Keeper of the Moon (The Keepers: L.A.) Read online

  George was speaking, asking if it was necessary to stick to his own district. “Say you follow up on a rumor,” he said. “It starts in Anaheim but then ends up in Studio City. I think we need to be talking amongst ourselves, number one, and number two, we need to be able to go into other districts without worrying about stepping on another Keeper’s toes. Also, some Keepers are less experienced than others, and we don’t want their districts given short shrift.”

  Great. That was aimed at her. She was about to respond when she was struck by the fact that George himself had a certain magnetism. Especially if one liked grizzly bears. Distinguished grizzly bears with hearing aids.

  “George, speak to whomever you please,” Highsmith said. “You don’t need my permission. But phone and email are out of the question, particularly now, and being seen together will draw the attention of the Others, so significant travel is out of the question, too. In a perfect world the law enforcement authorities will find the murderer. This being the world it is, law enforcement will need our help. Dividing L.A. into districts is what we have done since the 1930s, and with over four thousand square miles in Los Angeles County, simple logistics dictate we continue to do that. The challenge we have is tough enough without taking on one another’s districts. Now, if there are no more questions, I’d like to—”

  “This isn’t a monarchy, Charles,” Justine Freud said. “Do you really propose that each of us remains sequestered, with no exchange of information as a group—”

  “We will absolutely share information, at a meeting that will be called as soon as we have sufficient information to make sharing worthwhile. Let’s not forget the debacle that occurred during the Malibu fires, when excessive communication and the use of cell phones created a security breach that—”

  “What do brushfires in Malibu have to do with this?” Sailor said, her fever making her both restless and talkative. “Were Others the targeted victims? Were Elven the only ones whose homes burned down? And that was forever ago. My God, I was in high school.”

  “Easy as that is to believe,” Highsmith said, “it’s perhaps best not to remind us of your extreme youth.”

  “Given my extreme youth,” she shot back, “maybe you can enlighten me. What do you suggest? Going door to door, questioning Elven, and sowing seeds of suspicion about vampires and shapeshifters? Why not start with the obvious, these four women?”

  “Because we’re not the police, Ms. Gryffald. Let our people in Robbery/Homicide do their jobs. And which of those victims lived in your district?”

  “None of them. But it’s clear that—”

  “None of them. Three of them, however, lived in mine. One of them, Ariel MacAdam, lived in Phaedra Waxman’s district. Do you think Phaedra needs your help?”

  Sailor glanced at Phaedra, who reminded her of the high school volleyball coach who’d made her teenage years hell. “You’re missing the point. I—”

  Highsmith continued as though Sailor weren’t speaking. “What we don’t want is to add fuel to the fire of panic already spreading, creating more death and destruction on top of the four victims already dead. Every military campaign begins with a reconnaissance mission, and that’s our obvious first step. Now, each of you has a piece of paper in front of you, and a pen. A yes vote agrees with my plan. A no vote disagrees. I will abstain.”

  Sailor scrawled “NO,” folded the paper and put it into a lead crystal bowl being passed around. Charles read the votes aloud. Six and six.

  “As the tiebreaker,” he said, “I vote yes. We investigate within our own districts and pool information in a meeting to be announced shortly. As for Ms. Gryffald,” he said quickly, seeing Sailor once more on the verge of interrupting him, “her district is large and she herself is new, and especially in light of her current disability, assigning her a mentor strikes me as an excellent option.”

  “I’ll take her district, along with my own,” Phaedra Waxman said.

  “No, you won’t,” Sailor said, finding her voice.

  “I’ll help her, Charles,” Justine said.

  “I think not, Justine,” Highsmith said.

  “I’m happy to team up with Sailor,” Reggie said. “Our districts are adjacent, so it makes sense.”

  “Fine,” Sailor said, before she got stuck with the volleyball coach. Her body temperature had dropped, and all thoughts of affection and goodwill had been replaced by anger and frustration. She pushed her chair away from the table and walked away and out of the mansion, not trusting herself to even say goodbye without exploding.

