Keeper of the Shadows

chapter 9



She was in a huge round domed room with three ornate thrones set in a triangle in the center of a parquet floor, and candles blazing in wrought-iron candelabra. The three young actors slouched in the chairs like indolent crowned princes: Johnny Love, as blond as the sun; DJ, black-haired and black-eyed; and Robbie Anderson, hair the color of an antique gold piece and flecks of gold in his eyes. They were drunk, passing a flagon of wine and drinking from silver goblets.

And none of them could see the flames all around them, creeping higher and higher, across the floor toward the thrones....

* * *

Barrie woke with her heart pounding and a strangled scream in her throat. Sophie meowed her concern from the pillow beside her, and Barrie picked up the little cat and held her to her chest to calm down.

Of course you were dreaming the movie, she chided herself. Being over there on Catalina was like walking into the film. This is all getting under your skin. Just follow the clues, do your interviews—and try not to lose it.

She sleepwalked to the kitchen for coffee, and while she fed the cat and the caffeine started to spike through her veins, she discovered she had a text from Sailor confirming a two-thirty appointment with Darius Simonides. Barrie was impressed; she hadn’t at all expected to be able to get in to see the agent so soon. Thx, S. IOU, she texted back.

It was already well past noon, so she showered quickly and found something expensive and marginally conservative in her closet, a tight-fitted, tailored skirt and suit coat that looked like something Rosalind Russell would have worn, with forties heels to match. Then she ran out to her car and got herself down to Beverly Hills.

The Global Artists Agency offices were built to intimidate, and they did. The three-story building was an imposing pink rectangle, grim as a prison. Barrie gave her name to the guard on the first floor, who asked her to wait in the atrium. Instead of seating herself, she drifted. Inside, the building was gorgeous, airy, clearly designed with impeccable attention to feng shui and the flow of energy. The atrium was lined with modern art. Despite the airiness, the place was terrifying, and not just for the blatant display of money; the entire feeling of it was heartless and cold. She understood why people in town called the agency “The Forbidden Planet.”

She sensed movement above her and looked up as a young, bright-eyed and hard-edged assistant came down the stairs to meet her. Barrie recognized him instantly as a shifter, and the way he eyed her made her think that he recognized her as a Keeper, too, though he didn’t say anything of the sort. Instead they made small talk about the traffic as he led her up the broad spiraling staircase to the second floor, where he ushered her into the inner sanctum.

It was an exquisite office: huge, with a wraparound wall of windows that looked out over the city. Designer chairs were set in front of the chrome-and-glass desk; a spacious conversation area boasted a full stereo, wide-screen system and a wet bar; and another door led to a private bathroom.

Darius turned from one of the glass walls as she walked in. He was a little over six feet, a striking man with sharp hazel eyes and dark, slightly graying hair, who radiated the dangerous sensuality of his kind. Barrie had no idea how old he was; with vampires, any guess would almost surely be wrong. The overwhelming aura was power, a feral and dangerous charisma. Combine a superagent with a vampire and multiply by ten, and that was Darius.

He stopped a few feet in front of her and looked her over. It was not a sexual look; Barrie felt more that her every physical characteristic was being assessed and assigned a monetary value. She half expected him to ask her to open her mouth and show him her teeth. She was willing herself not to redden when finally he spoke.

“You Gryffald girls did well in the gene pool. If you ever decided to give up this Keeper business, I could have you all up on-screen in no time, not just Sailor.”

She had to suppress a shudder at the thought. Her mother had wanted the acting life, and because of that Barrie knew too much about it ever to be tempted. Besides, she knew full well that Darius hadn’t exactly supercharged Sailor’s career to date, and he could have if he’d chosen to.

“I’ll stick to being a Keeper,” she said with a forced smile. “Acting’s riskier.”

“Perhaps,” he said cryptically.

He raised an elegant, long-fingered hand, motioning her to the conversation area of low couches and designer chairs, and remained standing until she sat, a chivalry that always threw her. When she was settled on a sofa, he seated himself in the largest chair. Earlier the assistant had placed drinks on the table in front of them: sparkling water for her and a tall glass of red liquid for Darius. She knew better than to ask.

“Thank you for seeing me,” she began. “I—”

“Sailor tells me you have questions about Otherworld,” he said bluntly, before she could finish the sentence.

