Keeper of the Shadows

chapter 15



In the hall, Barrie locked the door behind her as Sophie wound herself around Barrie’s ankles, meowing authoritatively. “Hungry, yes, I understand,” Barrie told her, and was aware that her own voice sounded dazed. “You’re an animal.”

It was a relief to focus on the cat’s simple, immediate needs instead of her own ravenous hunger.

As she opened cat food in the kitchen, it occurred to her that she had not talked to Mick about the silent backer of the remake of Otherworld. She had no idea if he already knew.

Just as she was debating calling him, the doorbell rang, startling her.

Maybe he’d come back. Her pulse started racing just at the thought.

She hurried out into the front hall and pulled the curtain back from the small window beside the door...then stared in surprise. On her doorstep was a collection of Keepers: vampire Keeper, were Keeper, shifter Keeper, Elven Keeper. Even if she didn’t know them vaguely from Council meetings, she would have known they were the Beverly Hills clan just from all the Armani.

Her heart sank. The last thing she needed right now was this haughty crew. And from the look of them, she was in trouble. Reluctantly, she opened the door.

“We need to speak with you,” said the tallest female, cool and Nordic, an Elven. The replacement for the former Beverly Hills Elven Keeper, Arthur Whitehead, who had been exiled for his insidious part in the recent series of Elven deaths by an ancient blood disease.

Barrie stared around at them. “How did you get in?” Maybe it was rude of her to ask, but she hadn’t heard the gate buzz, and if Sailor or Rhiannon had let anyone in, they would have called her.

“The gate was open,” the werewolf Keeper said. He had a Schwarzenegger body under his three-thousand-dollar suit.

Barrie frowned at him. I doubt that. True, Mick had left just a moment before, but the gate shut automatically after each exit; these Keepers must have manipulated it somehow.

She shook her head. “I just got home and—”

“We’re afraid this can’t wait,” the vampire Keeper said. Rhiannon was a vampire Keeper and she didn’t look anything like one, but this Keeper had the sallow skin and dark hair of a classic movie vampire, which he’d no doubt carefully cultivated. A real vampire in L.A. would be more likely to go the tanned route, as camouflage.

And what is this, the royal “we”? Barrie thought, with a twinge of annoyance under her nervousness. But she opened the door wider for the Keepers to come in.

She felt a little as if she were being called on by the Royal Court, and she had to force herself to stay calm. I haven’t done anything wrong, she reminded herself. This is politics, pure and simple.

She ushered the Keepers past the antique mirrors of the hall into the living room, and was at least glad that she hadn’t been home often enough in the past few days for the place to be a total wreck. And despite her irritation at the unannounced visit, her manners won out.

“May I get you some coffee? Or tea?” she offered.

The fourth Keeper, a shifter with the hooded look of a secret Valium addict, answered curtly, “We won’t be here that long.”

Good, Barrie thought, and indicated the chairs and sofas with her hand as she sat. The Keepers all took seats, facing her like a firing squad.

“It’s come to our attention that you are investigating the death of Saul Mayo,” the vampire Keeper said.

“I’m not actually in—” Barrie started.

The Elven Keeper interrupted. “You’ve been asking questions about him all over town.”

“Including visiting DJ, who is clearly not in your Keep,” the vampire Keeper added.

The Keepers spoke in one continuous sentence, as if they were robots running on the same software.

“You’re very new to all this, Ms. Gryffald. You clearly haven’t absorbed how things work in the hierarchy,” the werewolf Keeper said.

“DJ is not one of yours, and it is completely unacceptable for you to be harassing him,” the shifter Keeper said.

“Harassing?” Barrie repeated incredulously, but the Keepers rolled on as if she hadn’t spoken.

“Brentwood is far out of your territory, and it’s a complete breach of protocol to enter that district without going through proper channels.”

As he spoke, Barrie focused on the vampire Keeper, watching him closely. She was acutely aware that she had just been pursued and attacked by a vampire, and that Keepers often cultivated the characteristics of their charges, with varying degrees of skill. Rhiannon, for example, could fly short distances, and take on the strength—and fangs—of a vampire, although it took a great deal out of her to do it. Obviously this Keeper knew that Barrie had been at DJ’s estate, and depending on his skill, it was entirely possible that he’d decided to scare her a bit. But Barrie was pretty sure her would-be attacker was a real vampire, not a Keeper. It was the sense of paralyzing fear she had felt during the attack that made her think so. There was an uncanniness about an Other that was hard for a Keeper to emulate, and fairly or unfairly, she had always been especially wary of vampires.

