His bride.

She lay upon the altar. Her face was alabaster, and her hair was gold, flowing behind her, beneath her, and falling in curls from the altar where she lay as if on a white pedestal at a wake.

Her eyes were closed, and she lay in beauty, as if she were sleeping.

But she wasn’t asleep.

A red ribbon seemed to adorn her neck, but it wasn’t a fashion accessory.

And it wasn’t a ribbon.

It was a line of blood. Blood that streamed from her throat to the floor.

He screamed, but his scream was silent, no matter how hard he tried to make it into sound. He fought the mist and shadow mire that held him down as he tried to run to her, but he couldn’t reach her…

“Mark!” The sound of his name was like an off button for the scene unfolding in his mind.

About the Author

New York Times bestselling author HEATHER GRAHAM has written more than a hundred novels, many of which have been featured by the Doubleday Book Club and the Literary Guild. An avid scuba diver, ballroom dancer and a mother of five, she still enjoys her south Florida home, but loves to travel as well, from locations such as Cairo, Egypt, to her own backyard, the Florida Keys. Reading, however, is the pastime she still loves best, and she is a member of many writing groups. She’s currently vice president of the Horror Writers’ Association, and she’s also an active member of International Thriller Writers. She is very proud to be a Killerette in the Killer Thriller Band, along with many fellow novelists she greatly admires. For more information, check out her website, theoriginalheathergraham.com.

Keeper of the Dawn
Heather Graham

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Dedicated with deep appreciation

to Katherine Ware Wolniewicz.

Thanks for all you do!

Prologue
Illusion and Truth

Mark Valiente slowly became aware of himself, as if he were emerging from a trance where he had forgotten all movement and sense of place. He heard music, the volume slowly rising in his head. It was beautiful music—harps and violins, guitars and an organ playing while a drum kept the beat. He recognized songs, popular and classical, being performed as if for an audience.

Mist seemed to clear around him, and he realized he was in a church. It was beautiful, old, designed in the Gothic style, with elegant stained-glass windows. As he walked in, he saw that it was crowded with people. The men were dressed in suits, and the women were beautiful in dresses of what he thought of as spring colors, white and pastels, as well as hats and heels. Their heads turned, and they all smiled and looked benignly at him.

He walked down the aisle. Dead ahead, he saw that Brodie McKay was there, near the altar, grinning sheepishly and watching him as if Mark were about to do something that would change the world. The place, the people, the music, the very vibe…everything was absolutely beautiful, filled with light and promise. Colors seemed to spill through the stained-glass windows and paint the church, the red velvet runner, and everything and everyone around him, in a flow of bright and gentle tones. He glanced to his side, and he didn’t see the people in the pews. Instead he saw a rather pale reflection of himself in one of the windows—which, of course, with the light streaming through, wasn’t really possible. But there he was. Dressed in a charcoal-gray, somewhatold-fashioned tux, red vest with a white shirt beneath. His tawny hair was neatly clipped and his face shaved. He almost smiled, thankful that he had cleaned up well for the event.

The event…

It was a wedding. His wedding. He would walk through the church and greet the crowd, and take his place next to Brodie, who was certainly his best man.

And then she would walk down the aisle.

Yes, he was waiting for her. He felt as if he were trembling; he had fallen in love. She was beautiful, and he dreamed of lying beside her naked, feeling the softness of her skin and the desire she awakened in him. And the way he felt when they’d made love and when he awoke to see her eyes. He was going to marry her…and she was the dream that had filled his soul. This moment, this marriage, would be consummate magic, an affirmation of all that lay between them.

He knew that he loved her.

He just…

…didn’t know her name. Didn’t even know who she was.

Somewhere in the back of his mind he mocked himself for the daydream.

He wasn’t even dating anyone in particular.

And yet…

He could feel this; it wasn’t just a vision in his mind’s eye. It seemed to be something that was real to all his senses and in his soul.

Somehow he knew that they had chosen music from Zeffirelli’s 1968 version of Romeo and Juliet for that moment when she would walk down the aisle.

But even as he moved forward, the light from the windows began to change. What had been bright now turned to dark, swirling purple and shades of gray. What had seemed like a glow of happiness and expectation filling the church became fear and dread. He saw the people around him, saw the smiles fade and the horror creep onto their faces… .

And then those people evaporated. Brodie was gone. The music was strident and off-key, quieting to silence as the shadow colors merged to near-total darkness, leaving odd shapes and illusions to creep and crawl in the midst of a gray miasma.

He was still in the church. The only color that remained was the red runner beneath his feet. Before him, he saw something on the altar. Something in a shimmering mist of crystals and pearls and white.

His bride.

He felt his limbs grow heavy with fear and denial. He tried to run, but the fog was like sludge, and he couldn’t reach her quickly enough. She was lying upon the altar, her face alabaster and her hair gold, flowing beneath her head and shoulders and falling in curls as if on a white pedestal at a wake.

Her eyes were closed and she lay in beauty, as if sleeping.

But she wasn’t sleeping.

A red ribbon seemed to adorn her neck, but it wasn’t an accessory.

And it wasn’t a ribbon.

It was a line of blood that streamed from her throat to the floor, and then ran and created the very runner beneath his feet.

He screamed, but his scream was silent, no matter how hard he tried to make it into sound. He fought the mist And shadow mire that held him back, and he tried to run to her, but he kept slipping in the blood. Her blood. And the shadow creatures seemed to be holding on to him, throwing their heavy weight against him, keeping him from moving forward. She was dead, or dying, and he couldn’t reach her… .

“Mark!” The hushed sound of his name was like an off button for the scene unfolding in his mind.

He started as someone poked his arm.

He blinked. It had been so real, that…well, vision was the only word he could think of.

“Let’s go.” That was Brodie speaking.

Time, Mark knew, was a deceptive concept. That vision had seemed to go on forever, but, he realized now, only split seconds had passed in which he had either dozed off or been daydreaming. He wasn’t in a church; he was in an unmarked police car parked off the road cutting through Starry Night Cemetery, and he and Brodie had been in the car, drinking coffee to stay alert—there was irony for you—since four in the afternoon.

Now his partner had seen something, something he should have seen, as well.

Brodie was already out of the car. Mark quickly followed suit.

Brodie headed for the Hildegard vault. Built by Sebastian Hildegard in 1920, it now housed several dozen bodies. Bodies belonging to a long line of lords and ladies of illusion and their various offspring.

Shapeshifters. Hell, yeah, they made great magicians.

Brodie motioned to him, and Mark nodded; they’d worked together often enough over the years to develop a silent shorthand. Brodie would take the front, while Mark slipped in by the rear door. Brodie had the power of his strength, while they both knew that Mark had a different means of entry. He’d perfected the powers of his kind years ago and was almost as adept at illusion as the Hildegard family.

They parted ways. Starry Night had been a private cemetery for the first seventy-five years of its existence, until Able Hildegard had taken over the family’s holdings at his father’s demise. The cemetery had been sold, and the then-living had scrambled to buy up plots and vaults so they might rest eternally with the famous who had found their way into the glorious grounds where illusionists and stars of stage and screen—silent and otherwise—had come for the peace of the ages. The truly dead did lie here, while others merely…rested. But, most of the time, it was a place of peace.

Or had been.

Until the living had begun to go missing and then turn up dead—and the trail of clues had led them here.

As Mark neared the iron-gated rear entry to the grand mausoleum, he could hear chanting. He edged closer, at first just listening and letting his eyes adjust so he could see what was happening inside the imposing vault. Night had fallen, but there was light within, spawned from torches that burned in the hands of those who stood around the sarcophagus of Sebastian Hildegard.

The marble lid of the sarcophagus was sculpted to resemble the grand patriarch of the family; in effigy Sebastian lay with his hands folded over his chest, the long flowing robe of a magician almost real due to the energy of the artist’s creation. But as Mark watched, a caped figure, with a golden face mask, stepped forward carrying a burden—a woman. She was blonde, and she wore a white halter dress. With her hair falling around her, it was impossible to tell whether she was unconscious…or dead.

Her fingers twitched. So, she wasn’t dead, Mark thought.

Yet.

No sign of Brodie, but the chanting in the tomb was growing louder. Friends in the Otherworld of the Los Angeles area had warned them that they’d been hearing tales about the old Hildegard tomb. There was a cult growing up around the famous magician, a belief that blood sacrifices made on the altar of his sarcophagus would bring him back to life, and bring stardom, power and glory to those who worshipped at his feet.

Bull!

A dead shapeshifter was a dead shapeshifter.

But that didn’t mean there weren’t those out there who were willing to believe.

The woman was draped over the marble effigy of Sebastian Hildegard.

He feared they were out of time.

The gate was locked. No matter. It was old and easy to force. The iron hinges must have been kept well-oiled, because they didn’t even squeak until he was in, and once there, he was ready.

“LAPD! Stop where you are!” he ordered.

Someone let out a shriek of fury. A flutter of cloth and shadow erupted in the room; the woman was left behind as figures began to scramble and torches fell.