Time is money, I guess, she thought.

“Is this something to do with Saul Mayo’s death?” he demanded. Well, not exactly demanded, but his tone was challenging, to say the least.

“It’s possible,” she said, and was proud of herself for her cool tone.

His eyes narrowed. “My dear, you’re a shifter Keeper. Mayo was not Other. I’m aware that you’re new to your calling, but may I remind you that it’s not part of your job description to investigate mortal passings?”

“I’m not investigating Mayo,” she said, and could see that her brevity was getting under Darius’s skin. She didn’t want to alienate him, but she wasn’t about to tell him about Tiger, either. “But since we’re on the subject...you knew him well, didn’t you?”

“Professionally,” he said. “We’ve done quite a bit of business together.”

“Do you think he was murdered?” she asked point-blank.

He smiled slowly, and for a moment, only because she knew to look, she caught the gleam of fangs.

“Almost certainly,” he said. “Half the town wanted him dead. The trouble would be finding someone with the actual balls to do it.”

She had to suppress a shiver.

Darius looked at her. “But we’re not talking about Mayo, are we?”

Barrie recovered herself. “No. This is a possibly related incident. A suspicious death that seems to be tied to Otherworld.”

He flicked a hand dismissively. “I’ve heard that rumor. That someone had Mayo killed because of the remake. The denizens of our little community are the worst gossips in Hollywood. Why should anyone kill anyone over a remake?”

She answered carefully. “Didn’t the original movie cause a lot of controversy in the community because it came so close to revealing the existence of the Otherworld? Maybe someone felt there was a danger that Mayo—or someone—would go further and actually break the Code with this new film.”

“Utter nonsense,” Darius said. “Mayo didn’t break the Code with Otherworld, and he hasn’t since. He liked to think he was flirting with the edge, but the truth is, he always stayed safely behind the line. He enjoyed the power and prestige of knowing something very few mortals are ever privy to, and he wasn’t about to make that secret common knowledge. The clear proof is he’s had fifteen years since Otherworld with multiple opportunities to expose the Otherworld, and he never has.”

Barrie had to admit Darius had a point.

The agent smiled as if he’d heard her thought, and continued, “My dear, mortals see what they’re comfortable seeing. In the end, it’s nothing but a movie, all sets and makeup and special effects, and we Others go on as we always have—unseen, unsung.”

He sat back and sipped his drink, which left his mouth just a little too red.

“Now, I strongly suggest you leave Mayo’s death to the police. There are ten thousand mortals who would have liked to see Mayo dead. The chances that the killer is one of ours is very slim, and there’s no sense in your getting involved.”

Then you don’t know about Tiger. Or you’re pretending you don’t, Barrie thought.

“I really don’t have any intention of investigating Mayo,” she said.

He raised an eyebrow. “Then, what exactly are we talking about?”

“I’m trying to find Robbie Anderson,” she said. Up until the moment the words left her mouth, she’d had no idea that she was going to say them. But from the startled look on Darius’s face, she realized it had been the right thing to say. It wasn’t easy to catch him off-guard, and yet she’d managed it.

“Well, well,” he said softly, and for a moment his eyes were far away. “Don’t think I haven’t tried. Losing Johnny and Robbie at the same time, and the way we did—that was half my client base at the time, and more talent than I’ve seen before or since.” His business mask had slipped, and the look on his face was something like regret.

“You really have no idea what happened to him?” she asked.

“I think he’s dead.”

He sounded so certain. Barrie felt a chill...and a strange sense of grief. Why? Robbie Anderson was just a childhood fantasy, an abstraction on the screen.

“Why do you say that?” she managed.

“Shifters have a tendency to die badly,” he said. “Something I hardly need to tell you, Keeper.”

He looked straight into her eyes, a compelling, almost hypnotic gaze. “Believe me, my dear, if he were alive on this planet I would have found him and had him back in the business long ago. He could have named his price.”

Barrie found she had to make an effort to pull her eyes from his. Damn mesmerizing vampires. She felt a little weak from the intensity of his stare and reached for her glass of water to give her a moment to recover her balance. Her overwhelming feeling was that Darius was telling the truth, but that was what was so tricky about vampires and Others generally. Under the right circumstances, they could make you believe...anything.