  “Wait up, Sailor!” she heard, and turned to see Reggie Maxx running to catch up. “My God,” he said, “was that unbelievable?”

  “Which part?” she asked, heading toward her car. “Me getting stuck with a babysitter? Or Highsmith’s stupid, ineffectual nonplan?”

  “I’m talking about the attack on you,” he said, “but yeah, that was classic Highsmith. Listen, I’m glad we’re working together, and it’s not babysitting as far as I’m concerned. My district is Malibu, and we can pool our resources.”

  “Okay, thanks. And sorry,” she said. “I’m just really pissed. And disappointed. I expected...I don’t know what. Some kind of big mobilization, kicking into high gear. Something.”

  “Then we’ll kick ourselves into high gear,” Reggie said. “Here’s the deal about Malibu. There aren’t any Elven living on the beach. None of them will set foot west of Pacific Coast Highway. They’re all in the mountains off Las Virgenes and Kanan Dume, all the hermit types. If it was a Unabomber we were looking for, those are the first people I’d check out, but I doubt if most of my Elven have even heard of Charlotte Messenger or Gina Santoro. That said, if we can get them to talk, they may know things, so say the word and we’ll start interviewing them. Tomorrow, say?”

  Sailor looked at him, and he looked back unflinchingly, not bothering to block his thoughts. I like you, you’re pretty, you’re hot, I’d like to be your friend and Highsmith’s an ass, but we can make this work to our advantage, he said. Not in so many words, but in thought patterns. It wasn’t as clear as if he were an Elven, but she could understand him, the way she understood French after having had three years of it in high school.

  She nodded. “Thanks.”

  Reggie glanced toward the house. “As for the Keepers, some of them will share information with us, help us out—especially given who your dad is. But the others will go right to Highsmith if you deviate from the plan. And if he thinks you’re doing an end run around him, he’ll make your life on the Council hell. So, you know, be careful.”

  Sailor flashed on Darius Simonides, whose advice she’d all but ignored. “Can you fill me in on who’s who?”

  “Yeah, I can.” Reggie looked at his watch. “Only not now, because I have to go show a property in the Colony. I’m a Realtor. Tomorrow?” He handed her a business card.

  “Tomorrow,” she told him.

  * * *

  Sailor was in her car and halfway to the 101 Freeway before she got a good cell signal. She called Declan.

  “Sailor,” he said, instead of hello.

  “I’m ready to tell you anything you want to know. About—” speak in code, she thought “—how I spent my summer vacation.”

  There was a pause. “Change of heart?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s good news,” he said. “And what’s it going to cost me?”

  “I’ll tell you when I see you.”

  “Provocative answer. And when will that be?”

  Her first impulse was to say “the sooner the better” because she wanted nothing more than to see him again. But she hesitated. What did she have to report, really? That the Elven Keepers as a whole were doing essentially nothing. But she herself was no different, either. What was she bringing to Declan, to their partnership, other than her own blood samples? Where were her investigative skills, her resourcefulness? She had to step it up. The afternoon had been a waste, but the day wasn’t over yet.

&nb
sp; A billboard image of a cupcake flew by, and Sailor had an inspiration. “I’ll see you,” she said, “after I run one quick errand.”

  “Kimberly Krabill wants another blood sample. She’s free for an hour, and then she has rounds at the hospital.”

  “It will take a little longer than that, given the traffic.”

  “Sailor, that’s not going to work for me.”

  “I’ll call you when I’m done. Bye, Declan.” She hung up.

  Her next call was to the morgue.

  Chapter 8

  Sailor weaved in and out of traffic heading east, growing more indignant with each passing mile. Except for the elderly Justine Freud, Reggie, Sailor herself and maybe three others, the Council was apparently willing to be dictated to by Charles Highsmith. And her own performance had been nothing to write home about. She’d been outspoken but not persuasive, passionate rather than strong. She’d forgotten the “listen instead of speak” dictum until the end, which in any case would have been hard to pull off because of the feverish episode, which made her excessively chatty. And she had only one alliance to report to her godfather, with the second-youngest and probably least-powerful Keeper, Reggie.

