond hair.

  “Hey, buddy, we need a room for a few hours. Just to have a rest, you know? My girlfriend here is wiped out,” the man said, approaching the desk.

  To Mark’s dismay, the clerk looked nervously in his direction. “Minimum is fifty bucks for up to four hours,” he said.

  Luckily the man didn’t seem to notice the clerk’s nervousness; he just wanted to get the girl upstairs.

  Mark rose and walked over to the desk. “Been sightseeing?” he asked.

  The man looked at him and nodded. He was about twenty-five, wearing a sweatshirt with the L.A. Lakers logo. Tourist my ass, Mark thought.

  “Big city, really big city, so much to see,” the man said. His eyes were dilated. The girl’s eyes weren’t even open.

  “Is your girlfriend all right?” Brodie asked, coming up on the man’s other side.

  Suddenly, the man shoved the girl at Brodie and turned to run.

  Swearing, Mark looked at Brodie.

  “I’ve got her—go!” Brodie said.

  Mark took off running.

  Chapter 5

  Alessande had to admit that the House of Illusion was spectacular. With the exception of the coat check off to one side, the foyer felt like the entrance to a medieval fortress, and the room just beyond kept up the impression, resembling a king’s great hall.

  The impression was deliberate. The House of Illusion had been built in the 1890s specifically to resemble a medieval castle. There was a massive bar to the right of the great hall, and the numerous plank tables with bench seating could accommodate hordes of drinkers. Straight ahead was an open performance space that kept up the illusion of walking farther into the depths of a castle. The entrance to a small restaurant stood open just past the bar, while a hallway on the opposite wall led to the Magician’s Cave, a small venue where young magicians could practice their trade.

  “There’s a staging area in the basement, and trust me, it’s creepy,” Sailor said as they moved deeper into the club. “The three of us had just started out as Keepers when a few vicious rebels decided to challenge the old order, and they nearly succeeded. But that’s all in the past,” she finished cheerfully.

  Alessande smiled, fascinated. She’d been here once in the early days, because the Others could be just as fascinated by illusion and magic as any human. And the House of Illusion was as magical as any real castle. Even she couldn’t help but feel a bit awed by being here.

  A tall man with white hair and a dignified demeanor was politely greeting people as they entered the great hall. When he saw them, his eyes lit up. “Sailor Gryffald! And who have we here? No, don’t tell me.” He lowered his voice. “You’re Alessande Salisbrooke, correct?”<
br />
  “Come on, Jerry,” Sailor said, grinning. “That wasn’t much of a feat of mind reading—you knew that we were coming.”

  “Guilty as charged. But, Alessande, I do remember you from years and years ago. Thankfully, you’re an Elven and I’m a vampire, so all those years don’t matter much, do they?” he teased.

  “Is Rhiannon here?” Sailor asked, forestalling any discussion of the old days in favor of making progress on solving the problem at hand.

  “Yes, and are you working tonight, as well? Or are you only here to see the show?”

  Sailor laughed. “I’m just here to see the show, though I suppose I should have asked Barrie if I could afford a night off—she’s our queen of household finance.”

  Jerry waved a hand in the air. “The old days were so much easier. If I was hungry, I fed upon an unwary traveler—oh, don’t look so worried. I drank, but I never killed. And if I needed a place to stay, I hypnotized a nobleman and took over his house. These days, I pay bills just like everyone else. Come on. Rhiannon is doing an early set in the bar, and then she’ll be free to sit with you. She has a late-night gig at the Snake Pit, so I assume you’ll all be heading that way later.”

  Alessande wasn’t all that fond of the Snake Pit—it was mainly an after-hours place for Others to hang out without worrying about letting their true nature slip, and she hadn’t been particularly social for many years. She attended all the Elven councils, of course, but only because she didn’t feel she really had a choice. She had been there when Sailor, as a newly minted Elven Keeper, had faced and defeated the Celebrity Virus, but her involvement had been accidental rather than intentional.

  For so long she’d been happy in the background, using her skill with potions to help her fellow Others—and even humans—live happier and healthier lives. Staying in her own little world had been easy.

  “There’s Barrie,” Sailor said. “We should go join her.”

  Just then they heard a smattering of applause. Alessande looked over to see that Rhiannon had entered the room wearing a medieval gown. It suited her. She carried her guitar and took up a position on the bar’s small stage. Alessande saw Declan and Mick join Barrie at the table, talking casually to each other, but she didn’t think for a minute that they were as nonchalant as they appeared.

  “Welcome to the House of Illusion,” Rhiannon said. “The real show will begin soon, but in the meantime...”

  She began to sing as Alessande followed Sailor to join Barrie and the others.

  “We’ve seen him. He’s here,” Barrie said excitedly as soon as they were seated.

  “Who?” Alessande asked.

  “Greg Swayze! The man who wrote Death in the Bowery.”

  * * *

  Mark was getting tired of chasing down suspected criminals. Why couldn’t they just stop and wait like civilized human beings once it was clear there was no escape? He could, of course, call on his vampire speed, but that would attract attention. Even so, he might have to resort to that, because this perp could run like a son of a gun.

  The human had knocked over trash cans and newspaper stands and anything he could find along the way, forcing Mark to hop, veer and twist in an effort to catch up.

  Screw it.

  He went into vamp mode and stopped ten feet in front of his suspect. The man saw him, and his eyes widened, but he was too close to stop and slammed straight into Mark. With considerable effort, Mark kept them both upright, and he instantly spun the man around and cuffed him.

  “Hey!” his prisoner protested. “You can’t do this! Am I under arrest? You haven’t read me my rights.”

  “I can do this—for resisting arrest if nothing else.”

