Читать книгу Keeper of the Night - Heather Graham, Heather Graham - Страница 10

To a lot of people in L.A., it wasn’t all that late.

But to Rhiannon, after her wretched shift at the café, nothing sounded more welcome than her bed and a pillow.

Still, she knew she wouldn’t sleep if she didn’t try to talk to Barrie, though with any luck Barrie would already be in bed and wouldn’t answer the knock at her door.

To Rhiannon’s dismay, Barrie was up.

A single light was on in Barrie’s living room, where she had been sitting on her sofa and working. Her laptop was sitting on a pile of newspapers and magazines.

Barrie definitely tended to be a workaholic.

She had a good job in her chosen field, but she still wasn’t where she wanted to be in her career. At the moment she mostly got stories that ran under headlines—often handed to her whether she liked them or not—like “West Hollywood Woman Reveals Secret Behind Amazing Weight Loss.”

Barrie was a crusader; she had strong opinions on right and wrong. She wanted to be where the action was. She wanted to get off the crime beat and into issue-based investigative journalism, but her Keeper duties would always have to take precedence, and that was a problem.

Rhiannon sympathized with her. She knew how difficult it was, trying to have a real career and deal with this sudden shift in purpose.

“Hey, I didn’t expect to see you tonight.” Barrie grinned and rolled her eyes. “Merlin, maybe—sometimes he forgets the time. Thought you’d come home exhausted and ready to crash.”

“Am I interrupting?” Rhiannon asked her.

“No. Yes—but it’s all right, honestly.” She sighed. “I’m trying to come up with a story and an angle no one’s thought of yet, so I can take it to my boss and maybe—finally—get a green light.”

“Good luck,” Rhiannon offered.

“So, how did things go at the café tonight?”

“They sucked. Totally sucked. Some actors staged a vampire attack right out front to publicize their play and nearly gave me heart failure—and in all the fuss my tip jar was stolen.”

“You’re right. That sucks. Want a cup of tea?”

“I just had one, but sure,” Rhiannon said.

Barrie led the way into the kitchen.

All three of their houses might have been curio museums, filled as they were with Merlin’s collections from a lifetime of loving magic—and the bizarre. The main house held the bulk of it, because it was so large, with five bedrooms upstairs, a grand living room and a family room that led out to the pool. Tiffany lamps were everywhere, along with Edwardian furniture, and busts and statues, and paintings that covered the walls. Pandora’s Box had a Victorian feel, with rich, almost stuffy furniture, and a collection of sculpted birds, with the largest being a magnificent gesso rendition of Poe’s raven. It also boasted a few of Merlin’s old coin-drop fortune-teller machines.

Gwydion’s Cave, Barrie’s house, was decorated with old peacock fans, marble sideboards and rich wood pieces from the decadent days of the speakeasy. The service she used for tea was Royal Doulton. As she entered the kitchen, Rhiannon caught sight of herself in one of the antique hall mirrors, and though she knew it was distorted by the old glass, her own image troubled her.

She had the shocked look of someone who had stuck a finger in a live socket.

Barrie hummed as she boiled water and then looked at Rhiannon. “Something more happened than what you’re telling me, didn’t it? I always think of you as the go-getter among us. Nothing fazes you. But tonight you look…fazed.”

“What if that attack had been real? Would I actually have been able to do anything to stop it? I guess we didn’t think we’d be handling this kind of thing so quickly,” Rhiannon said.

“None of us did. But it’s not like we had a choice.”

“I know. I just want to play my music, you know? It’s all I’ve ever wanted. I missed my shot with the band, but at least I get to play at the café, you know? And that’s what I was doing when those idiots interrupted.”

“Listen to you, being so whiny.”

“Whiny?” Rhiannon protested indignantly.

“Yes, whiny. ‘Everybody but me gets to play in the band, while I’m stuck in a coffee shop playing for tips.’ Buck up, buttercup.”