She put her glass down and smiled at him while being sure, this time, not to look directly at him. “Maybe I’ll find him for you,” she said nonchalantly. “I’ll be sure to keep you posted.”

She was shocked at her own audacity, but exhilarated, too.

“You do that,” Darius said, with an edge of wariness, and for a moment she was sure he was going to dismiss her. But then he asked, “Is there anything else?”

“As a matter of fact, there is. I’ve come across the most interesting rumor.” She glanced at him without making eye contact. “Is it true that Johnny Love died on set, before Otherworld even finished shooting?”

Darius looked as shocked as if she’d staked him. “Certainly not. I was on set for the last few days of shooting, and Johnny was most assuredly there. Do you think I wouldn’t have noticed if my own client had dropped dead?”

He sounded truly incredulous.

Instinctively she nodded, as if she completely agreed with him. “That’s what I thought. It was just so outrageous.... I mean, we’ve all seen the film. No one could possibly have kept a secret like that.”

Darius shook his head, as if still trying to recover from the idea. “Where on earth would you have heard something like that?”

“It was an anonymous source. Really left-field...but of course I have to check out every lead.”

He was watching her in a way that made her feel a little like a mouse with the huge shadow of a hawk circling her. He rose and moved around the couch, rendering her even more profoundly uncomfortable. She hated to have her back to a vampire.

“I must say, I’m concerned that your father and uncles are so far away. I do hope you’re not meeting any of these ‘sources’ in dark alleys.”

She was fairly certain his words were a coincidence, but she couldn’t help but think of the alley where Tiger had been dumped.

“Well, there’s one source who might be able to clear everything up for me right away. But I need your help to get to him.”

“And who might that be?”

Barrie took a breath. “I need to see DJ.”

The vampire actually laughed out loud in disbelief as he sat back down. “See DJ?”

For a moment she expected him to say, No one sees DJ.

“If anyone knows what was happening on that movie, it would be him,” she pointed out.

Darius chuckled and leaned forward to pat her hand indulgently. “You’re overestimating your reach and mine,” he told her. “DJ doesn’t inhabit the same planet as any of the rest of us. You might as well ask to see Johnny Love.”

Don’t worry, I’m already on it, she thought silently. But what she said aloud was “I don’t need a private appointment. The premiere of his new movie is tonight. If you can just get me in, I’ll take it from there.”

He frowned. “There’s been a wait list for tonight for months, but I’ll do what I can.”

Liar, she thought. As if you can’t get tickets to anything, anywhere, anytime you want. “That would be great, Darius, thank you so much.”

He rose, signaling the end of the interview.

“Even if you can talk to him, I wouldn’t count on the clarity of his memories. DJ’s—” he paused delicately “—habits...started long ago.”

Drugs again. There are drugs all through this case.

“Do keep me apprised,” he told her at the door. Not a request.

“Of course,” she told him, lying.

Darius’s shifter assistant walked her to the staircase, and she was aware of him still standing above her, watching as she walked down the slow spiral of the staircase.

She pushed out the doors with a feeling of release and relief. But as she walked down the curving path toward the adjoining garage, the feeling of being watched, tracked, continued.

It was one of those huge Century City garages, with confusing levels and half levels. As she headed toward her car, heels clicking, she became aware that she was essentially alone in the labyrinth of concrete pillars and rows of cars. And yet, she didn’t feel alone....

She didn’t change her pace but focused her attention on her astral body, the aura of energy perception that surrounds every living being, human and animal. It was the astral body that shifters learned to manipulate. As a shifter Keeper, she also had a certain natural facility with manipulating the astral body. It was what allowed her to put on a glamour, and she could also tune in to the heightened perceptions of her astral body to sense people and beings around her.

Her heart began to beat faster as she realized there was indeed someone following her, someone who was intently focused on her. Then she was unnerved to feel a rush of heat through her body, an undeniably erotic charge.

She stopped in her tracks in shock.

And then she realized what was happening.

She turned around and faced the dimness of the garage.

“Shifter, I feel you. Show yourself!”

There was a shimmer in the darkness, and then Mick Townsend was standing there looking at her.

“Following me?” she accused, furious.

“I can’t seem to stay away from you, Gryffald,” he said with a half smile.

“Maybe a restraining order would help.”

She moved to brush by him and reach her car, but he caught her forearms, and she felt an electric shock of attraction.

