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

by Harley Jane Kozak

There was nowhere to go but up. She looked at the cliff face, treacherous and rocky and not at all climbable. Except...

  Ten yards away there was an opening in the rocks, just above eye level. It was small, maybe too small for her to fit into, but maybe not.

  She glanced back at Reggie, just visible in the rain, the very definition of madness, all bleeding shoulder and wild hair, trudging through the water, swaying with the surf.

  She made her way toward the opening, climbing onto boulders, trying to get higher, closer. It was too much of a stretch. She looked around. To her left something stuck out of the cliff at a crazy angle, a piece of wood or rock, maybe a root. Whatever it was, she grabbed on to it. It held, allowing her to pull herself up and slip her foot through the opening, then her other leg and, with difficulty, her torso. At last she squeezed her shoulders in. A cave. A refuge. Above the sea. Above Reggie.

  And now he was there, just below her. His face was ugly-scary as he reached toward the opening, crazy enough to think he could pull her out. She bit his hand. He screamed.

  “You bitch!” he yelled, but he drew back. He stared at her, then out to sea. “All right,” he said, turning back to her. “You think you’re safe? Spring tide. Know what that is? It’s coming in fast. Coming right for you.” He was smiling.

  She looked out at the water, raging and white-tipped, and realized she had no understanding of it, no knowledge of tides or waves, the habits of the sea.

  “I’ll be waiting right up there,” he said, nodding back toward the steps. “I’m staying until you come out, and then I’ll grab you and hold you under. I’ll drown you like a cat.”

  Then he was gone. And she was alone.

  Panic engulfed her. She should have died when she had the chance, any other way, explosion, gun, anything but this, holding her breath, the ice-cold water on her skin, in her mouth, the salt consuming her, weighing her down, the heaviness of her clothes and shoes, the terror, and then the sea filling her lungs, burning them, bursting them apart, the lack of air, asphyxiation. The kind of death her nightmares were made of.

  Declan! she screamed. Declan! She was calling his name as if he could hear, as if he could save her, like the deus ex machina of the Greek plays. She began to cry at the idea that she had thought he was the killer. Tears, so difficult for her to produce, spilled out of her now, her mind filled with regret that she could have thought so badly of this man she loved. It was a kind of betrayal to believe him capable of such evil, and that, too, was why she was here, why she had followed Reggie, as if capturing him and stopping the war could make up, in Declan’s eyes, for her lack of faith.

  Would he find her body? Or would she wash out to sea?

  Would he forgive her?

  * * *

  Declan felt Sailor strongly now, the sense of her overwhelming, but there was no joy at all, none of the liveliness of her. There was only stark, primal terror. The terror of madness.

  * * *

  Time passed. The water came closer, the waves growing bigger, the spray hitting her face when she looked out. She was stuffed into a space about four feet by four feet, maybe six feet deep, she estimated, with the cave mouth only a bit wider than her own shoulders. She couldn’t see or hear anything but the sea. But she knew Reggie was as good as his word, that he’d climbed the steps to higher ground and was waiting for her to come out.

  Her body was cramped, weakened and desperately cold, but so far she was still safe. She wrapped her arms around her legs, clutching them, holding on tight to herself. Would the safety last? Even now the ocean had climbed higher, closer. When had that happened? How long had she been here?

  She had no idea.

  But she was never coming out.

  * * *

  Declan phoned everyone he could think of: Rhiannon and Barrie, Reggie Maxx, Darius, Brodie, Alessande. Tony Brandt. All over town, he left curt voice mail messages. His instinct was to shift into a bird and fly, but he knew his own physical limitations. Unless he had some idea of where Sailor was, and unless she was out in the open, as opposed to in a car or a house, it would be a waste of time and a debilitating waste of energy. Even if he found her, he might be too weakened to save her from whatever was terrifying her.

  The last call he made was to Kimberly Krabill. It was a long shot, but he figured if Sailor was sick or injured and could reach a doctor, Kimberly was the one she’d go to.

  Amazingly, Kimberly actually answered the phone. “I have no idea where she is, Declan. But it’s funny you should call. Tony Brandt sent me the lab results, not just Sailor’s but everything from this case, and I saw something shocking.”