“All right, all right, I have been whining. A little bit. But, honestly, I just wish…I wish we’d been a little better prepared. I mean, my dad is in great health. I never thought…”

“You never thought you’d have to be a Keeper until you were old and gray. I know. Neither did I. But here we are. So, what else is bothering you? Because I know there’s something.”

“All right, I came here to tell you, so…one of the actors was an Elven. I saw him when I was closing up my guitar case for the night. He came up to me and chatted, and I—I wasn’t exactly rude, but I felt like he was comparing me to my dad and it bugged me. You know that Keepers all over the state put us down all the time. ‘The Gryffald girls. What a shame their fathers were all put on the council. There used to be good Keepers in the Canyon.’ So I guess I was a little rude. But really, I don’t want to get all warm and cozy with the Elven—I’m going to have my hands full with the vampires.”

“I understand all that,” Barrie said calmly. “So, why are you so upset?”

“Well, he invited me to see his show. Like I want to see some ridiculous play about a bunch of vampire attacks. I brushed him off. But he knew who I was, and he said, ‘No, no, you really should see the show,’ or something weird like that, and when I got home…” She paused for breath.

“When you got home?” Barrie prompted.

“Merlin dropped in on me. And he told me that I should speak to you—that there have been three recent murders in L.A.—”

“Only three?” Barrie interjected drily.

“Three in which the bodies have been found drained of blood and decayed and…I don’t know. Merlin just said to talk to you.”

“Oh,” Barrie said.

“Oh?” Rhiannon repeated. “Come on, Barrie. You must know something. You work at a newspaper, for God’s sake.”

“You know all they give me is fluff,” Barrie reminded her.

“Yes, but you’re there and you must hear things.”

“I don’t remember anything that sensational, but maybe the police are keeping the details quiet. I do remember hearing about a John Doe found in a lake near some half-built apartment complex. That might have been one of your victims. I’ll see what I can find out,” she promised. “So—when are you going to see the show?”

“Now that Merlin’s talked to me? Tomorrow night,” Rhiannon told her, then sighed. “Hugh told me not to be late tomorrow night. He’s going to give me a buttload of grief, not to mention dock my pay.”

“Tell him you can’t be there—that you have Keeper duties and that’s it. I’ve seen you in action. You’re great fighting other people’s wars—fight this one for yourself. For all three of us,” Barrie added. “We have to prove ourselves. You might as well start tomorrow night with Hugh.”

As Barrie poured hot water into the teapot, they heard the sound of a car door slamming. “Sailor’s home,” she commented.

“So she is.”

“I’ll get another cup.”

Rhiannon walked to the door and opened it just as Sailor was about to knock.

“Hi,” her cousin said.

Sailor spoke with a cheerful voice and had a perfect smile to go with it. Rhiannon thought that while they were all decent looking, Sailor was their true beauty. It made sense that she was so passionate about being an actress. She had both the talent and the looks.

Maybe it had to do with the fact that Sailor had been destined to be Keeper of the Canyon Elven. Elven were beautiful, Rhiannon reminded herself drily, thinking of Mac Brodie.

Guilt bit into her. Several times she’d caught herself feeling impatient with Sailor for not taking their calling seriously, but hadn’t she wanted to deny it herself? And now she was facing her first real challenge—because even if the murders proved to have nothing to do with the Canyon vampire community, standing up to Hugh was going to be no picnic—and all she wanted was to run away.

“I saw the light, so I thought I’d stop by,” Sailor said.

“Come on in,” Rhiannon said.

Sailor swept past her and headed straight for the kitchen. “I had a great night—I mean a great night. I went to this fantastic party at the club—Declan Wainwright’s club, the Snake Pit.”

Declan Wainwright was the shapeshifter Keeper for the Malibu area. They’d known him forever, though Rhiannon wasn’t sure she would actually call him a friend.

“Declan told me he was going to ask you to play there a few nights a week. Well, he didn’t tell me. He’s kind of an ass to me. I’m not A-list enough for him, so mostly he ignores me. But I was with Darius Simonides, and he told Darius that he was going to talk to you. Pretty great, huh?”

