“But she’s out there—Regina is out there, somewhere,” Alessande said. “We don’t have much time left if we want to find her alive.”
Sailor set a hand on Alessande’s. “I know, but we can’t go door to door looking for her. And everyone here is exhausted.”
“But—”
“I think she’s safe right now,” Mark said. “Two nights ago in the cemetery...well, it was a fiasco, basically. It will take them several days to pull themselves back together. And we’ll all be better with rest. Especially you, Alessande. You’ve just discovered your mixed heritage, and you’ve been playing with your newfound talents. If we get ourselves killed, we’ll be of no use to Regina, so we’ve really got to get some sleep.”
Alessande nodded, accepting their wisdom. “All right.”
“Tomorrow I’ll take you to your house to get some of your own things,” Mark told her. “But until we get to the bottom of this, you’ll be safer here. We all need to stick together.”
Mick grinned. “Well, Declan, Brodie and I have already been living on the grounds—and I don’t think any of us plan on changing that.”
“Nope, not me,” Brodie said. “And like I told you, Mark, Rhiannon and I have a room for you.”
“So, it’s settled—let’s sleep,” Sailor said.
They all rose. “Hey,” Brodie said. “Everyone remember to plug in your cell phones tonight. A dead battery will not be an acceptable excuse for falling out of contact.”
Alessande spoke up. “Before we split up... Merlin and I had a conversation today. He thinks that maybe the someone who believes that Sebastian can come back to life is...Sebastian.”
“Sebastian has been buried for years,” Mark said.
“Yes,” Alessande agreed. “But Merlin thinks he’s hung around. And after all, if Merlin can stay here as a ghost, Sebastian’s...
“There’s a difference,” Mark said a little harshly. “Merlin is a ghost. He doesn’t have a solid form. Not everyone can see him. He doesn’t exist
“He was an illusionist, and a shapeshifter, and he studied the occult,” Alessande said. “We don’t know what he might be capable of.” She stared at them each in turn, hoping that at least one of them would acknowledge the validity of her words. When no one did, she quickly turned and left, heading back upstairs to her room.
* * *
Dr. Antony Brandt was a werewolf. He was also an excellent medical examiner, and the L.A. Other community was lucky to have him.
He was a senior M.E. and knew how to arrange things to get the cases he wanted to handle. He left the gang shootings and overdoses to his human coworkers and made sure to take care of any Others who came through the morgue.
He greeted Mark and Brodie in his office.
“Thank God your boss, that furry old coot of a friend of mine, put you two on this case. I’d given him a call, but it took that mess out at the Starry Night Cemetery to make him realize this had to be Other-related,” Tony told them. “So far,” he continued, “the victims have been human, but I understand that you suspect that the murderer—or murderers—has now kidnapped a young Elven woman.”
“We’re trying to find her before you’re required to perform her autopsy,” Mark said.
“Of course,” Brandt said solemnly. “So, before we go in and I show you the bodies, let me tell you what I’ve learned. Both women were young and in perfect health. They kept themselves toned—ready for whatever a role demanded. It’s a shame—a damned shame.”
“Both were blonde and blue-eyed, yes?” Mark asked.
“Like Elven women?” Brandt asked shrewdly.
Mark and Brodie both nodded.
“Yes,” Brandt said.
Mark leaned forward. “Were they starved? Did it appear that they were abused in any way? They both disappeared weeks before they turned up dead, and they had only died a short time before their bodies were discovered.”
“No, as I said, they were both in excellent shape. They were not starved, they were not bruised. They showed no signs of being tortured before they were killed by a sharp, sure slice across the neck. They exsanguinated quickly, with loss of blood being the official cause of death.”
“But there was no sign of any vampire attack?” Mark asked.
Brandt studied him. “If they were killed by a vampire or vampires, they were not killed for their blood. No one so much as sipped from them. I know how to find the marks, and neither woman had them.” He sighed. “Though I’m always worried about vampire involvement when exsanguination is the presumed cause of death, and that’s why I insisted on taking both cases.”
“Any signs that either woman fought back?” Brodie asked.
Brandt shook his head. “No sign of defensive wounds whatsoever. But—and this is very important—they both had Transymil in their blood. Of course, the lab doesn’t really know what they found. They believe the women were given something opium-based.”
Mark and Brodie looked at one another. Transymil was a potion familiar to many in the Other community, but its use wasn’t sanctioned. It was a sedative and hallucinogenic that had originated in the Transylvania region of Romania, and the plant that formed its base was difficult to grow in the United States. Conditions had to be perfect for it to survive, and even then, the drug was made from the flower, and the plant only flowered for a single week in the spring. Not that timing meant that much; once the drug was transformed into a liquid, it could retain its potency for years. Older Others frowned on its use and fretted over the younger generation using it much as human parents worried about their children becoming hooked on heroin.
“The lab technicians are reporting they don’t know what they found?” Mark asked.
“I told you—they believe it to be opium-based,” Brandt said. “And, really, does it make much difference? They think it’s been chemically altered—just as half the drugs on the street are chemically altered. God only knows what street drugs contain these days.”
True and, sadly, good for the Other community. Transymil’s existence would not be discovered.
And bad. Very bad. Because Others with a mind to perpetrate evil could carry it off more easily than humans—especially when humans couldn’t even pinpoint the cause.
“Alessande was drugged when we found her,” Brodie said. “She said that she inhaled it, that it was in or on the bag that was thrown over her head.”
“I’m guessing that’s how the killer keeps his victims under control until he’s ready to kill them,” Mark said.
Brandt stood. “Enough talking. Let’s do this.”
The morgue was huge, which made sense given the population of L.A. alone dictated that it be so.
They went into a room filled with drawers and shelves and gurneys. There was never enough space for the dead. Some came in and were simply shelved, as if they were condiments in a grocery store.
But Leesa Adair and Judith Belgrave were in the drawers, and Brandt led them first to Leesa’s body. He pulled the lever, opened the door, slid her out, and Mark was immediately filled with pity. There was something heartbreaking about the body minus the soul.
She had been beautiful as well as young. The world should have been hers to conquer. Even death couldn’t hide the fact that she’d been filled with hope and humor. Something about her face still hinted at a quick and easy smile. The signature Y-shape of an autopsy incision split perfect skin.
“Lividity is on the back,” Brandt said. “They were both killed lying down, then moved to the dump sites.”
Next they examined the earthly remains of Judith Belgrave. Like Leesa, she had been tall and blonde and beautiful. Leesa had possessed a fuller face. Judith, even in death, had classic features and gave an impression of elegance, while Leesa could easily have portrayed the girl-next-door in any film.
Judith was very much like Alessande, Mark noticed with a shiver of unease.
“Any questions I can answer for you?” Brandt asked them.
Mark slowly shook his head.
Alessande was right; they had to find Regina—before Brandt was forced to open a third drawer to show