“There are silver bullets in this gun,” Mark warned. “Stop!”

That wouldn’t mean a lot to a number of those here, but to some—the Others in the group—it would be fair warning.

Something flew at him. It was a caped skeletal figure with a monstrous face, screaming as it moved. He raised his customized gun, aimed and fired just as it reached him. The thing disappeared, and his bullet crashed into the concrete slab of a tomb in the wall.

One figure tried to race past him, a human. He went down in a whining sprawl as Mark casually punched him, and then Mark cuffed him quickly before tackling another. The place was in chaos. Mist filled the room, and a horde of hooded figures and insubstantial shadows came at Mark, screeching incoherently. In the background, he could hear humans screaming and crying, followed by the sounds of Brodie intercepting those who tried to escape by the main entrance.

The fog began to clear. He met up with Brodie, and they looked around. Five humans—three men and two women—lay cuffed on the ground. The Others had gone, vanished, disappeared into thin air.

Or the mists of illusion.

“Maybe one of them will talk—tell us something we can use,” Brodie said. Even he was breathing hard.

“Maybe,” Mark agreed. But they both knew they had failed. Whoever was at the head of this mess wasn’t one of the human beings lying cuffed on the floor And waiting to be taken to the station.

But the head of this particular operation was a shapeshifter. And they had missed him.

Or her.

“The woman…She can’t be dead… . They needed her alive,” Mark said, stepping over a cuffed man to reach the tomb of Sebastian Hildegard.

He lifted her carefully. Blond hair fell around her shoulders, revealing her face.

He nearly froze.

He’d already seen her tonight.

He’d never seen her in the flesh before, but…

She had been the woman in his daydream, the bride at his blood wedding… .

“Alive?” Brodie asked him anxiously.

Her eyes opened, and she stared at Mark. They were sea-green and beautiful, and she looked disoriented.

Then she screamed and began to fight him, and she was damned good at it, belting him in the jaw and raking her nails across his face in fury. She stood on her own now; she seemed to have the strength of a thousand demons.

“Hey!”

Brodie came to his aid, catching her arms. “We’re the cops! We’re here to save you.”

As Brodie spoke, they heard sirens in the night; his call for the bus, to haul those they had caught to lockup, was being answered.

The young woman blinked. She inhaled, staring at Mark. He realized suddenly that she wasn’t human; she was Other. She was Elven.

Brodie whispered, “My God—Elven,” just as Mark thought it. But then, to Mark’s amazement, Brodie added a name. “Alessande Salisbrooke!”

Maybe it was natural that Brodie knew her; he was Elven, too.

She spun and looked at Brodie, and let out a sigh of relief. “Brodie. I didn’t realize—”

She stopped midsentence and stared at Mark, heat and anger emanating from her. “Vampire,” she said. “And you’re a cop?”

“Yeah, I’m a cop,” he said. She studied him as if he’d done something wrong, or as if his being a vampire was anathema to her. He felt his temper rising. “Yes, I am a vampire,” he said angrily. “I’m the vampire who just saved your ass.” He was shaken. He didn’t usually strike out because a panicked victim fought him.

But…

He’d seen her in his vision. Seen her with a ribbon of blood coming from her throat…

At a wedding.

Their wedding.

That was certainly never going to happen.

“Saved me?” she exclaimed. “Vampire idiot. You ruined everything.”

Chapter 1

“Seriously,” Sailor Gryffald said, “what were you thinking, Alessande?” Sailor continued to pace while Alessande sat.

After a stop at the police station, Brodie and Mark had dropped Alessande off with Sailor and had gone straight to Pandora’s Box, since Brodie had been anxious to see Rhiannon, the canyon’s vampire Keeper—and his fiancée. Alessande was glad to be alone with Sailor and free to talk.

Sailor continued, “Those monsters were about to sacrifice you. Believe me, you helped save my life, so I know how competent you are, but no one knows what kind of evil you were really up against, if I understand what you’re saying correctly.”

Alessande winced. She really shouldn’t have been so angry with that vampire cop—after all, he had been trying to save her. But, in her own opinion, she had been prepared. Ready. And she was suspicious of vampires and…

No, she shouldn’t have snapped at him.

“I had to be taken captive,” Alessande explained wearily. “It was the only way for me to get in there and find out what’s going on, who’s behind the cult and the deaths.” There was more to her logic—and her desperation to get at the truth—but at this moment she wasn’t ready to completely explain herself, not even to Sailor Ann Gryffald.

“But…you’re Elven,” Sailor said sternly. In the world of the Others, Sailor was the Keeper of the Elven community in the L.A. Valley. “You’re an ancient!”

No one liked to be reminded of her age, Alessande thought, arching a brow at Sailor.

“Sorry,” Sailor said. She and her two Gryffald cousins—Rhiannon and Barrie—were new to the Keeper job, but all three had already been tested under fire. Alessande knew that because she’d been involved with helping Sailor find her way.

They’d met when Alessande had carried Sailor into her home after Sailor had been attacked during the recent so-called Celebrity Virus plague.

“Seriously,” Sailor went on. I can’t tell you how proud I am of so many in the Elven community, but we’re not considered the…the toughest of the Others. Alessande, you create potions, you’re a healer. You live alone… . You’re practically a hermit.”

“Gee, thanks,” Alessande said.

“I’m not trying to offend you, and you know it. You brew the best tea in the country—maybe in the world. You’re like a beacon of caring and wisdom. But you’re gentle. And you could have been up against were-creatures, vampires and God knows what else—not to mention very vicious human beings. How did you intend to save yourself in that situation?” Sailor demanded.

“I was going to teleport,” Alessande said, indignantly.

“You can’t teleport when you’re unconscious,” Sailor argued.

Alessande shook her head, desperately wanting to deny the seriousness of the situation, but the truth was she knew she might have gotten herself into trouble—serious trouble—and she should be grateful to the cops who had come to her rescue. She had just gotten it into her head lately that she had to be more proactive in protecting all Others—along with the human race. And that, of course, was because of Regina, because she’d been forced to see firsthand once again what could happen to the young and innocent—especially the young and innocent among the Elven.

Like the rest of the world, L.A. was filled with all manner of creatures most of humanity knew about only because of legend—and movies. Creatures that most humans didn’t even believe in. Keepers—like the Gryffald cousins—were human beings, but…more. They had special powers aligned with those of the particular paranormal race they were tasked with protecting, and were generally born into longtime Keeper families. They bore special identifying birthmarks. It was as if their role had been predetermined by a divine power.

There were areas in the world where the Other races seldom desired to live…too hard to blend in, not enough for them to do.

L.A., however, was a haven for Others. Because it was a movie town, monsters and strange creatures abounded on-screen and, frankly, offscreen, given how many…unique individuals tended to migrate there. As a place to “hide in plain sight,” nothing filled the bill like Hollywood. That meant that the area was densely populated by Others, so there had to be a commensurately large number of Keepers.

Elven, like Alessande, were fairly recent arrivals in the New World; they were creatures of the earth. Ocean voyages—that much time away from trees, from the rich soil—would have killed them. Alessande had only left the Old World herself when transatlantic flight started to become commonplace.

She was an ancient, one hundred six years old, though she knew she appeared—in the human world—to be about thirty. She’d seen a great deal of the wickedness the world had to offer—wickedness dealt out by both human beings and Others.

Despite everything she’d encountered, everything she had lived through, she had chosen to heal, to advise.

But, damn it, she was an ancient! She should have been able to overcome whatever drug had been given to her.

She’d been aware of everything as it had been going on, and to some degree she had been able to fight the drug, though she had feigned complete passivity.

But…they had drugged her, and it had definitely affected her. Would she have been able to escape at the last second?

Now she was at the Gryffald family estate, a small collection of historic homes on a nice little hill in Laurel Canyon, collectively named the House of the Rising Sun. Sailor’s home was the main residence, and it was called Castle House, while on either side were the guesthouses: Gwydion’s Cave, where Barrie lived, and Pandora’s Box, where Rhiannon made her home. When their fathers, Keepers all, had been called away on international business, the cousins—Sailor, Rhiannon and Barrie—had been thrown into a game that was ages old, though mostly new to them, since they hadn’t expected to take their places as Keepers for years to come, yet the land had been deemed for Keepers for decades. The property had originally belonged to a magician billed as “Merlin,” real name Ivan Schwartz, who had been helped by the Gryffald cousins’ grandfather. Schwartz had added the guesthouses to his estate so that the Keepers could live on his property if they chose. Before he died, Ivan had sold the estate to the Gryffald family for such a pittance that for all intents and purposes it had actually been a gift.

Of course, it came with a catch. Merlin was still around, haunting whichever house he chose. He was a very polite ghost, often extremely helpful, and totally respectful of the inhabitants’ privacy, so in actuality he was a perfect tenant.

At the moment, though, Alessande was glad he wasn’t haunting Castle House.