  “But—”

  Mark sighed and read the man his rights, then informed him that he was under arrest for battery.

  “Battery? I didn’t hurt anyone. I mean yeah, we were arguing, but just normal boyfriend-girlfriend stuff. I—”

  “That young woman you were with is half dead, thanks to whatever drug you gave her.”

  “Hey, I didn’t make her take anything.”

  “We’ll have to ask her that, won’t we?”

  “You have to prove—”

  “I don’t have to prove anything until you’re arraigned,” Mark said. “Let’s go. I’d like to get back to the fine hotel where you were taking the lady to ‘rest.’”

  The guy’s shoulders slumped as all the fight went out of him, and he went peacefully.

  At the hotel, Mark found that an ambulance had already arrived and the young woman was on her way to the hospital. And Brodie briefed Mark on the rest to bring him current on this case. Brodie had called in the situation to Lieutenant Edwards next.

  Then the girl had roused long enough to tell Brodie that her name was Chelsea Rose. She was a local, a hostess at an upscale restaurant in Beverly Hills and an acting hopeful. Thereafter she had lapsed back into unconsciousness and he’d called her parents, who would be meeting her at the hospital.

  The prisoner was Terry Steiner; by the time they had him in the car to bring him to the station, he was talking a blue streak.

  “Look, I just heard about this stuff—they said it was better than Ecstasy. You find a girl, and she’s yours. I’m crazy about Chelsea—I’d never hurt her. I’ve used every cent I’ve made to go to that lousy high-priced rip-off joint where she works just to see her. I talked her into an adventure today once she was done with her shift. We bought the stuff—hell, neither one of us knew it was going to knock her out!”

  “Where did you get it?” Mark demanded. The kid was no Other; he had no special powers. His story rang true. “And where did you hear about it?”

  “Man, everyone’s heard about it,” Steiner said. “But finding someone who knows where to get it... I was at a club, and I heard some guys next to me saying you could buy it on the street.”

  “On the street where?” Brodie asked.

  He gave them the address. Mark and Brodie looked at one another.

  Terry Steiner had bought the drug just around the corner from the Snake Pit.

  * * *

  “How can we manage to talk to him?” Barrie asked thoughtfully.

  Alessande smiled. Barrie was an investigative reporter, one of the best in the city. But because she was such a good reporter, she overthought things at times. “I know how,” she said. “Where is he?”

  “To the left of the stage, and he’s totally into Rhiannon.”

  Alessande looked in the direction Barrie had pointed out.

  Greg Swayze appeared to be somewhere in his late thirties or early forties. His hair was dark, cut short, with a lock that fell over his forehead. He was seated, so she couldn’t judge his height, but he had a medium build and looked very fit.

  “It’s easy,” Alessande said, smiling. “Watch and learn.” She made her way between tables until she reached his. There was room next to him on the bench, so she sat down. He was so entranced by Rhiannon that he didn’t even notice her at first, so she tried to get a feel for him.

  He wasn’t, she determined, any kind of Other. He was human.

  At last he turned her way. “Well. Hello.”

  “Hi,” Alessande said.

  He smiled, and she called on her Elven talents, willing herself to be as seductive as possible. His smiled turned to a slight frown, and she wondered if he knew there were such things as Elven. Or maybe he just sensed something different about her.

  She quickly read his mind. She didn’t get much.

  I’d like to get this one in bed! Legs that stretch forever. And in damned good shape.

  “You’re Greg Swayze,” she said.

  He seemed startled that she knew, and he blinked and looked at her chest instead of her eyes. That was a problem for any woman of course, but especially so for Elven women. “Do I know you?”

  “We’ve never met, no. But of course I know who you are.”

  “You do? That’s interesting. Most people know actors and actresses. Actors
and actresses know the top agents and producers and directors—and even casting agents. I’m just a writer. The bottom rung of the ladder. No one knows me.”

  She smiled. “That’s not true. You’re not just any writer. You write a screenplay, and you hang on to it. You stick with the project. No one rewrites you a thousand times just so a new name can go on the credits. Producers and directors, not to mention actors and actresses, trust you.”

  He laughed at that. “I had one success. One tremendous success, I admit. And that’s because I made a cheap movie that more or less went viral and made a fortune.”

  “I loved it,” Alessande lied. She’d never even seen the thing.

  “Ah! You’re an actress. I should have realized it, given the way you look. Obviously you want a part in my new film. Well, don’t worry. If they don’t cast you, call me and I’ll get you in somewhere. I’ll bet the camera loves you. What have you done?”

  “Not much,” she admitted. “But I am going in to audition tomorrow. I’m waiting for my time. Will you be there?”

  “I wasn’t planning on it,” he admitted. “But now...you can count on it.”

  She smiled sweetly at him. “I’ll be coming with a friend,” she said.

  “Oh?”

  She pointed out Sailor.

  “Very pretty girl,” he said. He looked back at Alessande. “But there’s only one lead role.”

  “But there are...victims, right?” Alessande asked.

  He nodded. “Can I buy you a drink?” He leaned closer. For a moment, she read his thoughts again.

  Oh, man, this is cool. Most actresses know writers don’t have much power, so they ignore us. But this one... She’s hot and blonde and tall, and I could get lucky tonight.

  Alessande stood quickly. “I would love to, but I’m here with friends, and I don’t... Well, when I make a date, even with friends, I keep it. Wonderful to meet you, Mr. Swayze. Your work is really remarkable.”

  He looked up at her, and she caught his eyes and read his mind for a minute.

  She’s stunning, and so bright. I have to have her....

  She turned away quickly. She’d done everything she’d needed to do.