The Keepers

Naturally the war had been fought because of a vampire.



No, not true. A vampire and a shapeshifter.



Vampire Cato Leone had fallen deeply and madly in love with shapeshifter Susan Chaisse, who had fallen in love with him in return. The two had been unable to understand why they weren't allowed to fall in love. Frankly Jagger didn't understand it, either. Old World prejudice had done them in. It had been a Romeo and Juliet scenario, a Southern West Side Story, a tale as old as time. Young love seldom cared about proper boundaries. Man and every subspecies of man seemed prone to prejudice, and it was usually born of fear and or economics. Either way, the outcome was almost always the same. In this case, just as in Shakespeare's tale, it had been cousins of the young lovers who had caused the problems. Susan's first cousin Julian had taken on the form of a monster being, half vampire, half werewolf, and attacked Cato. Shapeshifters were truly gifted; they could take on whatever shape they chose, and mimic not only another's appearance but take on their powers, as well. Cato hadn't even known who he was battling, and in the thick of the fight his own cousin jumped to his aid and was killed by the shapeshifter. That raised an uncontrollable rage in Cato, who in turn killed his attacker, and because the shapeshifter had taken on a guise that was partly werewolf, Cato's family had attacked the werewolves, and the violence had threatened to spill over into the streets. The power that Fiona MacDonald's parents had summoned to defeat the warring parties had cost them their lives. No Keeper, no matter how strong, could exert that much power and survive.



They had known what they were doing. But they had known as well that if the battle had erupted into the human world, it would have brought about the destruction of them all. Humans far outnumbered the various paranormal subspecies, not just here, but across the world, though the largest concentration of any such creatures was right here, in New Orleans, Louisiana, commonly referred to locally as NOLA. History had decreed that they all learn how to coexist. Werewolves learned to harness their power at each full moon, and vampires learned how to exist on the occasional foray into a blood bank, along with a steady diet of cow's blood. The shapeshifters had it the easiest, subsisting in their human form on human diets. Hell, half of them were vegetarians these days.



"Fiona," he said quietly, "I can only repeat what I've said to the media. I don't know anything yet. I have to investigate. God knows there are enough idiots living here, and more coming all the time, who want to think they're vampires. You can't deny that this city does attract more than its share of would-be mystics, cultists, wiccans, psychics and plain old nuts."



"I heard that she was entirely drained of blood," Fiona said flatly.



He wished that he were dealing with her mother. Jen MacDonald had lived a long life; she had been a fine Keeper, along with her husband, Ewan. The two--both born with the marks of each of the three major subspecies--had been fair and judicious. And wise. They had never jumped to conclusions; they had always done their own questioning, conducted their own investigations. They had loved those they had been born to watch, never interjecting themselves into the governing councils of their charges but being there in case of disputes or problems--or to point out potential problems before they became major bones of contention.



Jagger took a deep breath. He had become a police officer himself because he didn't want history to keep repeating itself. Most of the underworld--Keepers included--had come to NOLA after years of seeking a real home. The church's battle against "witchcraft" had begun as long ago as the 900s, and in 1022, even monks--pious, but outspoken against some of the doctrines of the church--had been burned. Witchcraft had become synonymous with devil worship, and the monks were said to cavort with demons and devils, indulge in mass orgies, and sacrifice and even eat small children. In 1488 the Papal Bull issued by Pope Innocent III set off hundreds of years of torture and death for any innocent accused of witchcraft. Jagger found it absolutely astounding that any intelligent man had ever believed that the thousands persecuted through the years could possibly have been the devil worshipping witches they were condemned for being. If they'd had half the powers they were purported to possess, they would have called upon the devil and flown far away from the stake, where they were tied and allowed to choose between the garrote or burning alive.



Sadly thousands of innocents had perished after cruel torture. The Inquisition had thrived in Germany and France, and many of those who truly weren't human left to escape possible discovery. Many of the main subspecies, as well as the smaller groups, came to the New World from the British Isles. Pixies, fairies, leprechauns, banshees and more fled during the reign of James VI of Scotland, also known as James I of England. Before 1590, the Scots hadn't been particularly interested in witchcraft. But in that year James--as a self-professed expert--began to enforce the laws with a vengeance and impose real punishment. He was terrified of a violent death, and certain that witches had been responsible for a storm that had nearly killed him and his new wife at sea. His orders sent the witch-finder general into a frenzy, torturing and killing for the most ridiculous of reasons, using the most hideous of methods.