“It’s nice that you spent some time with Darius,” Rhiannon said, filing away the potential offer of employment to consider later. Darius Simonides was Sailor’s godfather and a big-deal Hollywood agent, but as far as Rhiannon could tell, he hadn’t done much for her. At least not professionally. There was also something…slimy about him, she thought. Maybe it was because he was so…Hollywood. In his line of business, double-talk was really the only talk. Maybe that was at the heart of her reaction to him, but she still didn’t trust him.

“Not only that, we hung with Hunter Jackson, too—do you know who he is?”

“Hunter Jackson,” Rhiannon repeated, trying to remember why he sounded so familiar. “I’ve heard the name,” she said.

“He’s a director,” Barrie said.

“He’s the director these days, and he says that he has a role for me in a big-budget vampire thriller he’s going to start filming in January. He and Darius actually invited me to the Snake Pit tonight to talk to me about it.” Sailor beamed. “And it turns out there’s a reason why Darius has kept his hands off me.”

“That’s good to hear,” Barrie muttered sarcastically.

“I mean as far as my career goes,” Sailor said. “Darius is a sweetie—people just think he’s tough because he’s so powerful. The thing is, he wanted me to make my own way, to prove I could succeed on my own before he stepped in. But tonight—it was wonderful!” Sailor looked rapturous. She drew a breath, and Rhiannon was sure she was going to go on some more about her amazing night, but instead she said, “Barrie, you have artificial sweetener, don’t you? I don’t want to gain an ounce right now.”

Rhiannon decided that she would once again have to rethink Sailor’s role in ensuring the safety of the world.

“I have everything I can think of for anyone’s choice in tea,” Barrie said. “Dig into the cabinet and help yourself.”

“So, tell me more,” Rhiannon said, genuinely happy for her cousin and momentarily putting aside her fears for the fate of the world.

Sailor turned to her, beaming. “The two leads will be major A-list actors. I don’t know who yet. But what I’ll make for just a few days’ work will pay my bills for months.”

Rhiannon lowered her head. At least one of them would be making a decent income, though if what Sailor had said about the offer to play the Snake Pit was true, she would be earning some real money, too, even if Hugh got mad enough to fire her. She looked up quickly, frowning. “Hunter Jackson…I remember reading something about him.” She looked at Sailor. “He’s a vampire, right? But he’s the responsibility of the West Hollywood Keeper, Geoff Banner.”

“Yes,” Barrie said. “And he’s the perfect person to direct a vampire thriller. The movies always have it wrong. Like all that crap about how vampires can’t go out during the day.”

“Seriously,” Rhiannon agreed. “But no one wants to hear that the only problem is their eyes are exceptionally sensitive to light, so they always wear sunglasses—something that seems to be expected in Hollywood, anyway.” She met Sailor’s eyes. “You did know that he’s a vampire, right?”

Sailor stared at her, indignant. “Of course I did. I’m the one who really grew up here, remember? I know the lowdown on almost everyone. Am I supposed to suddenly be suspicious of him because he’s a vampire? And of all people who might be down on vampires, it shouldn’t be you!”

“I’m not down on vampires,” Rhiannon said quickly.

“Then what’s your problem?” Sailor asked.

“I just wanted to make sure you knew what you were dealing with, that’s all,” Rhiannon said.

Sailor looked at her as if she knew Rhiannon doubted her abilities—and her competence in the face of a crisis. “Yes, I am well aware, thank you. And if you come across any Elven, I hope you’ll try to be a little less judgmental.”

Failed that one, Rhiannon thought. But she kept silent.

“Hey!” Barrie said, lifting a hand. “I get that we’re all a little jittery right now, with our new responsibilities and all, but it’s important that we get along. The world respected our fathers, but we’re going to have to prove ourselves. And that will be a lot easier if we respect each other.”

“Yes, you’re right,” Rhiannon said softly.