Keepers had watched over various communities of Others at least since the ancient days, before accepted magic had ended and the world had become a place where the unusual was feared and anyone different, even if they were human, was considered an enemy to be burned at the stake or otherwise destroyed. Because the cousins’ fathers had been considered some of the wisest and most effective Keepers in the world, they had been called up to help form a council so that Others around the world would have guidance—and laws—to help them all live productive lives without attracting the kind of notice that would lead to a return of the bad old days.

Every Other—from the gnomes and leprechauns to the were-folk, vampires and shapeshifters—lived by the Code of Silence, keeping the very existence of the Otherworld secret from humanity. The Code was broken only occasionally and for very special human beings. Even the rashest Others, those with little respect for laws of any kind, upheld the Code, because the Code meant survival. Without it, they could all be doomed. While many in the Other community had powers that made them far stronger and far more lethal than human beings, the human population of the world was larger by perhaps 99 percent, and therefore the Others were vulnerable to persecution and death should their existence ever come to light.

Jonquil, Sailor’s big ragamuffin of a mutt, whined softly and licked Alessande’s fingers. She smiled and scratched the dog’s head. If only the world were made up of such creatures as this. Jonquil seemed to instinctively know kind people from the cruel ones.

Sailor was doing very well as an Elven Keeper now, though when Alessande had first known her, she hadn’t taken her position seriously at all. But that current knowledge gave Alessande a measure of confidence when she was speaking with her Keeper.

“I was always aware of what was going on,” she said. “I know that I appeared to be unconscious, but there was a part of me that was there. I believe I could have teleported when the right moment came.” Elven were strong, even if not as strong as vampires, and while they couldn’t give the illusion of being someone—or something—different, as shapeshifters could, they were able to teleport, moving through space, very handy in escaping dangerous situations. No one yet knew the science of it, but being an Other often meant that there just weren’t logical answers. No one really understood how shapeshifters managed to appear to be birds—and then fly away.

“Believe isn’t good enough when your life depends on it,” Sailor said sternly. She looked at Alessande. “Don’t get me wrong. I know I wouldn’t be where I am today, knowing what I know and doing my job with my mind focused on my responsibilities, if not for you. But, Alessande, I have to agree with Brodie and his vampire partner—you were risking your life, and you almost lost it.”

Alessande smiled; she loved Sailor, and knew her Keeper was being completely sincere. Alessande had been both healer and coavenger when Sailor had fallen ill to the Celebrity Virus, then had brought justice to its perpetrator—since the plague’s spread had been intentional. Alessande knew what she was doing when it came to dealing with the world’s—and the Otherworld’s—evils.

So she really didn’t understand why Brodie was so upset with her. Brodie knew her, knew she was capable of handling herself when the going got tough. As for the vampire cop—well, he was a vampire, and she didn’t expect a hell of a lot out of any vampire.

“Honestly, I knew what I was doing,” Alessande insisted.

Jonquil barked as if in agreement.

“This is the kind of situation the police need to handle,” Sailor said.

“The police? Oh, Sailor, come on. We both know that, in situations where Others are involved, the police are all but helpless.”

“That’s why Others are encouraged to join law enforcement,” Sailor said. “Whether you want to believe it or not, Brodie and Mark were anything but helpless at the cemetery.”

“I don’t care,” Alessande said. “We have to be involved when it comes to our world, Sailor. You know that. And even if they did manage to arrest a number of cult members, we still don’t know who’s behind it all. Someone is at work out there doing something far more vicious than merely creating a cult, and they have to be an Other. I believe it’s either a shapeshifter or a vampire, which is why it’s not such a great thing for a vampire to be working on this. I mean, seriously, a vampire policeman is really something of an oxymoron!”

“Oh, Alessande, honestly, that isn’t true,” Sailor said. Her eyes were wide as she stared past Alessande, who swung around quickly in her seat to find Rhiannon Gryffald had arrived, standing with her hands on her hips, watching Alessande.

She winced.

No, of course it wasn’t true, and she knew it. She didn’t understand her own behavior right now—she was usually cool, collected and serene.

It was the situation.

And maybe even the fact that she had almost died, but she had to remain in denial or give up on her ultimate goal.

And now, just as she had spoken carelessly, Rhiannon had walked in.

Rhiannon Gryffald was the oldest of the three cousins, and though she had not particularly wanted to come to L.A. when her father had headed off to form the international council, she had been the first to embrace her life as a Keeper—the vampire Keeper for the Valley. And she was very much in love with Brodie.

Thankfully, Brodie was an Other—Alessande’s kind, Elven—so there was no awkwardness in trying to explain the Otherworld and Rhiannon’s role in it to him. He was a great guy and a good cop, and Alessande was fond of him—just as she was fond of the entire Gryffald family. But Rhiannon was quick, maybe too quick, to defend the basic decency of the Valley’s vampire population—and quick to take offense if they were accused of misdeeds with no proof.

“I’m sorry,” Alessande murmured.

“Vampires get a bad rap,” Rhiannon said. She tossed back a length of auburn hair. “I knocked,” she told her cousin. “I guess you didn’t hear me—over the rant.”

“Rhiannon,” Alessande said, “really, I’m sorry. It’s just that Brodie’s partner behaved as if I was some kind of idiot with no idea what I was doing.”

Rhiannon arched a brow. “You were about to be a sacrifice—if I heard correctly.”

“I would have teleported at the right time,” Alessande insisted stubbornly. “But first I would have figured out who’s behind the cult and the killings. Never mind. I’m not trying to be argumentative or cast aspersions on anyone. But this is ridiculous. When we left the police station, I agreed to come here to talk with Sailor, as my Keeper, but if no one’s going to take me seriously, then forgive me, but I really should be leaving.”

She’d come straight here—from seemingly endless hours of police paperwork. From questions that she answered as best she could when there was no true answer to some of them, or no answer she could give in the world of men. She’d been very careful, trying to be forthright without giving away any information that would make the human employees of the police department suspicious.

And worse, her car was at the impound lot. She’d had to ride with Brodie and Mark, and she was stuck here until she could ease her way out of the conversation and get someone to drive her home.

She spoke in an even tone to Rhiannon. “Forgive me. This—It’s senseless,” she said quietly. “The fact that you’re Keepers makes you responsible for dangerous situations, but it doesn’t preclude the rest of us from acting when those we care about are threatened. I really would like to just go home now, if you don’t mind.”

“Alessande,” Sailor protested gently. “We’re not attacking you—really.”

“No, I don’t mean to attack,” Rhiannon said softly. “If it seems like we are, it’s because we’re frightened—frightened for you.”

At that moment Barrie Gryffald, Keeper of the Valley shapeshifters, burst into the house. “I heard what happened! Oh, my God! Alessande—you’re all right?”

“I’m fine, Barrie, thank you,” Alessande said.

“But you set yourself up—were you able to find out anything about Regina?”

“Regina?” Rhiannon asked.

Alessande lowered her head for a moment. She looked up at Barrie and shook her head slowly. “No. I’d hoped I’d be taken wherever she might be and that…”

“And that you could save her,” Barrie finished.

“She’s innocent and young and…she disappeared two nights ago now. I’m afraid. The longer she’s missing…”

Regina Johnson was eighteen and on her own. She’d come to L.A. straight out of a foster home in San Francisco. Alessande had met her when Regina had agreed to play a minor role in a fantasy movie being filmed at a small studio run by one of Alessande’s friends. That was a negative about being Elven, at least in Alessande’s mind. Many in the Elven community flocked to L.A. because they had excellent prospects for success in the movies. Elven tended to be blond, blue-eyed, statuesque and filled with a natural charm that the camera seemed to love. Elven who didn’t work in the movies tended to work on them.

“All right, yes, I did—do—want to save her. But that’s simply part of it. Okay, most of it,” Alessande said in a rush. “But it’s not only Regina. She was just the last to disappear, so there’s still hope for her. And I feel so bad for her. Growing up, she didn’t even know that she was Elven, didn’t know that there was a whole community of Others just like her, that she was normal…and she comes here, settles in, starts to work—and disappears.”

“You felt bad for an orphan because you were orphaned, weren’t you?” Sailor said.

“Yes,” Alessande admitted. Her situation hadn’t been quite as bad. She had never known her own father, but she had a brother two years younger from her mother’s second marriage; his father and their mother had been with them until dying in an accident when Alessande was seven and Conner five. After that they had been adopted by Elven parents and had grown up in a family where they were loved and understood. That had been back in Northern Scotland, many years ago. Her brother was still dear to her, but he’d remained behind in the Old World when she’d left in the middle of World War II, unable to stay behind after the love of her life had been killed during the invasion of Normandy. She loved her brother dearly, and one of them traveled back and forth every few years to visit. Her adoptive parents were still overseas as well, having chosen to retire to Cork, in Ireland. She saw them as often as she could.

Regina had not had the benefit of a brother or loving adoptive parents. She’d thought there was something seriously wrong with her for most of her life. Alessande had met her soon after she’d discovered what she was and had wanted to make the world right for her.

Then…

Then she’d been kidnapped—right when being kidnapped seemed to mean showing up dead just a few weeks later.

“The point is,” Alessande said, “Regina was the third young woman to disappear—and the other two were apparently held somewhere for weeks before they were dumped.”