  Halfway to downtown, Highsmith’s assistant called to set up the threatened physician’s appointment, and Sailor managed to say, “No, thank you,” rather than “Over my dead body.” She was proud of her restraint.

  An hour later, turning off her phone so she wouldn’t have to ignore Declan’s calls and making a stop at a bakery, Sailor pulled into the crime lab, on the campus of California State University. The parking lot was thick with RESERVED signs and warnings of dire consequences if a vehicle even paused there without a permit. But it was the end of the workday and dozens of spaces were empty, so she decided to take her chances.

  In the lobby area, she pretended to admire a wall display of the top brass in the LAPD and the Los Angeles Sheriff’s Department while scoping out the joint. To her left, a receptionist sat in a glass-enclosed cubicle, probably bulletproof, reminding Sailor that criminal evidence passed through here and uninvited civilians did not. Beyond the receptionist Sailor could see her destination. No point trying to talk her way in, especially as the man she’d come to see wasn’t expecting her. Sometimes a woman’s best bet was magic.

  Sailor closed her eyes, took a deep breath, held it for the count of five and slowly exhaled. She inhaled again, and this time, when she exhaled, she let her mind fall behind her eyes, the weight of her body slide away, and then she willed herself into the far hallway.

  When she opened her eyes she was a bit unsteady but satisfied. The glass-enclosed reception desk was on her right, and in front of her were the elevators.

  * * *

  She had to ask three people before she found Tony Brandt in the chemical analysis department, in conversation with a lab-coated technician. He turned even as Sailor approached.

  “Sailor! What are you doing here?” he asked. Tony was a large man, structurally sturdy, with a center of gravity that was low to the ground, typical werewolf. “Did my office tell you I was here? I’ll fire them all. And how did you get past security?”

  Instead of answering, she strode over to him and kissed him on the cheek. “Here,” she said, and handed him the box. It was white and tied with string.

  “What’s this?”

  “A bribe.”

  He grunted and opened the box to reveal three giant red velvet cupcakes with cream cheese frosting. He sighed heavily. With the proprietary attitude of one who’d known her since her infancy, he said, “Did you teleport? You must be practicing if you can bring along baked goods and purses now. Just like the damn Elven. Take off those sunglasses and show me your eyes.”

  She glanced at the man in the lab coat, and Tony said, “It’s all right. This is Fergus MacIntyre. He works here in chemical analysis. Fergus, Sailor Ann Gryffald.”

  “I’ve heard so much about you,” Fergus said, shaking her hand.

  “Really?” she said. She looked at him more closely. “Vamp?”

  “Yes. I’m a fan of your uncle Piers.”

  Sailor removed her sunglasses and let Tony examine her eyes.

  “Have you seen Krabill today?” he asked.

  “Not yet.”

  “We can take a blood sample here. Save you the trip. I don’t suppose it’s occurred to you to take it easy?”

  “I get restless, stuck in a petrie dish.”

  “So you sneak into the crime lab.” Tony shook his head. “I don’t recall your father resorting to trespassing.”

  “Know what, Tony? I don’t know what my dad would do if he were new on the job, infected with a killer virus and faced with multiple murders. And if he didn’t have friends like you. I’d give a lot to know. Unhappily, my dad’s half a world away and incommunicado, and a stickler for security measures that prohibit cell phone use. What I imagine he’d do is whatever it took to protect his own.”

  Tony gave her an unexpected smile. “Okay, no need to get huffy. You people keep hounding me, I won’t get any work done, that’s all I’m saying. So what can I do for you?”

  “Wait, what do you mean ‘you people’?”

  “Keepers,” Tony said. “Declan Wainwright came to the morgue earlier today. You show up here now. Might as well put on a pot of coffee and wait for your cousins to arrive.”

  Declan. Interesting, Sailor thought. Why hadn’t he mentioned he’d seen Tony? “Then I’m sorry to ask you to go through it again,” she said, “but I’m an Elven Keeper, and those women are my responsibility. Anything you told Declan Wainwright, you can tell me.”