When the Puritans headed for the New World in the early 1600s--intent, oddly enough, on banishing anyone from their colonies who was not of their faith, despite the fact that they had traveled across the ocean in pursuit of religious freedom--the various not-quite-human species began to make their way across the sea to a new life, as well.



There were other witchcraft trials in the New World before Salem, but it was the frenzy of the Salem witchcraft trials that caused another mass migration. The French in America had little interest in witchcraft, and French law allowed for a great deal more freedom of belief.



By the time of the Louisiana Purchase, most Keepers and their charges alike had made it down to New Orleans. And there, though not particularly trusting of one another, they had still found a safe home.



Until the elder MacDonalds had been killed. Their deaths, their sacrifice, had been noted by all clans and families. And not only had peace been restored, there had been a sea change in the way the different species felt about each other. There had been a number of intermarriages since that time. Of course, there were still those who were totally against any intermingling of the bloodlines, those who thought themselves superior.



But overall, there had been peace. America was a free country. They were free to hold their own opinions about sex, religion, politics--and one another. They obeyed the laws, the countries and their own. And their most important law said that no one was to commit crimes against humanity--and bring human persecution down upon them.



"Yes," he said quietly, "she was drained of blood."



"And a vampire did it?" Fiona demanded.



"Fiona, I'm trying to tell you--I've only just begun to investigate," he said.



"Oh, please. I'm not with the media."



He looked at her in the rearview mirror. "And you haven't the patience, knowledge or wisdom of your parents, Fiona."



Maybe that hadn't been a good thing to say. She stiffened like a ramrod. But, somehow, she managed to speak evenly.



"My parents died to keep you all from killing one another and preying upon the citizenry of the city in your lust for power and desire to rip each other to pieces. My parents were unique--both of them born with all three of the major signs. But that was then, and this is now. My sisters and I were born without the full power of my parents, but you know that I was born with the sign of the winged being, Caitlin with the mercurial sign of the shapeshifter and Shauna with the sign of the fang. But here's where we do have an edge--I have all the strengths of the vampire, and the vampires are my dedicated concern, just as Caitlin must watch over the shapeshifters and Shauna is responsible for the werewolves. Don't you think I wish my mother was here, too? But she's not. And I will not let the vampire community start something up again, something that promises discovery, death and destruction for hundreds of our own who are innocent. Do you understand? Whoever did this must be destroyed. If you don't handle it, I will."



He swung around to face her. "Back off! Give me time. Or do you want to start your own witch hunt?"



"You need to discover the truth--and quickly," she said. "And trust me--I will be watching you every step of the way."



"Of course you will be," he said, regaining his temper. He couldn't let her unnerve him. "Damn it! Don't you think I realize just how dangerous this situation is? But these are different times. Hell, I'm a cop. I see violence every day. I see man's inhumanity to man constantly. But I also see the decency in the world. So let me do what I do."



She was silent for a minute.



"Just do it quickly, Jagger."



"With pleasure. Now would you be so kind as to get out of my car so I can begin? Or should I drop you off at the shop?" he asked icily.



"I'll get out of your car," she said softly.



Oh, yes, she would get out. She wouldn't want to be seen around her shop in a police car--even an unmarked car. Especially his car.



The rear door slammed as she exited. She paused for a moment by his window, staring at him through the dark lenses of her glasses. So fierce.



And so afraid.



Yes, whether she wanted to admit it or not, she was afraid. Well, she had a right to her fear, as well as that chip on her shoulder. She'd been nineteen when her parents died, and she had fought to prove that she could care for herself and her sisters, who'd been only seventeen and fifteen at the time. She had taken on the mantle of responsibility in two worlds, and thus far she had carried it well.



The wind lifted her hair. Despite himself, he felt something stir inside him.



She was so beautiful.



She was such a bitch!



"Good day, Fiona. I'll be seeing you."



"Good day, Detective. You can bet on it," she said, and turned to walk away, the sunlight turning her hair into a burst of sheer gold.



Chapter 2



New Orleans was her city, and Fiona MacDonald loved it with a passion.