Felt like a vampire to me, she thought. And Mick said so, too.

The Elven Keeper was speaking now. “Not only is Mayo not in your territory, he isn’t even Other. There is absolutely no call for you to be anywhere near that investigation.”

Barrie felt ire rising, and fast. This was exactly what Mick had been talking about, the infighting and lack of cooperation between Keepers in Los Angeles. Here she was being strong-armed by people who had no authority except in their own little elite circle—and in their own heads.

“Well, since I’m not investigating Mayo, there really isn’t a problem,” she said again, and started to stand. “So, thanks for dropping by—”

“There’s another thing,” the shifter Keeper said. “This...relationship you have with Mick Townsend.”

Barrie tensed up in disbelief. “Excuse me?”

“It’s a small community, Ms. Gryffald,” the Elven Keeper said. “You weren’t exactly being discreet at the premiere the other night.”

Barrie stared back at her. “I have nothing to hide.”

“Townsend is a maverick,” the werewolf Keeper said. “He refuses to play ball, and he refuses to stay out of what is patently Keeper business. You may want to rethink things.”

Now Barrie did stand, facing them. “You may want to rethink coming to my home and telling me what to do.”

The other Keepers glanced at each other, and then they all rose.

“I hope you’ll consider your position. You have a lot to live up to, and many eyes are upon you.” The Elven Keeper looked around the house meaningfully, and then they all moved toward the entry hall.

Barrie followed them and shut the front door behind them harder than she needed to, but she was furious. “Stuck-up creeps,” she muttered as she locked it and stomped back toward the living room, not even caring that some Keepers, like vampires, had supersensitive ears. “Trying to order me around.”

She didn’t have time to stew, though, because her phone was pinging to announce a text. She scrambled for her purse, pulled out her phone and looked at the screen. The text read: If you want to know more, Travis will see you at midnight. There was a Malibu address.

The sender was DJ, the same phone number that Brad the assistant had used to confirm their appointment.

“Travis Branson,” Barrie murmured, startled. She felt a rush of excitement, and also doubt. “Is this for real?”

Of course the director would respond to a request by DJ, that part she could believe. But DJ may have just tried to kill you, she reminded herself. So what if it’s a trick?

She walked the living room in a circle, debating. Now that the Keepers were gone, Sophie padded into the doorway to see what was going on.

“How can I not go?” Barrie asked the cat. Even if DJ’s just messing with me and didn’t really set it up with Branson, if I go there and say that DJ sent me, I may be able to talk to him, anyway.

As baffling as the puzzle pieces were, Barrie felt that she was getting more of the big picture with every piece, every encounter.

She grabbed her phone and quickly texted her cousins. She knew she should add the emergency code or, better yet, go over to their houses and wake them up directly, but she hesitated.

“I have time to make it to Malibu by midnight,” she murmured to Sophie, by way of excuse. And she headed for her bedroom to change.

* * *

It might have been the sea air, or the cold light of the moon on the ocean, but Barrie regained her senses once she hit the Pacific Coast Highway. The unexpected visit and attempted strong-arming by the other Keepers had pissed her off, but now that she was calmer she was willing to admit that she should have company on this particular late-night visit. She fumbled on her Bluetooth to phone Mick. All she got was voice mail.

“Don’t kill me!” she said into the headset impulsively. “But DJ talked to Travis Branson, and he wants to see me tonight. I’m headed there now.” She recited the address and wanted to say more but felt too awkward, so she finished, “I...I’ll call you later if I don’t hear from you.”

She wanted to say “Please come with me,” but she didn’t quite have the nerve.

* * *

Branson’s house was on the beach, of course, that extremely rarified strip of land known as Point Dume. Barrie had only ever been there because Declan Wainwright lived there, too.

Declan, she thought, with a surge of hope. He’ll come in with me. If he’s home...