“There’s nothing to prove, at least not right now,” Sailor said. “Thanks to our dads, everything in the Canyon is running smoothly.” She turned to Rhiannon. “Can’t you just be happy for me?” she asked.

“I’m sorry. I am happy for you,” Rhiannon said. She hugged Sailor, who resisted for a moment then eased up and hugged Rhiannon in return. “I’m sorry. It was a bad night for me,” Rhiannon said.

“Her tip jar was stolen,” Barrie explained. “Among other things.”

“Those bastards stole your tip jar!” Sailor said, straightening, her protest loyal and fierce.

“It’s all right,” Rhiannon said. “I’ll live.” She an arm around Sailor’s shoulders. “We need to go home. Barrie has an early morning, as usual.” She turned to her other cousin. “Night, Barrie, thanks for listening.”

“Hey, wait,” Barrie said, following Rhiannon and Sailor to the door. “Rhiannon, I’ll see what I can dig up tomorrow. And also, I was thinking that Sailor and I should go see that play with you.”

“You don’t have to,” Rhiannon said.

“Play?” Sailor said, perking up. “What play?”

“Vampire Rampage,” Rhiannon said.

To Rhiannon’s surprise, Sailor’s jaw dropped. “You’re kidding, right?”

“No, not at all. They pulled a promo stunt in front of the coffee shop tonight.”

Sailor’s eyes were wide. “The movie—the one I’ve been asked to be in—is called Vampire Rampage, and it’s based on the play. Yes, let’s all go. It will really help me to see the original.”

“And to think, I was just hoping it might keep someone alive,” Rhiannon said.

Sailor turned slowly and stared at her. “What’s going on?” she asked.

“An Elven actor stopped by the café tonight, and he told me that I really need to see the play. And then Merlin told me tonight that three murder victims have been found drained of blood. So now I’m kind of worried that a vampire, well, you know….”

Sailor stared at Rhiannon for a long moment, and then reached out and pulled her into a hug. “Oh, I am so sorry! You know…maybe someone has been itching to break the rules and waited until our fathers were gone, figuring that—”

“We’d be ineffectual,” Rhiannon said wearily.

Barrie and Sailor were silent.

“Well, I don’t intend to be ineffectual,” Rhiannon said. “So tomorrow night, the three of us, the theater…”

“We’ll be ready,” Sailor assured her. “It will be great.”

“All I can think about is three bodies drained of blood—and I’ve barely been here a week,” Rhiannon said.

“We’ll get through this. We’ll help you get the answers,” Barrie said. “Right, Sailor?”

“Right,” Sailor agreed.

Rhiannon left Gwydion’s Cave and headed back to her own house. The moon was out, shining down and creating a crystal trail across the surface of the pool.

Three bodies drained of blood.

Tomorrow she would get out her dad’s list of helpful contacts in the city. She had to get into the morgue and see what she could find out, and then, tomorrow night, the play.

“Vampire Rampage,” she murmured.

She reached into her pocket and fingered the business card the Elven had given her, then pulled it out and looked at it. Mac Brodie, Actor. And then it offered a cell phone number. It was curious that an actor’s card didn’t have his website and résumé listed.

She thought about calling him, then decided to wait until she’d seen the show. She might be a novice Keeper, but she was going to have to be strong and prove that she could be as effective as her father.

Because she was very afraid that there was already a vampire on the rampage in L.A.

Brodie sat at his desk at the station, reading over the files on his desk.

The first body had been discovered three weeks ago at the bottom of the molding pool at an abandoned house off Hollywood and Vine—the owner had gone into foreclosure and no enterprising real estate mogul had as yet snapped up the place. The victim, who was in his twenties, remained unidentified, despite the fact that they’d combed through missing person reports from across the country. Of course, he’d been missing his fingers and though the morgue had taken dental impressions, they were worthless when there were no records with which to compare them.

The dead man must have had friends or family somewhere, but apparently none of them had reported him missing. Then again, young people often took off to “find themselves,” so their nearest and dearest didn’t always know they were missing.