“We all understand trying to save a friend,” Barrie said. She walked over to the sofa in front of the fire and took a seat, looking around Castle House as if she were assessing it—as if she’d never been in it before. Like the guest cottages, Castle House was eclectic, filled with old charm and curios.

The houses seemed to suit the unique personalities of the three women. Castle House boasted carved-wood details, and Alessande loved it. Her own cabin was built of wood, which was always comforting to her, and from it, she drew her strength.

Barrie was apparently trying to figure out where to start. A reporter, she was up on the news almost as it happened. “It’s true,” she said now, looking over at Rhiannon. “Leesa Adair disappeared six weeks ago. Her body was found two weeks later and—” she paused, wincing “—and the medical examiner said that she’d only been dead a day or two. Judith Belgrave disappeared four weeks ago, and her body was found just two days ago. Whoever is kidnapping these women is holding them for weeks before they wind up dead.”

Rhiannon had taken a seat on one of the overstuffed armchairs by the sofa, and now she looked from Alessande to Barrie. “But though they bled out, they were not truly drained. If a vampire were behind this, I guarantee you—a rogue vampire wouldn’t waste a murder. Those girls would have not had one drop in their bodies.”

Alessande winced. “I hate to say this, but usually when something involves magic and illusion—like this Sebastian Hildegard cult—shapeshifters are involved.”

“Naturally I’ve thought about that,” Barrie said quietly.

“Let’s back up a minute,” Rhiannon said, turning to Alessande. “Exactly how did you almost become a sacrifice to Sebastian Hildegard? Brodie and Mark were out at the cemetery earlier because an anonymous tipster had called and said that they suspected a ‘cult meeting with murderous intent’ would occur there at midnight. But what made you think that the cult was connected to the dead women and Regina’s disappearance?”

“And how on earth did you arrange to get yourself taken?” Sailor demanded.

“And why, if they were holding the other women before killing them, did they decide to sacrifice you so quickly?” Barrie asked.

Alessande looked from one cousin to another.

“I read the news stories about the other women who were kidnapped and traced their routes—and I knew where Regina had gone the day she disappeared,” Alessande explained. “She had just gotten a job at the House of Illusion when—”

Sailor interrupted her with a tone of anger and impatience. “There’s been trouble there before,” she said. “But you know I work there, right?”

“Yes, I know that,” Alessande said.

“Between waitressing and performing there, I would have known if the House of Illusion was the last place those women were seen,” Sailor said.

“It wasn’t the last place they were seen,” Alessande continued. “But both dead women and Regina were there within two days of their disappearances. Nearby is an old studio—”

“I know it!” Sailor said, her voice growing anxious. “It was owned by the Hildegard family. It closed down thirty years ago and the land has been the center of a legal dispute between the city and the heirs for years now.”

“I know,” Alessande said.

“That studio is surrounded by a seven-foot wall,” Rhiannon said.

“And it’s right by a coffee shop and a gas station and a convenience store,” Alessande pointed out. “Regina called me the afternoon she disappeared. She was going to stop to get gas on her way home from the House of Illusion. And both of the other women had bought gas the day they went missing, too. Their cars were found with the tanks full.”

“How do you know that?” Sailor asked her.

“I went by the police impound,” Alessande said.

“And they just told you that?” Rhiannon asked.

“You found an officer, flirted with him—and read his mind, didn’t you?” Barrie said.

Alessande flushed; as long as the Elven could get a person to look them straight in the eyes, yes. Teleporting and mind reading were their talents. It had been an easy matter for Alessande to learn everything she had wanted to know from the officer who had been on duty at the impound. He had been human—and blithely unaware of the Others around him.

“I didn’t do anything illegal,” Alessande said.

“I’m just annoyed that I didn’t think of it,” Barrie said.

“Okay, so let’s get this in order,” Rhiannon said. “You investigated at the House of Illusion—”

“Not really. I just watched the news reports and read their coverage. Leesa’s boyfriend said she’d gone there with friends, and Judith’s mother mentioned in an interview that her daughter had been there, too. Regina called me from the parking lot to say she’d gotten the job and was going to stop for gas on her way home…so I went to the House of Illusion, and looked around, saw the gas station and figured it made sense that they’d all filled up there. And with the old studio right next door, it just seemed logical there was a connection.”

“And it didn’t occur to you to call the police?” Rhiannon asked.

Alessande smiled. “If I’d called the police, they would have made some big-deal search, and everyone would have disappeared before anything was discovered. Plus they would need a warrant—and I didn’t.”

“There are also laws for Others,” Rhiannon said. “In fact, they’re being formalized by the international council right now. And for all of us to live as we do—with the right to the pursuit of life, liberty and happiness—we have to abide by the laws that govern us, as well.”

“I didn’t break any laws. I had dinner at the House of Illusion, watched the show, and then I bought gas and looked curiously through the gates at the old Hildegard Studio,” Alessande explained. “And…”

“And?” Rhiannon asked.

“There’s an opening in the gate where one of the bars is rusted out. So I slipped through and started to walk around.”

“And then?” Sailor asked.

“And then some jerk threw a bag over my head,” Alessande said.

“If he was human, you could have escaped,” Sailor told her.

“But I wasn’t trying to escape,” Alessande explained. “I wanted them to take me wherever they were holding Regina.”

“But I presume they didn’t,” Rhiannon said.

“I don’t know. Probably not. I think they decided to kill me right away because they caught me snooping. Anyway, there was something…something on or in the bag that knocked me out for a while. I don’t know what it was—I should have recognized the scent,” Alessande said. She was an expert in herbs and herbal remedies. “But—” she quickly defended herself “—I was awake and aware by the time we got to the cemetery. They wouldn’t have been able to sacrifice me.”

She was startled by a loud snort and quickly spun around in her chair to see that Mark and Brodie had slipped in unnoticed. She wondered how long they had been listening.

“You were pretty damned out of it when I got there,” Mark said.

She was about to reply when Brodie strode over and took up a position behind Rhiannon. “Alessande, you didn’t say all this at the station.”

“Seriously, Brodie? How could I?” she demanded.

“You could have told us that you were taken from the old Hildegard Studio,” he said.

“No! Don’t you understand? We have to get in there,” she said. “Not the police. Besides, what should I have said? That I got some of my information through Elven mind reading?”

“Your sarcasm won’t change anything. What you did was dangerous,” Brodie told her.

“Please,” she said, her aggravation evident. “Life for us is dangerous—that’s why we have Keepers, and why we depend so heavily on one another. And why Elven look after Elven.”

“You’re not a Keeper,” Brodie said firmly. “And you’re certainly not a cop. So you were way out of line, doing what you did.”

“What you did, what you tried to do, was very courageous,” Rhiannon said. “But you shouldn’t have acted on your own. We’re a pretty strong group here. You’ve got four Keepers, counting Sailor’s fiancé, Declan—plus you’ve got Brodie and Barrie’s fiancé, Mick, who is an investigative reporter and shapeshifter. This…mission will involve all of us. Alessande, you’re brilliant, an ancient. You create powerful potions to heal us. You can look at the world and see the truth. You have to be careful. We can’t risk you, don’t you know that?” she asked gently.

“Rhiannon, I appreciate that,” Alessande said. “But if you recall, I was out there taking chances during the Celebrity Virus—and I will be out there now. Please. What I did was find out more than the cops. And what I am right now is really, really tired,” she said, rising. “Sailor, would you mind giving me a ride home?”

“My car is blocking yours,” Mark Valiente said to Sailor. “I can give the Elven a ride home.”

The Elven?

Alessande was speechless. The last thing she wanted to do was get in a car with the vampire cop who was behaving as if she was a schoolgirl with no sense.

But before she could protest, Sailor said, “Mark, that would be great of you. Declan will be here soon—we’re having dinner with a few of his shapeshifter friends, and it might be even more important now to see if any of them knows anything. Alessande is right up Mulholland Drive. I mean, I wouldn’t mind at all, but since you offered…”

“No problem,” Mark said. He smiled at Sailor, as if he felt real affection for her. She smiled back at him.

Great, Alessande thought. They were all just wonderful friends here. No doubt Declan Wainwright, a friend of Sailor’s long before he’d fallen in love with her, also respected Mark Valiente.

If she turned the ride down, she would only appear to be unreasonable and unpleasant.

“Thank you,” she said regally.

“I’ll get her home,” Mark said, “and then Brodie can meet me at the old Hildegard Studio and we’ll check it out.”

“I’ll go with you,” Alessande said.

Brodie protested. “What are you, Alessande? A glutton for punishment? I’ll give Mark some time to get you home, and then he and I—and only he and I—will look around the studio. I understand what you’re saying about the police, but Mark and I are not your usual cops.”

Did it matter, she wondered, if she were there, so long as Brodie and Mark could help, if needed, while searching the place? She couldn’t avoid feeling, however, that she had done the work; she was the one with the passion to save a life—and they were just taking over.

She determined not to waste time and energy arguing anymore.