“Barrie,” he said, and she had to look at him, then found she couldn’t breathe. “Things got a little intense last night.”

That was the understatement of the year. She couldn’t even work up the strength for a retort.

“I just wanted to make sure you’re all right,” he continued, and damn him, he would not stop looking at her with those eyes, those green, green eyes....

“Well, I’m fine, obviously, so you can stop now.”

He shook his head. “You never quit, do you? Walking right in to see Darius.”

“This is my job,” she flung back at him.

“You don’t have to do it all by yourself every second, do you? This isn’t something you should be nosing around in alone.”

Safer than doing it with you, she wanted to say, but didn’t.

“Barrie, there’s more to it than you think there is—and more to whoever is behind it.”

“That’s really not something you have to be concerned about,” she began coolly, but he tightened his grip on her arms.

“But I am concerned,” he said roughly. “That should be obvious by now.”

“I just don’t understand why—”

“Yes, you do,” he said, and pulled her to him to kiss her. Her mouth opened under his, and she felt arousal coil through her like a snake. His hands moved on her waist, his legs were hard against hers, and her whole body flashed back to him kissing her the night before, a sense memory of his hands on her. And her skin, her limbs, her blood, responded in the same way, right there in the garage.

I am in such trouble, she thought. I am gone.... And then there were no thoughts at all, just an aching, delicious desire.

When he finally lifted his head from hers, she felt as if the whole garage was spinning. They stood in the concrete dimness, both breathing hard.

“Tonight,” he said, his voice a low and intoxicating murmur, his hands caressing her waist. “Not business, a date. Just us. I’ll pick you up after work. Seven o’clock.”

“Okay,” she said with absolutely no control over her responses. He bent and kissed her again, this time backing her against the side of the car, and she could feel his legs and his throbbing sex and the garage spiraled as her legs shook underneath her.

Then he stepped back, took her key and opened the car door for her. “Seven,” he reminded her.

“Uh-huh,” she said.

He shut the door on her, closing her inside, and she sat in a limp daze...watching as he turned and slowly walked down the aisle of parked cars, and she suddenly remembered that she was supposed to be trying to get into DJ’s premiere that night but all she could think was Seven? How am I going to last the whole day?

And then she felt a twinge.

After work? Did he just say “after work”?

Mick had the same schedule she did, the night shift. So, what work was he talking about?

She sat up, suddenly alert again, and stared out the windshield.

Halfway down the aisle, Mick was stopped beside the Bentley. He zapped the door open and lowered himself into the elegant car.

Not even valet parked, she thought, which made her even more sure he had been following her. And that’s way too much car for a journalist, she told herself grimly, and started her engine.

Then she followed him out of the garage.

The Bentley rolled out onto the street, smooth as glass, and she turned after it, trailing it crosstown, west on Wilshire, always hanging back, concealing her little Peugeot behind larger vehicles.

Mick drove the car like an L.A. native, switching lanes often and gliding around slower cars to time the lights perfectly. Barrie prided herself on her driving but had to admit a grudging respect; he wasn’t just driving well, he understood the traffic. And having to admit it just pissed her off.

In Westwood he turned abruptly into the parking garage of a tall office building. She made the turn into the garage herself, and as her eyes adjusted to the dark, she saw the Bentley stopped at the valet station. Mick was just handing over his keys to an attendant. As she watched, Mick said something to the valet, who laughed and nodded. Mick tapped the man’s arm in a familiar gesture, and the valet gave him a little half salute. Her eyes narrowed. That valet knows him.

She watched as Mick pushed through the inner glass doors toward the elevators, then sped up to the valet station and let the next valet take her keys. As he handed over her ticket, she asked him, “Who was that man with the Bentley?”

The valet didn’t have to ask who she meant. “Mr. Stuart.”

Barrie felt a surge of cold shock, but outwardly she did no more than raise her eyebrows. “Mr. Stuart, of course. What floor is he on?”

“Sixteen, miss.”

“Thank you so much,” she said sweetly, and headed for the glass doors.

The elevator took her up to a three-storied modernistic lobby, and she strode up to the building directory, a gleaming marble slab with names and numbers carved into the surface.

Her eyes scanned for the sixteenth floor and then stopped, staring, at the name of the company that occupied it: The Circle Foundation.

And the name of the CEO: Michael Stuart.