Keeper of the Night. Heather Graham
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.”