“They took me yesterday—they meant me to be a sacrifice. But you—and they—underestimated my abilities. I would have gotten out. The thing is, I believe Regina was meant to die last night before they caught me snooping around. That means she’s probably still alive. But for how long? We have to find her.”

“We’ll search the old studio thoroughly, Alessande,” Brodie promised her. “If she’s there, we’ll find her.”

“I doubt she’s being held there any longer,” Alessande said.

“Then we’ll find the clues that will lead us to where she is being held. Not to mention that we arrested several people at the mausoleum,” Brodie said.

“You already interrogated them for hours,” Alessande said. “I know, because you kept me sitting there the whole time. Luckily I had some of your human colleagues to…talk to. Let’s see, the tall ‘dude’ from Texas, along with his sister and girlfriend, claim to have met a man in a coffee shop who told them about a really cool role-playing ghost tour. Yeah, they were a lot of help. Then there was the junkie who didn’t even know he’d been there. And last, the college student who had come to take photographs for the college paper to use for an article on old Hollywood. They were a lot of help.”

“Someone has to know something,” Mark said.

“You arrested five human beings. I doubt a human being is running things,” Alessande told him.

“True enough. But right now we’re looking for Regina,” Mark replied. “And we’re in a better position to do that than anyone else, even you, Alessande. You’re not a one-woman army. We can help, so let us.”

“All of us can help,” Rhiannon told her.

“Help? The way you talk, only the police and Keepers are any use. Those of us who aren’t part of those groups need to be good little Others and stay out of the way.”

“Alessande, be reasonable. We need to act fast if we’re going to break this case,” Sailor said. “We need to bring all of the councils up to speed, make everyone in our community aware of what’s going on, since it seems as if at least one rogue Other is involved.”

We know that Others are involved, Alessande thought. She opened her mouth to say so, but Mark beat her to it.

“Sailor, Barrie, I believe that shapeshifters are involved and—”

Barrie interrupted him with a weary groan.

“And,” Mark repeated, “perhaps vampires. I didn’t see any Elven other than Alessande—though the Others in the congregation managed to disappear pretty quickly, and God knows a seasoned Elven can teleport in the blink of an eye. But I think it’s possible that there’s a conspiracy among those Others who resent the fact that the international council of Keepers is now working on establishing a universal legal code.”

“We’ll have to get in contact with the rest of the L.A.–area Keepers about this,” Rhiannon said. “And we’ll have to call our own councils to discuss the matter. Someone out there somewhere knows something. We just have to find out who.”

“And anyone who’s not equipped or trained to deal with criminal activity needs to stay out of it,” Mark said, turning to look at Alessande.

She fought hard to control her temper.

Maybe it didn’t help that he was so tall. As an Elven, she stood eye to eye with most men, but not him. Valiente was six foot four or so. He probably made a good cop. He was muscular and imposing, with ink-dark hair and the yellow-gold eyes that were frequently found among his kind, plus many striking features.

The better to terrify jaywalkers, she couldn’t help but think.

“Shall we?” he offered.

She walked to the door and paused before turning back. “Brodie, if you and Mark are both going to the old studio, who’s going to continue interrogating the humans you brought to the station?”

“Brodie already questioned them while you and I were speaking with the lieutenant,” Mark told her. “Besides, you’re the one who just said that they were basically worthless as sources of information.”

“I know I did, but…didn’t you learn anything? I couldn’t hear everything that they were saying to Brodie,” she said.

“Strange, it sounded like you did,” Mark said casually.

“Most of them thought it was a show, something to amuse the tourists,” Brodie explained. “The junkie said he thought he’d joined up with a religious group performing a ritual. Only thing he heard that impressed me was that he thinks they believed they could bring Sebastian Hildegard back to life—that he’s a new messiah.”

“And he thought nothing of an ostensibly unconscious woman lying on top of a sarcophagus?” Alessande asked.

“He thought you were part of the group, that you were just there to greet Sebastian when he came back to life,” Brodie told her. “He thought the knives were merely symbolic.”

“But—”

“We can’t prove that he or any of them knew you were kidnapped. They all seemed to believe that you were a volunteer, part of the ritual, the show, the tour—whatever they had stumbled into,” Brodie said quietly.

Mark sighed. “We don’t even have enough evidence to hold them for more than twenty-four hours. One guy threatened to sue the department for breaching his civil rights. Says even if he stumbled into something he knew nothing about, everyone is entitled to religious freedom. At least we interrupted the really bad guys tonight. Being Others, they were a lot more powerful and dangerous than the people we’ve got in custody. The sect, or whatever it is, is going to be regrouping.”

They were getting nowhere, Alessande realized, and continued on toward the door. She turned once more, looking back at the Gryffald cousins. “Thank you,” she told them.

With all the dignity she could muster, she stood by the door and waited for Mark. All she had to do now was keep a civil tongue until the vampire cop got her home so she could sleep for a while and forget the trauma—and the failure—of that night.

She had to admit, she was exhausted.

Mark Valiente joined her at the door, led her out and pointed to the vintage Mustang in the driveway. She already knew it was his car, although she had made the drive from the police station to the House of the Rising Sun with Brodie.

“Pretty nice car for a cop,” she said, then wanted to bite her tongue. Be civil, she chastised herself.

He shrugged. “It moves when it needs to,” he assured her, then grinned. “It’s actually my work car—came out of a police auction.”

The car didn’t have much of a backseat, but the front seats were comfortable and afforded a lot of space for long legs. Alessande slid in quickly, before he could hold much less open the door for her, though she didn’t know if he would have tried to or not.

They were both silent as he headed down the driveway, waited as the gate opened and eased out onto the road. It was dusk. The air was growing cooler, and the sun was falling in the western sky. The sunset was beautiful, shades of purple and orange slowly disappearing in the encroaching darkness. She couldn’t believe how late it had gotten, but they’d been at the police station for what had seemed like forever after the raid at the tomb, and then they’d been at the House of the Rising Sun for a while, too.

Alessande turned, looking at him, and said at last, “What about the bad guys? Do you think they’ll kill Regina out of anger over what happened—whether to get even with us or as a warning?”

“I don’t think that Regina is in any more danger than she has been. She’s Elven, young and very beautiful. I imagine they want her for something important,” Mark responded. He glanced her way. “As an ancient, you should be able to tell me. Do you know anything firsthand about Sebastian Hildegard?”

There it was—that damned age reference again. “I was in Scotland at the time,” she said haughtily. “What about you, vampire? How the hell old are you? Weren’t you around at the time?”

He smiled grimly. “I was living in New York City back then. And,” he said, assessing her, “what are you really? About eighty?”

“One hundred six.”

“I was born soon after the American Civil War. I suppose I do have you by a few years. My family didn’t come out to California until the 1970s. We moved around a lot before that. You know, you can’t stay anywhere long when you don’t age.”

Alessande started to open her mouth as they were driving along the steep winding trail of Mulholland Drive, but something slammed down on the roof of the car—as if hit by the Hand of God. The Mustang veered wildly toward the edge of the cliff, teetering dangerously toward the chasm that plunged hundreds of feet to the ground—and certain death.

Chapter 2

Mark prided himself on being alert and wary of danger at all times, but the thunderous attack on the Mustang had taken him completely by surprise.

He gripped the wheel in a death lock and swung the car around, barely saving them from a fatal fall into the canyon below. As he jerked the car to a halt, he knew that something evil was out there with them on the road where the houses were few, far between and built into the cliff at all angles.

He looked over at Alessande; to her credit, she hadn’t screamed, didn’t seem to be in a panic and was staring at him as if ready to follow his lead.

“Go,” he told her softly. “Teleport, but not home. Go back to the House of the Rising Sun.”

“I can help—”

“Please…go. I think they’re after you.”

She didn’t need to ask him why he had told her to return to the Gryffald estate. They both knew that teleporting took a vast amount of energy, and that she would be in a weakened state once she reached her goal, so the best place to be was among friends with supernatural strengths of their own.

He got a good look at her in the split second when she nodded before teleporting.

She really was stunning. Of course the Elven came that way. But her face was as perfect as a fairy-tale princess, her eyes as deep and mercurial and enchanting as the sea, and the spun white-gold of her hair framed her classic features.

Then she was gone.

And when he looked up, a giant eagle was ripping the roof off his car.

Shapeshifter!

At least Alessande had listened to him; she was gone, and she would be safe.

As the top of his car went flying over the canyon, Mark leaped out. He was excellent at transformation himself; in an instant he was airborne in the guise of a vampire bat. After a few seconds of intense concentration, he had increased his own size to that of the eagle. Flying ever upward, he avoided the sharp talons of his foe. Soaring above the gargantuan bird, he dive-bombed and caught the thing at the back of the neck, careful to hold it without inflicting a crucial bite.

But even as he did his best not to kill it, he rued his own stupidity in getting this close to an Other with this size and power.

It must have taken a lot for the shapeshifter to become such a mammoth creature, but it hadn’t been the end of the shifter’s strength. Now the thing turned into a gnat and slipped easily out of Mark’s grasp.