  “What’s that?”

  “I happened to look at the killer’s DNA just after studying Sailor’s, and I found some startling similarities. I’m sure no one else has seen it because there’d be no reason to compare the two, and of course I’ll need to do much more work on it before—”

  “Just tell me,” Declan said. “What does it mean?”

  “Declan, I think our killer is an Elven Keeper. Just like Sailor.”

  Time slowed, then stopped. Reggie Maxx. It had to be him. He’d been with Sailor all afternoon. Not protecting her; planning her death.

  Declan more than knew it; he could feel it. They were together, Sailor and Reggie. And she was terrified. But she was still alive.

  “Call Brandt, call Brodie McKay at Robbery/Homicide. Tell them it’s Reggie Maxx,” he said and hung up.

  Declan moved onto the deck, closed his eyes and breathed in the salty air. It took all the discipline he had to make himself go still, so great was his need to act. He moved his energy into his astral body. He forced himself to breathe. And wait. After a moment there was a gentle shattering of the boundaries that held him in place as a mortal.

  And then he was floating.

  He addressed the spirit of Charlotte. “You know where they are. You can see them.”

  Silence. Darkness. Mist.

  “I couldn’t save you, Charlotte, but I can save her. Help me.”

  A tornado of currents circled him. The wind picked up. The mist cleared.

  * * *

  A sound penetrated her fear, a sound other than the storm-ridden sea. It was the caw of some huge bird, like nothing she’d ever heard before, and it was followed by a huge whoosh. Sailor stretched to peer out of the cave opening and gasped.

  A terrifying creature, vast and prehistoric, hovered in the sky near her, and the clouds parted, granting it the last light of a setting sun. She glimpsed a wingspan like a small plane, talons the size of her hands. A long flap of the wings, and then it was gone, ascending out of sight.

  Above the roar of the surf she heard a man shriek. Reggie. The shriek went on, sending chills up and down her spine, but grew increasingly faint, as if he had been plucked from the cliff wall by this creature from another era and carried off.

  Her whole body quivered, unable to understand what she’d just seen, or to reconcile it with the natural world she knew. She was disoriented. She wondered if she was hallucinating.

  If Reggie was truly gone, this was her chance to escape.

  She pulled herself to the edge of the cave, only to see a wave hurtle toward her and crash against the surrounding rocks. She moved back, terrified. Water pooled on the floor of the cave, some of it sloshing back out to sea, but more of it staying in. The safety she’d felt had been no more than a magic trick. If the water kept rising, this would be her grave.

  But it was better than being swept out to sea.

  She thought of the cliff she’d climbed down, the steps that were the only way up. How far away were they? Fifty feet? It didn’t matter. The water was too deep for her to walk through anymore.

  “Sailor.”

  Was that the wind? Or a hallucination, or...

  “Sailor!”

  She moved her cramped limbs through shallow water to the mouth of her tiny cave.

  In the sea, being tossed about, was a figure. A man.

  Declan.
>
  “Declan!” she cried. “Declan, I’m here!” She was shouting his name, screaming into the wind.

  He saw her. He swam toward her, strong arms arcing through the much stronger surf. When he got close enough, he called, “Hello, love. Ready to go?”

  “I don’t—I—” She was so cold, she realized, that she could barely speak.

  “I can’t come in, so you’ll have to come out. That’s a very tight squeeze. Can you stretch your hand toward me?”

  Fear gripped her. She tried to make her arm cooperate, but her reach was pitiful. It was as though she was paralyzed, with no idea how to pull herself out of the cave. Every animal instinct told her to stay. She saw herself as a sailing ship inside a bottle, unable to come through the neck.

  “I—I can’t,” she said.

  “You what?”

  “I can’t. I can’t come out. I can’t swim.”

  Declan was moving in and out with the surge, and she realized how hard this had to be for him, how dangerous it was, even for a strong swimmer, to be among these rocks at high tide. If he didn’t shift soon, he could well die.