Because of the fetid water where the body had been dumped, the soft tissue had been in an advanced state of decomposition. Despite the mess he’d had to work with, Tony Brandt’s report stated that he’d tentatively identified the puncture marks at the throat that had led to exsanguination, which he listed as cause of death. Because the body had been in the water and then in the morgue for several weeks—and because it was a John Doe—the case had ended up at the bottom of a pile of open cases that had gone cold.

There was one interesting fact, though. A waterlogged playbill had been discovered in his pocket.

Ten days ago, with the discovery of the second body, two files had landed on Brodie’s desk. His captain was concerned. The second file contained another John Doe. This one had been found in a small man-made lake in Los Feliz—near a rehearsal hall that had been rented to a local theatrical group, the same group now performing Vampire Rampage. Once again dental impressions had been taken, and they were still hoping to make a match. Also once again, no fingerprint identification was possible because there were no fingers.

That body had also been decaying for some time. It was in fact so decayed that Tony Brandt could only find the suggestion of puncture marks in the jugular vein. But the similarities had been enough for Brodie’s captain to decide that the two murders might be the work of a serial killer, and that it was time to get to the truth.

Captain Edwin Riley knew something about the Others and the Otherworld. He was one of the few individuals trusted by the city’s Other community, being the son of a practicing Wiccan and high priestess who’d been targeted for death. Brodie didn’t really know the whole story, and the captain didn’t like talking about it, so he didn’t pry. But it had something to do with a religious cult that had decided his parents were devil worshippers, and that they needed to have an accident—one that would remove them from the earth.

They’d survived the accident, thanks to Brodie’s father, then a young Elven, who had seen what was happening and jumped from his own car in time to rescue the Rileys’ car before their car went over a cliff.

Most human beings had no idea about the existence of the Others, but the captain knew about Brodie, which made him the logical choice to find out what was happening.

The next thing he knew, he was auditioning. There had been an opening in the cast because an actor had suddenly and, from the cops’ point of view conveniently, left, sending Jackson Hunter an email stating that he had to get back to Connecticut and stop the love of his life from marrying another man.

It had seemed a weak link—joining the play—but it was better than nothing, and the theater was the only connection, however vague, between the murders. He’d been suspicious that the missing actor might be one of the John Does in the morgue cooler, but Adam Lansky, in the police tech assistance unit, had tracked him down, and he was indeed back in Connecticut. Whether he’d stopped the love of his life from marrying another man or not, Brodie didn’t know.

Tonight, after seeing the third corpse on Tony Brandt’s autopsy table, he was more convinced than ever that the killer was somehow involved with the play. Not only had the corpse been found in the lake that was just past the parking lot and a stretch of overgrown brush behind the theater, but there was the fact that he’d actually seen the man in the audience.

Three John Does, all of them connected in one way or another to the theater and Vampire Rampage. And, he was very much afraid, to a real vampire, too.

All right after the three strongest peacekeepers in the area had left.

And in their place…

Three untested…girls.

Brodie stood and walked to the rear of his bungalow apartment in central Hollywood. He could see the crescent moon rising boldly in the clear heavens. He tried to tell himself that the fact that the bodies had been drained did not definitely mean that the killer was a vampire. The victims might have been drained so that their deaths appeared to be the work of a vampire. And God knew, there were plenty of crazy humans who thought they were vampires. And there were dozens of reasons for draining a body of blood, starting with…

Hunger.

Like it or not, he had the feeling that a vampire was guilty.

All he had to do was find him—and kill him.

Obviously he couldn’t count on any help from the new Keeper, Ms. Rhiannon Gryffald, and yet the case definitely fell under her jurisdiction. He’d given her his card, damn it, and she hadn’t even bothered to call him. Okay, so she didn’t now he was a cop. But still, she should have realized that something important was up—something she, as a Keeper, needed to investigate.

He gritted his teeth, wondering just how many corpses they would find before the killer was unmasked.