Swearing, he concentrated on his own body, shrinking, then changing back into his human form. He stood next to his car, staring with disgust at the ruined vehicle.

He’d lost his attacker.

And he’d lost his car. Materialistic and shallow as it might be, he had loved that car.

He swore, dug his cell phone out of his pocket and called Brodie. “Did Alessande make it back all right?” he asked anxiously.

“Yes, she’s here,” Brodie told him. “She’s exhausted, though. Sailor has given her tea and gotten her up to bed. What happened? Did you catch him? Alessande said it was as if a two-ton crane smacked down on the car.”

“Shapeshifter, definitely,” Mark said. “And no, I was trying to keep it alive, so—thanks to my own stupidity—it went into gnat form and disappeared. You’re sure that Alessande is all right?”

“Yes, she’s fine. She really needs sleep. It’s a good thing she’s in exceptional shape—eats the right food, exercises, hones her skills to perfection—because the last twenty-four hours have taken a lot out of her. I’ll call impound and let them know the car needs to be towed in. I’m sure they’ll want to know what the hell happened to it. Is it fixable?”

Mark looked at his car. “No,” he said sadly. Still on the phone, he walked over to it. With an angry shove of his foot, he used his supernatural strength and sent it over the edge, crashing down into the bracken in the valley below.

“Don’t worry about the car. I got rid of it. It would have been too hard to explain. Come get me—I’m about two miles away on Mulholland—and we’ll head to the old studio, check it out, see what we can find.”

“Be there in five,” Brodie told him.

As Mark waited for Brodie’s arrival, he was worried, really worried. Someone knew that Alessande was on to something.

And that someone seriously wanted her out of the way.

“I know it’s nothing like your house, Alessande,” Sailor said apologetically as she got her friend settled. “I mean, Castle House is kind of Gothgone-bad compared to your place. But it’s safer for you to stay here.”

Alessande was comfortably stretched out on the bed in the guest room, with the cousins keeping her company. She hadn’t had much strength when she had started to teleport, already exhausted from everything she’d been through, so she’d more or less crash-landed on the Castle House stairs, startling everyone who was still there. And before Sailor had led her up here, they’d been talking about her staying for days, maybe even weeks—and they hadn’t bothered consulting her. Worst of all, Mark Valiente wasn’t even around for her to blame anything on.

“You drank enough water, right?” Sailor asked, breaking into Alessande’s thoughts.

Teleporting could dehydrate the body to a dangerous extent. Alessande had consumed nearly a gallon of water since she’d arrived.

“I’m good, thank you,” she said.

“Alessande, we believe that you’re marked for extinction,” Brodie said firmly as he stepped into the room.

She shook her head, wanting to deny the possibility. “Have you heard from Mark?” she asked. He was a jerk, but he was the jerk who had worried about her safety first. And she’d never experienced anything like the feel of being in that car when it was attacked by a ten-ton taloned something.

“I’m on my way to get him,” Brodie said. He looked at Sailor. “You all sit tight and be careful. I don’t know if they will dare to attack this place, or if they’ve exhausted their resources for another night.”

Barrie, sitting in a chair by the window, rose. “I’ve got to call an emergency meeting of the shapeshifters. I know it’s a rogue individual or group behind this—most of my Others would be horrified by what’s happening.”

Rhiannon, rising from the foot of the bed, set a hand on Barrie’s shoulder. “Barrie, don’t take this on as if the weight of the world is yours and yours alone. We all know that Others, no matter what their race, are just like people. Most are law abiding and want nothing more than to lead good lives with decent people around them. No one is going to think that all shapeshifters are bad. We know better in this day and age.”

“And,” Declan said, walking into the room, “no meeting tonight, Barrie.” He walked over to stand behind Sailor, setting his hands on her shoulders. “I just talked to Mark. He wants people here, keeping Alessande safe tonight. I’ll stay with the women. Brodie, you and Mark can rest assured that everyone here will be protected while you check out the studio.”

“What about the Snake Pit?” Barrie asked Declan.

Declan owned one of the hottest nightspots in the city. It was very popular with the Others, especially vampires. Since Declan was a shapeshifter Keeper, they often stayed to enjoy it after-hours, when only Others were welcome. But the rest of the time both locals and tourists were free to enjoy themselves there. Declan had a talent for getting the next up-and-coming bands to play, and Rhiannon, who was a singer as well as a Keeper, performed there regularly. She also performed at the Mystic Café, where her boss was a werewolf Keeper.

“The Snake Pit can survive one night without me,” Declan said firmly.

Jonquil was waiting at the foot of the bed. He barked as if to reaffirm Declan’s statement.

“I’ll follow you down in a minute and lock the door behind you,” Sailor said. “The compound will be safe. Jonquil knows better than any alarm when someone gets near Castle House.”

“Don’t forget Wizard,” Rhiannon said. “He guards the grounds like a hellhound. We’ll be all right.”

Wizard did look like a hellhound, Alessande reflected. He was a mix of Scottish deerhound and something else humongous. If anyone even looked cross-eyed at Rhiannon, Wizard would take them down in a heartbeat.

Rhiannon left the room, presumably to give Wizard his instructions, and Barrie rose, as well. “Get some rest,” she told Alessande. “I’m going online to read the news reports and try to get a better grip on this.”

Sailor patted Alessande’s pillow. “Can I get you anything else?” she asked.

“I have tea and a lovely bed, and I’m being protected by some of the finest women in L.A., a ghost and two ferocious dogs. I feel like a hothouse flower,” Alessande admitted.

Sailor grinned. “Uncomfortable for you, I know. But even Achilles had his damned heel. I learned—with a lot of help from you—to handle responsibility and be brave. Now, from me, you can learn to trust in others and let them be your strength sometimes.”

Alessande smiled and nodded. “Okay. I think I’ll try to sleep. That teleporting thing is…draining.”

It was. Sailor left her, telling Jonquil to stay and stand watch, and Alessande found herself falling almost instantly to sleep.

It was strange, though. She was asleep, yet she still seemed to be aware of her surroundings. At first she knew that she was in bed in the guest room at Castle House. But then the bed seemed to grow hard beneath her, and the dust motes dancing in the air turned into a mixture of ash and fog.

She could hear music, something from an old movie she had caught on cable. She couldn’t quite place it, though—and then she did. It was from Franco Zeffirelli’s version of Romeo and Juliet.

There was movement all around her. She wanted to rise and see what was going on, but she couldn’t. Something was weighing her down, refusing to let her up.

The music was beautiful, and she tried to open her eyes. She managed to raise her lids far enough to see that she seemed to be in a church. There was a wedding going on, she thought. The Gryffald cousins were there, standing around where she lay. Handsome men in tuxes were seating the guests, and she saw that Father Gunderson—an Elven himself—was ready to officiate at the ceremony.

She couldn’t turn her head, but she caught sight of the long white sleeve on her arm.

She was wearing a wedding dress.

It was her wedding!

But something was very wrong. She should have been walking down the aisle, not lying on the altar. And everyone was beginning to scream in horror and shout to one another. And above all the noise, she could hear one voice.

It was the vampire cop. Mark Valiente. And he was screaming her name as if…as if he thought that if he shouted loudly enough he could wake her and save her from the horror that was about to take place.

Warned by his shouting, she realized that she had to break free from whatever was holding her there, frozen to the altar. She managed to turn her head and saw the red velvet runner than stretched from the altar to the door. Except that it wasn’t a runner. It was a river of blood.

She jerked herself awake. She was in the guest bedroom at Castle House. She’d had a nightmare and nothing more.

It was night, and she was safe… . She closed her eyes again.

She could hear the cousins and Declan Wainwright talking downstairs. They were joined by another male voice: Mick Townsend, Barrie’s love—and a shapeshifter.

Shapeshifters, vampires…Were more of the Other races involved in the evil, as well? Leprechauns, gnomes, weres?

Elven?

No, she couldn’t believe that the male Elven population would ever accept the sacrifice of Elven women. Her own people couldn’t be involved.

She hadn’t realized that she was prejudiced before all this began, but the truth was, she did think of her kind as more ethical, far less violent, and…a cut above.

“Wrong,” she murmured.

The truth was that Elven could be involved; she had to acknowledge that. Evil was evil—and it came in all guises.

Just as good came in all forms. She had to accept help and be grateful—and learn not to judge.

Jonquil whined and licked her fingers. “Good dog,” she told him.

She lay there, knowing that she desperately needed rest, but she was afraid to sleep again, afraid of her dreams. She was tempted to run downstairs so that she could be with people.

Jonquil whined softly again. He nudged her hand and wagged his tail.

The dog was with her, standing guard so closely, she dared to shut her eyes again.

And when she slept next, it was deeply.

Mark and Brodie pulled up two blocks from the old Hildegard Studio.

They weren’t there on official police business. Alessande had been right about one thing: to be official, they would need a search warrant. They didn’t have that kind of time.

They went through the hole in the gate that Alessande had told them about, rather than using their powers. Mark was only at half strength, having used up his reserves becoming a giant bat earlier. And it would just be a waste of energy he might need later should Brodie need to teleport and Mark make one more transformation into a bat.

