She reached into a drawer and took out a copy of the screenplay.
“You want me to read right here, right now?” Alessande asked.
“You want to be an actress, right? You’d better get used to cold readings,” Lisa said flatly. “Let’s go. Sailor, you be the villain—the rich banker, Martin Reilly. Alessande, you take Jane Adams, and then we’ll switch it around. I want you to read from a scene toward the end of the screenplay. Jane is an orphan, poor but respectable, and she knows that Martin is a killer. She’s trying not to let on that she knows, while he seduces her into going with him up to the room in the whorehouse that he owns—the room where he kills. Got it?”
Alessande nodded, and they began to read. Sailor easily took on the persona of the male villain, and Alessande found it easy to respond to her in character.
Halfway through the scene, Lisa had them switch parts, and once again Alessande was impressed by Sailor’s talent.
When they were finished, they looked across the desk at Lisa, who nodded. “All right, I’ll set up the auditions. I’ll text you tomorrow with your times.”
Alessande grinned as she and Sailor left the office. “I can’t believe we’re both in,” she said.
Sailor laughed. “Yeah—you, me and a thousand hopefuls from around the world. But at least we’ll get our chance to read.”
“Will we meet the screenwriter there?”
“Most of the time, I’d say no. The writer is at the bottom of the totem pole—except that this one is Greg Swayze and he’s the man of the moment. He might be there. But Brodie and Mark are cops. They can get in to see him.”
“Cops don’t necessarily get people to talk,” Alessande said.
“No, but—”
“We need to get Brodie and Mark to stay away from him until we’ve had a chance to talk to him.”
“We can try.”
“Hey, you’re the Elven Keeper. You can tell Brodie what to do.”
“No, I can’t. A Keeper can’t tell someone not to do his job unless he’s actively hurting someone. You need to realize that, now that you’re going to be a Keeper.”
“But, he’d listen to you,” Alessande said. “Right?”
“I can try, but...”
“But?”
“Nothing.”
“You were about to say that his partner is a vampire and doesn’t have to pay any attention to you, weren’t you?”
“The vampires do listen to Rhiannon,” Sailor said, pride and loyalty in her voice.
Her phone began to ring. Sailor dug in her ample over-the-shoulder bag until she found it. She mostly listened, saying yes, and then no, followed by yes again.
“What’s up?” Alessande asked when Sailor disconnected.
“We should head over to the House of Illusion. I need to get to work, and Rhiannon will be there soon. I think Barrie is going over with her, along with Declan and Mick. Brodie and Mark are on a case, but they’ll meet us there later.”
* * *
They’d been waiting for about an hour—a long hour in which Mark drove himself crazy thinking of other things he could be doing, wondering if this was all a waste of time—when a man finally entered with a girl of about eighteen on his arm.
And she really was resting virtually her entire weight on his arm, because she was barely standing. They were both tall, and the girl had long, white-blond hair.
“Hey, buddy, we need a room for a few hours. Just to have a rest, you know? My girlfriend here is wiped out,” the man said, approaching the desk.
To Mark’s dismay, the clerk looked nervously in his direction. “Minimum is fifty bucks for up to four hours,” he said.
Luckily the man didn’t seem to notice the clerk’s nervousness; he just wanted to get the girl upstairs.
Mark rose and walked over to the desk. “Been sightseeing?” he asked.
The man looked at him and nodded. He was about twenty-five, wearing a sweatshirt with the L.A. Lakers logo.
“Big city, really big city, so much to see,” the man said. His eyes were dilated. The girl’s eyes weren’t even open.
“Is your girlfriend all right?” Brodie asked, coming up on the man’s other side.
Suddenly, the man shoved the girl at Brodie and turned to run.
Swearing, Mark looked at Brodie.
“I’ve got her—go!” Brodie said.
Mark took off running.
Alessande had to admit that the House of Illusion was spectacular. With the exception of the coat check off to one side, the foyer felt like the entrance to a medieval fortress, and the room just beyond kept up the impression, resembling a king’s great hall.
The impression was deliberate. The House of Illusion had been built in the 1890s specifically to resemble a medieval castle. There was a massive bar to the right of the great hall, and the numerous plank tables with bench seating could accommodate hordes of drinkers. Straight ahead was an open performance space that kept up the illusion of walking farther into the depths of a castle. The entrance to a small restaurant stood open just past the bar, while a hallway on the opposite wall led to the Magician’s Cave, a small venue where young magicians could practice their trade.
“There’s a staging area in the basement, and trust me, it’s creepy,” Sailor said as they moved deeper into the club. “The three of us had just started out as Keepers when a few vicious rebels decided to challenge the old order, and they nearly succeeded. But that’s all in the past,” she finished cheerfully.
Alessande smiled, fascinated. She’d been here once in the early days, because the Others could be just as fascinated by illusion and magic as any human. And the House of Illusion was as magical as any real castle. Even she couldn’t help but feel a bit awed by being here.
A tall man with white hair and a dignified demeanor was politely greeting people as they entered the great hall. When he saw them, his eyes lit up. “Sailor Gryffald! And who have we here? No, don’t tell me.” He lowered his voice. “You’re Alessande Salisbrooke, correct?”
“Come on, Jerry,” Sailor said, grinning. “That wasn’t much of a feat of mind reading—you knew that we were coming.”
“Guilty as charged. But, Alessande, I do remember you from years and years ago. Thankfully, you’re an Elven and I’m a vampire, so all those years don’t matter much, do they?” he teased.
“Is Rhiannon here?” Sailor asked, forestalling any discussion of the old days in favor of making progress on solving the problem at hand.
“Yes, and are you working tonight, as well? Or are you only here to see the show?”
Sailor laughed. “I’m just here to see the show, though I suppose I should have asked Barrie if I could afford a night off—she’s our queen of household finance.”
Jerry waved a hand in the air. “The old days were so much easier. If I was hungry, I fed upon an unwary traveler—oh, don’t look so worried. I drank, but I never killed. And if I needed a place to stay, I hypnotized a nobleman and took over his house. These days, I pay bills just like everyone else. Come on. Rhiannon is doing an early set in the bar, and then she’ll be free to sit with you. She has a late-night gig at the Snake Pit, so I assume you’ll all be heading that way later.”