But she already knew he wasn’t. Not on a Friday night. Not when he ran the most happening club on Sunset.

She used her phone and left a quick message for him, anyway. Can’t hurt to have everyone in the Otherworld know where I am, right?

As she disconnected, she realized she had arrived. She parked on the access road and got out of the car, looking at the wall of luxury houses.

Branson’s house was built like most on Point Dume: four stories high, the lowest carved right out of the cliff, most likely laundry and servant quarters, quite possibly a wine cellar or whatever a werewolf kept in his basement. The higher floors commanded the best views, and were saved for master bedroom, living room, office or studio space, depending on the priorities of the inhabitants.

And, like most houses in Malibu, the entrance was at the back of the house, off a side street, and was guarded by a high concrete wall covered in some kind of green creeper.

To Barrie’s surprise, as she approached she saw the gate was open a crack and there was a Post-it note: Come in.

She felt another rush of unease, and stood in the dark, listening to the crash of the waves beyond the wall of homes.

Every house in Malibu can’t have an automatic door, she rationalized. The thought was no big comfort, and she’d already had one scare today.

But even though she wasn’t armed, she had a few tricks up her sleeve. So, she took a breath and walked through the gate.

The interior walkway led through a small, neat garden with a couple of very well-groomed citrus trees on one side and a drought-resistant assortment of flowers and bushes. She smelled lemon blossoms and night-blooming jasmine in the moist salt air.

The front door was open as well, and there was flickering light inside. Candles. Again she hesitated.

All right, now, Barrymore, this is not looking good. You need to walk out of here, and you need to call someone and not be a total idiot about it.

But the need to know was strong, and she also felt a certain urgency.

What if he’s hurt? What if he needs help? I’ve called everyone I can possibly call already. What if I wait out here and that few minutes’ delay is the difference between life and death?

Caught between fear and duty, she compromised: she glamoured herself.

Her father had taught her basic invisibility as soon as she’d been old enough to understand the principles of auric control. He told her, without trying to scare her, that there were times when it was important to be invisible, and he wanted her to be able to achieve and hold invisibility, especially under stressful conditions, so he’d made her practice when she was angry or sleepy or after exhausting herself with exercise.

When she was a little older, Barrie had realized it wasn’t necessarily Others that her father had been worried about, not by a long shot. Invisibility could come in handy in all sorts of situations.

And it was definitely easier to achieve when she wasn’t trying to run from a vampire attack. She pulled on invisibility now, and stepped through the door into the darkness of the house.

The door to her left was closed, and when she oh-so-carefully turned the knob, one millimeter at a time, she found it was locked, leaving the only option moving forward up a staircase on her right, which led up to the next level of the house. She was glad to see it was carpeted, so she could move relatively noiselessly.

Her heart was pounding, and she focused on her breathing to keep it even and silent as she ascended the stairs and made the turn to go up the next half of the flight.

The stairs opened up into a huge living space, bathed in the blue of the moonlit night. Barrie had to prevent herself from gasping at the view; she was facing an entire wall of glass with what seemed like the entire ocean outside it, a dark silhouette of cliff and shimmering water extending to what seemed like infinity, white surf gently rolling onto the pale sand outside the house.

But when she pulled her gaze away from the window and turned to survey the rest of the room, the stifled gasp turned into a scream.

Because hung on the towering stone chimney of the fireplace was a body.

A werewolf body.

It wasn’t the first time she’d screamed at this exact sight. She’d seen it on-screen, just a few nights before.

It was a recreation of the werewolf crucifixion from Otherworld.

And the body was Travis Branson’s.

Barrie stumbled backward in shock and panic. One part of her was reeling at the death. The other part was realizing something was very wrong. Weres didn’t hold their beast form in death.

He’s still alive, she thought in horror. Oh, God, I have to get him down.

But all the blood... His body was drenched, the fireplace was drenched....

How could anyone lose that much blood and live?

She forced herself forward, staring up at the gruesome sight. And from a closer angle she could see that Branson’s flesh was human; there was no fur. His hands were human; his chest was human. The were visage was false, a furred mask.