There were five long soundstages that comprised the studio. Abandoned and neglected, they were dark and dangerous. Brodie had come prepared with large flashlights so they could see their way around.

They went cautiously and methodically from one stage to the next. The first three were empty, and it didn’t appear that anyone had been there for years. Cameras, lighting, sets, props—nothing remained.

The fourth soundstage was different.

The last thing filmed in it might well have been during the 1940s. Huge old cameras stood sentinel, along with recording equipment that could have housed elephants. Two sets remained; one was a cemetery at night. Walking around it, they found cardboard headstones, rubber hatchets and plastic guns and knives. There were fake corpses sticking out of graves—most of them truly rotting by this point.

Brodie found a film marker. “It was called The Awakening of Dr. Evil. A classic, I’m sure. Did you ever see it?”

“Can’t say that I caught it,” Mark told him.

The second set was equally sad—like something lost in time. It was also filthy and decaying. “I’m surprised all this wasn’t broken down, like on the other soundstages. With the cost of things these days, I would think someone would snap this place up and start a new studio. Everything here is outdated,” Brodie said.

“Yeah, but…just the real estate.”

“True,” Brodie agreed.

“I wonder if the dead women were ever here, or whether the killer—or killers—hid here, sneaking out to snatch the women as they passed by,” Mark said thoughtfully.

“Doesn’t seem that we’ve found anything to give us that answer yet,” Brodie said.

“Anyway, we have one more soundstage to go,” Mark reminded him.

They headed to the fifth building.

Like the fourth, it had not been completely stripped. This set looked as if it had been meant for a Victorian-era film. The facades of houses decorated with gingerbread porches and window trim stood to one side, while the other half of the soundstage had been dressed to resemble a series of businesses from the same time period. One of them had a huge sign that read Wax Works! Enter if Ye Dare!

“Hildegard seems to have been doing a lot of horror movies,” Brodie commented.

“Maybe he was living a horror movie,” Mark said. “I don’t really know anything about him, other than that he was a famous magician.”

“He booked himself as ‘Sebastian the Magnificent,’” Brodie said. “I remember one of my dad’s old friends talking about him one night when my father first took me to the House of Illusion. He was good—today he’d be all over TV, I imagine. But Sebastian also loved movies—making them, that is—and I imagine that’s why he founded the studio. But onstage, he was pretty amazing.” He paused and looked at Mark. “He liked to tell the crowds that he could even defy death.”

“As far as I know, he’s been buried for years,” Mark said.

“Has been buried…”

“Apparently now someone wants to see if the illusionist really can defy death,” Mark said.

“So—do we start with the Hildegard family?” Brodie asked.

“As good a place as any,” Mark said. He walked over to the wax works, aiming his flashlight as he went.

Behind the facade he saw a love seat with a script on it. Moving closer, he noticed that there was no dust on the wood or upholstery—or the end table next to it.

He slipped on a latex glove and picked up the script. He flipped it over to read the title aloud. “Death in the Bowery, by Greg Swayze.” It was new, by an up-and-coming scriptwriter whose name Mark thought he recognized. He looked up as Brodie joined him. “Someone’s been here,” he said. “Could be Swayze himself, or maybe someone else with access to his script.”

“Is he an Other? I don’t know the name,” Brodie said.

“He’s fairly new to L.A. I don’t know—we can ask the women if they’ve heard about him. Sailor’s in the business, so she might know,” Mark said.

L.A. was a hard place to be a Keeper, he reflected. Someone was always shooting a horror movie somewhere in town, and that made it very difficult to discern the real from the feigned.

Truth from illusion.

“Just because the guy’s screenplay is here doesn’t make him guilty. One or both of the dead women might have been an aspiring actress. They could have been given a copy to read, and they might even have been lured here on the pretext of an audition,” Brodie said.

“Newcomers to the area—yeah, they might have been here for the Hollywood dream,” Mark said. “We could go back to the station and find out about our murder victims, and then have a visit with the reigning Hildegard.” He grimaced. “Ah, hell. I forgot that I have to go in and do paperwork over the car incident.”

“I reported that someone drove you off the road, and that you barely escaped with your life,” Brodie told him. “I bought us the time to do this, but, yeah—the lieutenant is going to want a report.”

“Paperwork,” Mark groaned.

“Happens to the best of us,” Brodie said. “Let’s head on out. We didn’t find anyone—but so far no one has found us, either.”

Alessande awoke to the gentle touch of a hand on her shoulder. She expected Sailor or Rhiannon or Barrie. She jerked when she saw the face of an elderly man.

Merlin!

“I’m so, so sorry, my dear. I didn’t mean to startle you. You were whimpering in your sleep. I knocked, but you didn’t answer, so…But I didn’t wish to scare you.”

Merlin was an extremely polite ghost. He’d been a lovely man in life, and he was a lovely man in death.

Without being an Other, he’d been a spectacular magician.

“It’s okay, Merlin,” she said quickly. “You just surprised me. I was whimpering? I had no idea. I thought I was out like a light.”

“The mind is a mysterious machine, my dear,” he said. “May I?” he asked, indicating the chair near the window.

“Of course.”

Merlin was a talented ghost. He’d learned to use his ectoplasmic strength to great effect. He drew the chair over to her bedside and sat. “I’ve just heard about the events at the Hildegard tomb.”

She winced. “Merlin, I’ve listened to a dozen lectures already.”

“Oh, I’m not here to lecture you, Alessande.”

“Thank you.”

“I’m here to warn you,” he said gravely.

“About?”

“Sebastian Hildegard,” he said.

She frowned at that. “Sebastian Hildegard must be pretty well decayed by now—even if he was embalmed. Dead and buried, as they say. It’s his heirs—or whoever is using his tomb—that we need to fear.”

Merlin shook his head. She smiled, watching him. He was white-headed and distinguished; he would have made the perfect grandfather.

“No, you don’t understand. I knew Sebastian Hildegard. He wasn’t just an illusionist and a shapeshifter—he was a man dedicated to achieving immortality.”

“But he’s dead.”

He shook his head at her naïveté. “Perhaps he can be resurrected. He certainly thought so.”

Alessande chose her words carefully. “Merlin, we’re all aware of the different powers we have, but even vampires can die. And shapeshifters don’t have the life span that vampires do. Shapeshifters die.”

“Sebastian did die,” Merlin said. “Look, I know this is hard to believe, but it’s true. Sebastian was into the occult—he studied ancient texts from dawn to dusk. I believe that part of him is still…is still in the atmosphere. Caught somewhere in time and space. And I believe that this cult intends to use the deaths of more young women to bring him back to life.”

“Merlin, I just can’t believe that’s possible,” Alessande said.

“Does it really matter if it’s possible so long as people believe it’s possible?”

Alessande murmured, “I guess not. So we should start by talking with his heirs, right?”

Merlin wagged a finger at her. “Not you, my dear. The police. The police need to start with the family.”

“Merlin…”

“Alessande, you’ve angered the wrong people. You need to stay safe.”

“I can’t sit around when a girl is missing.”

“You feel sorry for her,” Merlin said. “And it makes you feel that you need to get involved. Forgive me—I have been eavesdropping. I know what you did.”

“I really am capable, Merlin. I just wanted to see who was behind the mask before I acted. If I could have gotten to the truth, I—”

“What truth, Alessande? You’re dealing with shapeshifters. You could have seen anyone—a young mother. A politician. A—”

She shook her head. “Under the mask and cowl, the leader was showing his—or her—true face. I’m sure of it.”

“Maybe. And maybe not. He—or she—got away, right?”

“So you suggest that I just sit here and do nothing?”

“Yes.”

Alessande sat up. “Merlin, I don’t intend to endanger anyone else, but I won’t just sit here. When the Celebrity Virus went around, every single Elven out there was susceptible—and the only way to stop it was to go out and do something. I won’t spend the rest of my life being afraid.”

She was startled to see that he was leaning away from her in his chair and staring at her strangely.

“What?” she demanded.

“You, uh, you’ve changed,” he told her.

“What are you talking about?” she asked sharply.

He indicated the mirror. She hopped from the bed and walked over to the guest room’s full-length swivel mirror…

…where she stared at her own reflection and gasped softly.

Chapter 3

Mark Valiente figured they were incredibly lucky that Bryce Edwards, a very, very old werewolf, had been transferred over to become their lieutenant in the robbery homicide division. He’d been in Vice for many years, but after some of the recent disturbances in the Otherworld, he’d finessed a transfer.

They didn’t take long at the station. They explained what had happened, and Bryce put in a requisition for Mark to get another car.

“I’d been expecting you earlier,” Lieutenant Edwards told them. The werewolf looked like someone’s grandfather or a lean, beardless version of Santa Claus. But he was sharp, and he was in the right position, because he knew the law, people—and Others—through and through. “But now I see what caused the delay.” He studied Mark. “Pretty lucky you were able to fight him off. Were you seen?”

