The Keepers

The woman smiled. She had just a touch of bloodred lipstick on her teeth. "Of course. Come in. We're already entertaining guests, so please join us."



"Oh?" Just how long ago had those guests arrived? he wondered, making a mental note to check with the officers who'd been on duty before Shrine and O'Casey.



He stepped in. The house was a basic grand colonial, with a huge entry hall, doors to the left and right and a massive staircase leading up from the middle of the room.



The banisters were adorned with garlands of black roses.



The walls were painted black. Black curtains hung over the windows.



The walls held movie posters celebrating Hollywood's fascination with werewolves, mummies, vampires, witches and every conceivable monster, from a giant lizard that had just crawled out of a swamp to King Kong.



The woman offered him a hand, long fingers, with longer fingernails painted in bloodred, dangling.



"I'm Lucretia. Real name. It goes with Brown. Please, come in. I'm the titular queen of our little group."



She led them to the door on the right and into the next room. For a moment the scent of blood was strong, and Jagger steeled himself against it.



The living room added red to the black of the entry hall, and instead of movie posters, the paintings that hung on the walls qualified as erotica at least as much as art. A man was seated in a claw-foot chair by a huge fireplace, and side by side on a massive sofa covered in plush red velvet were Fiona and Caitlin MacDonald.



He groaned inwardly. "Fiona, Caitlin, I didn't expect to see you here."



"You all know each other?" Lucretia asked pleasantly.



"I've known these ladies quite a while, yes," Jagger said. "Tony, have you met my friends, Fiona and Caitlin MacDonald?"



Caitlin apparently realized in an instant that Tony was human and decided to be nice to him.



"It's a pleasure," she murmured.



"Fancy finding you here," Jagger said, staring at Fiona. He bent close and said for her ears only, "How the hell did you slip in? The men outside didn't see you. No, wait. Don't tell me. She shape-shifted into a mouse or something, and you went to mist. You just made my officers look like fools."



Fiona flushed, looking away momentarily.



"I thought I should come. I wanted these people to understand that they could be in serious danger. I explained about the shop, and how we know the mood of the city."



Jagger knew his smile looked glued on as he took a seat next to Fiona and said softly, "Great."



"Your officers aren't in trouble. No one knows," she said.



"Tony knows now, doesn't he?" Jagger asked.



"Is everything all right?" Lucretia asked worriedly.



"Detectives, can I get you something to drink?"



Yes, a nice cup of the blood I can smell would be great, Jagger thought dryly, wondering why the man in the chair was there. Muscle in case things got out of hand, he supposed.



"We have a full liquor cabinet, soda, tea...coffee?" Lucretia continued.



"No, we're fine, thank you," Jagger said. "We need to talk."



Lucretia's bloodred lips pursed. "As I've been explaining to Fiona and Caitlin, we believe that blood is life. We're not murderers. We drink animal blood. We're no worse than someone who has a nice steak--served rare."



"There's human blood in this room somewhere," Jagger said firmly.



Lucretia looked startled.



"Um...actually, yes, we do keep a few vials--all from our members, and all given quite voluntarily." She sighed, extending her arms. "We've joined together because of our shared beliefs. We...we believe that lovemaking is enhanced by a sip of blood. None of us is on drugs, and in case you've forgotten, the United States offers freedom of religion. I'm a legally ordained minister."



"Did you get your credentials online?" Tony asked.



Lucretia flushed. "Yes," she snapped. "And they're perfectly legal."



"What's the name of your...church?"



"We're the Church of Elizabeth Bathory," Lucretia told him.



Tony stared at Jagger, then turned back to her. "Really?"



"Really and legally," Lucretia said icily.



Jagger lifted his hands. "Look, here's the problem with your current situation, and it isn't legal, it's human. First, you admit to drinking blood--to using it for religious purposes?" he asked. She nodded, frowning. "The city has two bloodless corpses--"



"One," Lucretia reminded him. "You lost one, remember?"



"The point is that everyone in New Orleans knows that two women were killed and drained of blood. Therefore, I or one of my officers will need to speak with every one of your members. Personally I don't think you're guilty. I do think you're going to cost me man hours I can't afford. And frankly, I'm not sure how worshipping Elizabeth Bathory counts as a respectable religion."