And that was when Barrie fled. She ran, holding on to invisibility, and she thought she maintained it but wasn’t sure, and she sure as hell wasn’t going to stop and find a mirror to find out. She ran down the stairs, out the door. She ran through the garden. She ran across the street to her car, and only then did she let invisibility slip as she scrambled inside the Peugeot and locked the doors, and sat gasping and shaking and freaked, just trying to catch her breath and her sanity.

Killed. Killed and displayed. Someone is killing the Otherworld people.

She clutched the steering wheel just to have a hold of something real, and a few rational thoughts later she realized that there was a more immediate issue. Branson was a were, and even though weres did not hold their beast form when they died, the killer was obviously pointing to the fact he was a werewolf.

The regular police couldn’t be called.

Mick. I need Mick.

* * *

Barrie waited in her car, shivering but watching the house intently. She’d called...everyone. Brodie, Rhiannon, Sailor and even Declan again. And Mick, who was her first call, and the only one who didn’t pick up. Everyone was angry with her—and too relieved to be too angry.

And they all knew they had work to do.

The true nature of the crime was going to have to be covered up, and a logical explanation—method, motive, means—would have to be presented as the official story of the death. It was a prime example of why it was vital to have Others working at every level of law enforcement and related professions to keep up the wall that separated the Otherworld from the human world. And Brodie was perfectly placed on the Robbery Homicide division to handle a celebrity murder like this.

Barrie had never been at an actual crime scene before, and she was beyond grateful that she had such trustworthy connections to call on with this one. Not just Brodie, but his supervisor, Captain Riley, who was not an Other but an active sympathizer, the son of a Wiccan, and was committed to keeping the silence ab—

There was a sharp rap on the window right next to her, and she nearly jumped out of her skin.

Mick was looking in at her through the glass.

Barrie gasped in relief and scrambled for the door handle. He didn’t say a word, just pulled her out of the car and into his arms.

She leaned against him, her heart pounding not just with the surprise but with a rush of desire. Which she immediately had to force down—everyone she knew was going to be converging on them any second now.

“Thanks for coming,” she said.

“Don’t be an idiot,” he said roughly, and then he was kissing her, and she forgot all about anyone else coming. She only wanted him to keep holding her, to feel the rightness of being against him, feeling the beat of his heart in her own pulse....

He pulled back from her and shook her. “What the hell did you think you were doing?”

When she could focus enough to breathe again, she answered meekly, “I’m sorry. I should have waited. I won’t do it again.” She found herself suddenly shaking all over. “It’s horrible. I never want to see anything like that again, ever.”

He looked down at her with a mixture of anger and relief, and then he shook his head. “Show me.”

She took him through the garden, into the house, up the steep and dark stairs, and then they stood at the entrance of the living room with the ocean beyond and the bloody werewolf hanging on the stone wall.

Mick stared for the longest time in silence. He seemed even more stunned than she had been. “Exactly like the film,” he finally said. “It’s a warning.”

“It worked.” Barrie looked around the blue moonlit room and shivered. “We should get out of here and wait for everyone outside. Brodie’s mad enough at me already.” She winced, remembering his voice on the phone.

“Brodie McKay? The Elven cop?” Mick sounded tense.

“Yes, he’s—well, he’s family now. He tends to be protective. He’s coming with Tony Brandt. They’re going to camouflage the murder.”

“A cleanup crew. That’s convenient,” Mick said, as if from far away.

“Come on.” She tugged at his arm, and he finally turned from the dead werewolf and left with her.

* * *

Rhiannon’s Volvo and Brodie’s ATV were just pulling up as Mick and Barrie came out through the gate onto the street. Barrie’s cousins piled out of the Volvo; Brodie and Brandt got out of the Explorer.

Rhiannon and Sailor rushed forward, whether to hug Barrie or kill her was not entirely clear, but Brodie said sharply and quietly, “Save it. Everyone inside the gate. We can’t be attracting any attention.”

In the garden, after Barrie had endured the requisite hugging and reprimanding, she introduced Mick to Brodie, and they looked each other over with alpha-male wariness, then to Brandt, who also looked at Mick sharply and thoughtfully. She found herself feeling defensive, as if Mick was somehow being judged and found wanting. She reached for his hand, and he closed his fingers over hers absently.

“Let’s take a look,” Brodie said to Brandt, and then glanced at the cousins and Mick. “The rest of you stay here inside the gate.”