  As she realized that, the water swept him against the cliff and he found something to hang on to, maybe the same root that had helped her earlier. She had to lean further out now to see him, but there he was, bobbing like a cork, his chest rising out of the water and sinking back in as he held himself close to the cliff.

  A huge wave came rushing toward them, and she moved back into the dark, terrified. Water sloshed around her. She was sitting in it now, inches of it, no matter where she positioned herself.

  “Sailor!”

  She moved back to the mouth of the cave and peered out to see Declan eight feet from her. She looked down. The water was so high that she could reach out and touch it.

  “Look at me,” Declan commanded.

  The moon had risen. By its light, nearly full, she could see the lightness of his eyes. She kept her focus on them, not the sea. “You don’t need to swim,” he continued. “Just get yourself out of that hole and into the water. I’ll do the rest.”

  “No.” She shook her head. “I c-can’t.”

  “You’re Sailor Ann Gryffald!” Declan yelled. “You can do anything you put your stubborn mind to.”

  “Declan, I’m so sorry. I was wrong about so many things. I—”

  “Tell me later. Come on. Time to go.”

  She began to hyperventilate. Another wave would come and she would lose sight of him again. She couldn’t bear it. “Declan,” she called, “can you really turn yourself into a bird?”

  “You didn’t see the show I put on? That was for you.”

  “Can you be a sparrow?” she called. “Something little? And fly to me. Just come in here with me, be with me.”

  A wave came, drowning out her words, and when she looked at him he was yelling, angry. “No, I bloody well can’t! I’m not watching you die. In sixty or seventy years, maybe. Tonight you’re coming with me.” He looked at the sea. “This next wave’s the one—it’ll break, then go back out. When you hear it crash, you push yourself out of there, head first, feet last, just like a baby. Take a deep breath and let go. Fall into the water. I’ll be there to catch you.”

  She was shaking her head, and crying and shivering, not because she didn’t believe he would catch her, impossible as that seemed, but because she knew her body wouldn’t cooperate, would refuse to let go, would cling to the cave, paralyzed with cold and fear. But the wave was rolling toward them. I’ll stay in the opening, she thought. I’ll do just that much, not go back into the darkness. I’ll just do that.

  She held her ground with her eyes shut, letting the spray hit her and knock the breath out of her. And she heard the last words Declan said, before the ocean stole them away.

  “Trust yourself.”

  The crash of the wave against the cliff was like the world coming to an end.

  Sailor willed strength into her arms, pulled herself out of the cave mouth, scraping her belly, her thighs, her knees. She got one foot under her, braced it against the rock, and then, quite certain she would die, took one last breath and fell into the sea.

  Chapter 17

  “Drink this.” Rhiannon offered Sailor a mug of steaming amber-colored liquid.

  The beach house was warm and dry and filled with people. Sailor was on the long sectional, swathed in blankets, sitting against Declan, whose arms encircled her. “What is it?” she asked, her hand emerging from a cashmere throw to take the mug. She gave it an exploratory sniff.

  “This from the girl who’ll try anything?” Declan asked, giving her a squeeze.

  That got a laugh out of Barrie, who was on her way in from the kitchen. “Anything as long as it’s vegetarian.”

  “If that’s a controlled substance,” Brodie McKay said, “I don’t want to know.”

  Rhiannon swatted him on the arm. “It’s tea. Chamomile.”

  Declan smiled. He liked seeing a family in his house, Sailor’s cousins, her dog, her cousin’s dog and Brodie. The curtains were drawn, closing out the night ocean, muffling its sounds, and a fire burned in the fireplace. The mood was relief to the point of giddiness. Sailor was still shivering involuntarily every minute or so. Until her cousins showed, she’d been sitting on his lap, which he considered a much better arrangement, but he could see the avid curiosity on the faces of Rhiannon and Barrie, and figured Sailor would have enough explaining to do later without the more graphic displays of affection now.

  “What I want to know,” Barrie said to Declan, “is how you found Sailor.”