"Hey! People worship aliens. And cows--and cats, so I've heard," Lucretia said indignantly.



"Whatever. This isn't a good time to be drinking blood," Jagger said. "And you and your members have to start being careful about what you say and do, all right? This is a...delicate time in the city. All right? Once we catch the killer, knock yourselves out. Go on every news show out there. But until then..."



He noticed that Fiona and her sister had risen. Tony rose, too and he followed suit.



"I think we should leave you to your police business," Fiona said.



"How kind of you," Jagger murmured.



"Thank you so much for coming," Lucretia said, rising as well.



"Tony, you stay here and talk to Lucretia. I'll see the sisters to the door," Jagger said, taking each of them by an elbow and steering them in that direction.



"What are you doing here?" he asked Fiona when they reached the door. "This is police business."



"Jagger, they needed to be warned. And we were doing a better job than you did of explaining that they shouldn't run around right now announcing their devotion to a fifteenth century countess who bathed in blood," Fiona said.



"And," Caitlin added, her glare icy, "when the police can't seem to handle police business, I think we need to lend a helping hand."



Jagger looked at Fiona. "I really don't want to arrest your sister," he said.



"Jagger, don't be ridiculous! I'm the Keeper--"



"And she's not. Not my Keeper, anyway," he said.



"Get out of here--both of you. Oh, Caitlin, you might want to apologize to the tall fellow at the car--Michael Shrine, shapeshifter. He's going to feel like an ass for letting you walk in right under his nose."



He saw them both out the door and closed it with a bang. Irritated, he headed back to the living room, with its choking red-and-black decor, and wretched paintings.



Hell.



He wanted to be anywhere but here.



He sat on the sofa and pulled out his notebook. Tony did the same.



"We're going to need the names of everyone who is involved in your religion in any way. Now, let's start with you, Lucretia. We'll need to know where you were on the nights of both murders. And I'm going to pray that you aren't all each other's alibis."



This was a total waste of time, he thought. A killer was out there, and he wasn't some deluded wannabe. This killer was the real thing.



"Oh, man, it was terrible. I haven't had a drink since." Standing on the lawn in front of the frat house, Jude Andre gave a sudden, fierce shiver.



Fiona stared at him, certain it would be a while before he had another drink. His tone had been sincere.



She was with Shauna. Caitlin--who had actually apologized to Michael Shrine, and even to the leprechaun, Sean O'Casey--had gone back to the shop, muttering about Jagger being rude, unappreciative of the role of a Keeper, and an all around...vampire.



Shauna had joined Fiona for their planned visit to the frat house where Abigail had attended her last party, but they'd split up after arrival so they could talk to more people in less time.



The long-haired and lanky young man with the sax case and book bag stared at Fiona and Shauna, shaking his head. "What a party, you know? It was great. The booze was good--no cheap beer. We were jamming, you know? A bunch of music majors, just having fun."



"Sure," Shauna said. "But here's the thing. No one remembers Abigail leaving. I'm trying to get everyone to tell us about the last time they saw or talked to her that night."



He scrunched up his face, thinking. "About twelve. I was in the old parlor, playing my music. I was pretty drunk. She came by and led me to a chair, told me I was about to fall down."



"Okay, you saw her around twelve. Did you see anyone else with her?"



The boy narrowed his eyes in deep thought. "No, she was alone then. I thought it was kind of odd."



"Really? Why?" Fiona asked him.



"Well, hell, everyone knew that Billy Harrington was crazy-mad for her. She was pretty nuts for him, too. They just never figured it out about each other, you know? Went around together all the time like they were just friends. I didn't think I'd see her at a party without him. Hey, wait!" His face wrinkled as if he were a Shar-Pei.



"What is it?" Fiona asked.



Jude looked at her, shaking his head. "He wasn't at the party because he said he had some big shindig in the Quarter he needed to attend. He said he didn't want to come to the party and get started drinking and all, since he had to drive to the Quarter later."



"So you saw him during the day, but not at the party."



"Right. I think," Jude said. "Don't know why, but I have an impression of Billy in the house, but I know I didn't see him at the party." He gasped suddenly. "Oh, God! You think Billy Harrington...that's crazy! You think he murdered Abigail and then stole her body. That he loved her so much he murdered her. You think he's a necrophiliac!"