  “Which would be exactly nothing. He came by, but I was in a meeting with the mayor.”

  “Then what you didn’t tell him, you can tell me,” she said. When Tony didn’t respond, she added, “You want my blood samples? I want information.”

  A bushy eyebrow went up. “Pushy, aren’t you? All right, but only because you brought cupcakes. First thing is, none of what Fergus and I tell you goes any further. I drove all the way over here from the morgue to talk to him because we can’t have a paper trail or an e-trail, because none of this goes into the official report. So if what you’re about to hear gets out, I’ll know who to blame. You. Fergus knows if he talks I won’t just kill him, I’ll fire him. So that’s the first thing. Tell nobody.”

  “Except my cousins, of course.”

  “Here we go,” Tony said, exasperated.

  “And Declan Wainwright, with whom I’m working. But only if it’s absolutely—”

  “Oh, the hell with it!” Tony threw up his hands. “Tell the whole world.” He lowered his voice, even though the three of them were alone in the lab. “Cause of death was exsanguination. Each girl bled out, the first one from a cut that wouldn’t have required more than a bandage in the normal course of events. The underlying cause, of course, was the Scarlet Pathogen. Because the blood wouldn’t clot, minor cuts proved lethal. It’s possible, too, that the blood flowed unnaturally fast. In case you’re wondering about your own health, your blood’s clotting, so you’re not dead. Congratulations.”

  “Were each of the cuts the same kind?” Sailor asked.

  “No. Charlotte Messenger’s was no more than a paper cut, source unknown. If we knew where she’d been killed before she got dumped on the beach, we might be able to tell, but then again, we might not.”

  Sailor shuddered. “I knew she wasn’t on that beach by choice.” Her own fear of water was bad, and Charlotte had all her sympathy.

  “She wasn’t. That’s where they found her, but that’s not where she died. Cops are still looking for the primary crime scene. The scratch, I’m guessing, was accidental, maybe self-inflicted. Second victim, though, Gina Santoro, bite mark on the shoulder.”

  “A bite sharp enough to break the skin?” Sailor asked.

  He nodded. “It gets worse. The killer was rougher with Gina than with Charlotte, and he didn’t move the body this time. Still no indication he forced her to ha
ve sex, though. No drugs or sedatives, only the pathogen. No ligature marks, no restraints of any kind, which would be the first thing you’d do to an unwilling Elven.”

  Sailor nodded. Tying up an Elven prevented them from teleporting.

  “Also,” Tony went on, “there were signs of romance at the scene of the Santoro murder. Mood music on the CD player and wine, that kind of thing. The next one, the bites were on her breasts. That was Kelly Ellory. The last one, he bit her all over.”

  Sailor winced. “Can you match the bite marks? Are they the same for all the victims?”

  Tony nodded. “Working on it.”

  “Fingerprints?”

  “Lots of them, but nothing to match them to. The guy has no record. Nothing in the databases we have, anyway. So there you go. No sign of a struggle with any of them, beyond what might be consistent with active sex. What’s clear is that the perpetrator became increasingly violent. My guess is, death aroused him. One theory is that he didn’t know the first one would die, but when it happened, that became part of his thrill with the subsequent victims. In each case there was blood all over, beds, floors—in the case of the last one, outside on the ground.”

  “Wait,” Sailor said. “The victims were actually having sex as they died?”

  “Yes, or close enough. The blood evidence suggests intercourse was under way and continued even as the bleeding progressed.”

  “If there was that much blood,” Sailor said, “the sexual partner couldn’t be a vampire, right? Because it would be hard not to feed on the woman if she was bleeding.”

  “In the throes of sexual arousal?” Tony growled. “I’d say damn near impossible. And no one fed on those women. I know the difference between human teeth and fangs.”

  “So they weren’t sleeping with a vamp,” Sailor said. “How long until you determine what kind of Other the partner was?”

  “First of all,” Tony said, “it could still be a vampire Keeper, who might be turned on by the blood without needing to drain her. Second, we only know that Messenger and Santoro had a common partner. We’re waiting for test results on the other two. Fergus, how long on that turnaround?”