Keeper of the Night

“The cops have been trying to keep the details out of the papers, but someone leaked one important fact,” Merlin told her grimly.

“And that fact is…?” she asked.

He winced. “I’m sorry, Rhiannon. The corpses were almost bone dry, sucked dry of…”

“Of?” she asked, even though in her heart she knew the answer.

“Blood,” Merlin said gravely. “Sucked dry of blood.”

Chapter 2

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.”