“The good thing is, if we were and someone called it in, 911 would just chalk it up to a movie being filmed or an overdose of something at a Hollywood party,” Mark told him. “Why? Any wacky calls to the station?”

“No, except for the one I’m about to get to—which wasn’t wacky, just preemptive,” Edwards said. He slid over a piece of paper. “Alan Hildegard called—he’s representing his kin. Naturally he was extremely disturbed to hear that his family’s vault was used by ‘such maniacs’ for their evil purposes. He wants to cooperate with the police in any and every way possible in regard to shutting down this occult group dedicated to raising his great-grandfather from the grave.”

“Alan Hildegard,” Mark mused. “He’s running the family interests now? Aren’t there several brothers, sisters and cousins?”

Edwards shrugged. “Alan is the self-professed head of the family. The oldest son of the oldest son or whatever. He owns the estate. I think one of the sisters lives there, too, and maybe their cousin. I thanked him for his cooperation and told him you were on your way or would be soon. He’s expecting you.”

“Lieutenant,” Mark said, “we found a screenplay on one of the old soundstages—a new screenplay. We’re going to go and see the author, Greg Swayze— because who knows what it was doing there. He could be involved. At the very least, maybe he has some insight. Additionally, now that it’s been confirmed that Others are involved, we’d like to take over as lead detectives on the murders of Leesa Adair and Judith Belgrave.” He leaned forward. “The media has speculated about a serial killer, of course, but we—the police—haven’t made an official statement. However, with what we know now…it seems that these deaths were at the hand of the same killer or killers. There’s a young Elven woman missing still, and we’re racing against time, hoping to find her before it’s too late. Were Adair and Belgrave here for the Hollywood dream? Would they have been actively auditioning? We need to know this stuff, and it will be a lot easier if they’re our cases.”

“Way ahead of you.” Edwards picked up two files from his desk and opened one. “Leesa Adair, twentynine, graduate of Carnegie Mellon’s theater school.” He flipped open the other folder. “Judith Belgrave was a waitress in Ramsay, New Jersey, before picking up and heading out here. Hang on, let me check the family interviews… .” He skimmed through the file and then looked up at them. “She told her sister she planned on being discovered. Said that in acting, a degree was a bunch of bull—you could act or not, and if you got the break, you could learn while doing. The camera would like you or it wouldn’t. So, yes, it seems that both girls were here following the age-old Hollywood dream.”

“And,” Brodie said, “Regina and Alessande met on a film set, so—”

“So someone seems to be targeting actresses,” Edwards said. “But things aren’t always what they seem,” he warned them. “The percentages of actresses out here is sky-high. Every waitress you meet is an actress—along with every female bartender and half the hotel clerks.”

“Yes, but the women’s descriptions…” Mark said, remembering the briefing they’d all received on the cases. “Tall, blonde and blueor green-eyed.”

Elven or Elven-looking actresses.

“All right, well…I’ll speak with Harvey Olstein and Myra McQueen, and get both cases transferred over to you. I don’t think they’ll mind. They’ve got plenty of other cases on their plates. Then I’ll call over to Missing Persons and tell them you’re pretty sure that the murders and the disappearance need to be seen as a serial event. Homicide feels they’re at a dead end as far as clues go, and Missing Persons has followed every lead, as well. No one knew about the old Hildegard Studio until you two walked in.”

“We didn’t know about it until we took Alessande to the House of the Rising Sun and got to talking,” Brodie explained.

Edwards shook his head. “And that girl was in here—being interviewed—half the night and morning!”

“In her defense, Lieutenant, I don’t think she knew the head of Robbery Homicide is an old werewolf,” Brodie said. “She wouldn’t have known to ask to speak with you.”

“Old werewolf?” Edwards demanded.

“Experienced werewolf,” Mark said quickly.

“Humph,” Edwards said. “Get going, then. Oh, and, Mark, you can pick up another car tomorrow. I’ve asked the auction guys to scrounge around for something you’ll like—can’t guarantee another vintage Mustang, though.”

Mark nodded. “Yeah, well…hey. It’s just a car, right?” He knew that Brodie was laughing at him. Too bad. He really did like vintage Mustangs.

“We’ll go to the Hildegard estate,” Brodie said.

“You’d better get this one solved quickly,” Edwards told them. He shook his head. “I hate it when Others cause trouble. So messy. Damn.” He pointed a finger at them. “Move it!”

By the time the Gryffald cousins, accompanied by Declan Wainwright and Mick Townsend, made it up to the guest room in response to Alessande’s summons, the “change” that had taken place had already diminished.

“I’m completely confused,” Barrie said. “You changed? Into what?”

“A giant! An angry giant!” Merlin exclaimed.

“Elven don’t shift,” Sailor said flatly.

“You are Elven, right?” Rhiannon demanded.

“You know I’m Elven!” Alessande said. “And I didn’t change into an angry giant.”

“Okay, so—” Barrie continued.

“Angry giant,” Merlin insisted.

“All right, I’m worried—obviously, or I wouldn’t have called you up here. I…got bigger,” Alessande admitted.

“Fat?” Sailor asked.

“No—all of me. I was about seven feet tall…and I did look a little peeved,” Alessande said.

Declan spoke softly. “Baby shapeshifters and occasionally even shapeshifter Keepers do it sometimes,” he said softly. “When they’re hungry, scared…they suddenly appear bigger. Not giant, but…bigger,” he repeated. “As infants, they can’t control their shifting.”

They were all staring at her. “I’m not a shifter! I remember my mother, and she was Elven.”

“But your father died when you were very young,” Barrie said. “Are you just as sure about him?”

“Stop staring at me, all of you. I feel like a sideshow at the circus,” Alessande said.

“If we have children,” Sailor said, looking at Declan, “they’ll be…mixed.”

“Mixed Keeper—fairly common,” Declan said.

“Who was your father?” Rhiannon asked speculatively. “If he were a shifter Keeper, that might explain why you never showed the ability until now. Think about it. Every living creature—human, Other, animal—gets a quarter of his or her DNA from each grandparent. Sometimes a brown-eyed parent and a blue-eyed parent have a blue-eyed baby, and sometimes they have a brown-eyed one. And sometimes our Otherworldly powers come out later in life,” Rhiannon said.

“She can’t be half Keeper,” Barrie said. “She’s Elven—we all know Elven when we see one. Besides, if she’d been born to be a Keeper, she’d have the birthmark,” Barrie said. “We’re all born with the mark of the race we’ll grow up to manage and whose talents we’ll share.”

“There! I have no birthmark!” Alessande said. “And I’m not stripping to prove it.”

Declan laughed. Mick, a shapeshifter himself, studied Alessande. “Half-breed,” he told her. “You must have the mark somewhere. Somewhere you don’t see.”

They all stared at her as she insisted, “Hey, I meant it. No pat downs, no body inspections.”

“Where do people never see themselves?” Rhiannon asked, looking at Barrie.

“Um, the butt?” Barrie suggested.

“Stop!” Alessande protested.

Rhiannon laughed. “I wasn’t thinking of anything quite so—well, quite so whatever. I was thinking the bottoms of the feet.”

“It wouldn’t be too intimate or personal a question if we were to ask to see the bottoms of your feet, would it?” Declan teased.

“Knock yourselves out,” Alessande said, sitting at the foot of the bed and lifting her legs.

They all stared.

And then they looked into her eyes.

“What?” Alessande cried.

“Shapeshifter,” Barrie said softly. “You may be Elven, but you were also born to be a Keeper for the shapeshifter community.”

“She’s right. It’s faint, but the mark is there,” Declan said.

They all backed away, still staring at her. “Your mother never told you that your father was a shapeshifter Keeper?” Sailor asked her.

“No! I thought it wasn’t even acceptable for Others to…well, you know, have relationships with different races of Others until just recently,” Alessande said.

“Acceptable or not, I’m sure it’s happened throughout time,” Rhiannon told them. “People have always intermingled—whether it was socially acceptable or not.”

“And,” Sailor added thoughtfully, “while we may all want to believe we’ve magically become openminded, the play Avenue Q has it right. Everyone is a little bit racist.”

Alessande winced, her lashes veiling her eyes. Yes, she admitted to herself, it was true. She herself had been down on Mark Valiente for being a vampire.

“Do you think they hid their relationship, afraid of what other…Others might think?” Barrie asked.

“My mother died when I was seven. Maybe she meant to tell me when I was older,” Alessande said. “Maybe she didn’t want me knowing—afraid of how I’d be accepted in the Elven world if I let it slip.”

“If you think about it, this is really a great thing,” Barrie said. “You have the power of the Elven and the power of shifting, too.”

“I can’t shape-shift. Whatever happened was a total accident. And that’s bad—really bad,” Alessande said.

“No, we’ll work on it. You need to practice, learn to concentrate,” Mick told her.

“You have Mick, Declan and me. We’ll help you,” Barrie assured her.

Alessande looked at them. And then the magnitude of what was happening slowly swept over her. She hadn’t known how to mind read or teleport as a small child; she’d learned from her mother and then from her stepparents. It was like learning to walk, to talk… .

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