Brodie and Brandt disappeared into the house.

“It’s awful. Staged,” Barrie said to her cousins, as they all took seats on the planters around the fountain. “Like the killer was sending a warning.”

“It’s more than that,” Mick said, slipping an arm around Barrie as he looked up at the house. She leaned into him as he spoke. “In the film that scene was about the were being made an example of for trying to break the Code of Silence.”

Barrie glanced up at him, frowning.

He elaborated. “The vampires talked about it in the scene before the murder.”

Barrie’s mind was racing as she scrambled to remember. “I don’t think that was in the scene.”

She could see Rhiannon and Sailor thinking, too.

“No,” Sailor said. “We just saw the movie. That wasn’t in the scene.”

An odd look flashed across Mick’s face in the dark. Then he shrugged. “It’s been a while since I’ve seen it. I could be wrong.”

Barrie bit her nails as she looked up at the house. The bloody scene inside was imprinted in her mind, probably forever. The sweet fragrances of jasmine and lemon blossoms that surrounded them just seemed painful in the circumstances.

“I don’t see how we’re going to be able to keep things under wraps anymore,” she said aloud. “Two Hollywood players on that level dying so close together?”

“And both connected to Otherworld,” Rhiannon brooded.

“People aren’t necessarily going to see it that way,” Sailor pointed out. “They’ve both worked on so many other films, Mayo especially. He’s green-lit dozens of movies just at WIP. We’re seeing it as related to Otherworld because Barrie made the connection. And you know how everyone in town expects people to die in threes. No one ever thinks that the deaths are related, they just know that death comes in threes.”

It was true. When a major celebrity died it always set the gossip mill speculating over who would be next.

“That’s sort of brilliant, Sailor,” Rhiannon said. “Maybe we can even encourage that kind of talk.”

“No,” Barrie said violently, startling the others, who looked at her in shock. “It’s too close to what might really happen.” The thought was actually terrifying, because she realized she was fully expecting more people—and Others—to die. But before she could say that, there was the sound of footsteps, and everyone turned toward the house as Brodie and Brandt came out into the garden. The cousins all stood, anxious to hear.

“He died from blood loss, caused by a spear through the throat,” Brandt reported in a low voice. “Severed the carotid and jugular. Exsanguination was almost instantaneous, occurring within a minute. You can see the blood spray curtained all over the walls. Then the body was moved, but not far. He was speared through the throat and died in front of the fireplace, then hung up on the chimney soon after. Core body temperature indicates he’s been dead only a few hours.” He turned to Barrie. “You must have found him very shortly after the killer left.”

Rhiannon and Sailor eyed Barrie with a combination of relief and accusation.

“I know, I know,” she muttered.

“The killer might have been right there in the house with you!” Rhiannon exploded.

“I was invisible. And I’m fine,” Barrie defended herself.

Before her cousins could jump on her, Brodie stepped forward to stop the onslaught. “You three can argue about it later.” That quiet tone of authority—coming from a six-foot-five-inch Elven homicide detective—silenced the cousins. “Right now we’re going to have to move the body again. We can restage the scene as a home invasion and process it that way for the official record, release it to the press. It will scare the hell out of Malibu residents, but it won’t hurt people to take a little more care with security, and it’s a story that fits the appearance of the scene.”

“Can I help?” Mick asked tensely.

Brodie turned to look at him, and again Barrie had the uneasy feeling that he was evaluating Mick, judging him. “We could use the help,” he admitted finally, but Barrie felt he wasn’t thrilled with the prospect. Then Brodie turned to the cousins. “And I want the three of you to go home,” he told them. “Take care of Barrie. Stay in each others’ sight. I’ll be over as soon as I can.”

After they’d all nodded, he stepped closer to Rhiannon, and they spoke together in low tones.

At the same time Mick moved to Barrie’s side and took her hand as he leaned into her. “I’ll come over after we’ve finished here. If you want me to,” he said in a voice so low and hungry she could have fainted right there.

“I want you to,” she said softly.

He squeezed her hand hard and then stepped back from her. “Be careful,” he said, holding her eyes.

“Be careful,” Rhiannon said to Brodie and Brandt.

And they all parted uneasily.