  “Once I figured out that Reggie Maxx was the killer, I knew she and he were fighting it out. But I didn’t know where.” Sailor squirmed in his arms, but he pulled her in closer. “Charlotte knew, though. A window opened between the worlds, and she showed me the cliff face. It’s close by. I knew the exact inlet. I knew Sailor was trapped, like Charlotte’s cat had been the night of the full moon, with the tide coming in. It took me no time at all to reach her. And right there for the taking was Reggie Maxx, waiting to see her drown.”

  “The Elven propensity for revenge,” Brodie said.

  “It worked in our favor,” Declan said. “Charlotte had a need for revenge, too—but not for herself, mind you. For her cat. Reggie abandoned Tamarind on the beach when he dumped Charlotte’s body. And nobody messed with Charlotte’s cat.”

  “So Charlotte saved your life, Sailor,” Rhiannon pointed out, “which was generous, given that she herself is dead.”

  “And that you’ve stolen her boyfriend,” Barrie said.

  “Ex-boyfriend,” Sailor protested.

  “And that you said you didn’t like her acting,” Declan reminded her.

  “Charlotte, I take it back,” Sailor said, looking skyward. “You were brilliant, you deserved fourteen Oscars.”

  Barrie sighed. “I have to say, I’m shocked by Darius’s role in all this.”

  “But he was right, it wasn’t his attack on me that put me in danger,” Sailor said. “It was my own ace detective work.”

  “Well, that’s generous of you,” Rhiannon said. “I plan to tell him exactly what I think of him and his vampire version of tough love. Scaring us all like that.”

  “There should be a censure of some kind,” Barrie said.

  “How does one censure a vampire?” Sailor asked.

  “Good point. So what exactly happened to Reggie?” Barrie asked.

  “Brodie knows,” Sailor said, nodding at her Elven cousin-to-be.

  “When Alessande arrived at the shack,” Brodie said, “and saw the situation, she summoned two members of the Elven Circle. A woman named Saoirse and a man called Dalazar. They teleported to where she was, guided by her description. Then they waited. At some point after dark an extremely large bird of prey dropped Reggie Maxx at their feet.”

  Barrie threw Declan a look. “I can only imagine what the residents of Malibu thought they were seeing.”

  “Terrible breach of Otherworl
d security,” Declan agreed, shaking his head. “Who would do such a thing?”

  “At which point,” Brodie went on, “the three Elven dealt with Reggie according to the Old Way. While he was still alive, they cut his heart out. When the moon sets, around 4:00 a.m., they’ll burn it in a ritual bonfire somewhere in Las Virgenes Canyon. Peace restored. Case closed.”

  There was a long silence.

  “What about the police?” Barrie finally asked.

  Brodie answered, “Reggie will eventually be declared missing and, at some point after that, presumed dead.”

  Sailor sat up straighter. “In the shack Reggie was talking to Charles Highsmith on the phone. Discussing how to kill me. How on earth did he get caught up in the murders?”

  “Reggie found the flasks of Scarlet Pathogen on a property he was selling,” Declan said. “He knew he had something special even before he knew what it was. He told Highsmith, who bought the lot in a preemptive bid, but Reggie kept back two flasks. Catrienne Dumarais emptied out one. The other was enough to infect a dozen women. Highsmith guessed what had happened the minute he heard about Charlotte’s death. The price of his silence was Reggie becoming his pawn on the Council. And elsewhere. Highsmith loves to own people. It probably didn’t hurt that three victims were Darius’s clients or employees. Those two loathe each other.”

  “Will Highsmith go to prison?” Barrie asked. “For conspiracy, or accessory or...”

  Brodie shook his head. “Impossible to prosecute without exposing our world. But Highsmith has been advised to leave town before the Elven Circle can separate his heart from his chest. He has now relocated to a small island he owns.”

  “So Highsmith’s getting away with murder,” Sailor said.

  Declan murmured, “Don’t bet on it, love.”

  “Well, he’ll never sleep well,” Barrie said. “Would you, if you had three tribes of Elven mad at you?”

  “I’ll sleep tonight,” Sailor said, “regardless of who’s mad at me.”

  “Tonight,” Declan said, “no one is mad at you.”

  At that point the front door opened and he turned to see Harriet in the entrance. “I was just going home, Mr. Wainwright,” she said, “and look what I found on the doorstep.”