Keeper of the Dawn

“Nice to meet you,” Declan said. “Ladies, shall we?”

“Coffee tomorrow?” Swayze asked, looking at Alessande.

“How about noon. Do you know the Mystic Cafe?” she asked him.

“I do. I’ll see you there.”

He turned and went back to the audition room.

“A friend?” Declan asked, looking at Sailor. “A very old friend?”

She shrugged. “I didn’t tell him how old.”

“Not the point,” Declan warned.

Slipping her arm through his and leaning against his shoulder, Sailor giggled. “Don’t be jealous. I won’t be meeting him, Alessande will. I think she’ll be able to figure out what’s going on with our screenwriter—if anything even is. Don’t you?”

Declan only grunted. Behind them, Alessande felt a twinge of resentment; Declan should know that she was very adept at what she did.

“And besides,” Sailor said, “I really would like a part in that movie, and I think Alessande can make that happen for me.”

As they walked out of the building, Alessande had the curious feeling of being watched. She turned around to look, but she didn’t see anyone.

And yet she was certain that someone was observing them closely.

Chapter 7

Brigitte Hildegard was perched in the corner of one of the settees in the elegant room where they’d met before.

Alan was standing at the doorway, waiting, as the butler led Mark and Brodie in.

Charlaine Hildegard, who looked to be in her early thirties, was seated across from Brigitte. There was something about the way she sat there—in one of the high wingback chairs—that was distinctly imperial. She might be the cousin of the male heir in residence, but she was every inch the queen of her domain.

Her hair was darker than Brigitte’s, her eyes a more intense blue. Her facial structure was classic—and her attitude was arrogance personified.

Neither she nor Brigitte rose as the men came into the room. Mark felt as if they had stepped back in time to Regency England. Charlaine waited regally for them to come and pay homage to her.

They obliged.

“Detectives, this is my cousin Charlaine. If you need to know something about the Hildegard family, Charlaine is the one to ask. And she has agreed to speak with you.”

Mark refrained from clicking his heels, bowing and kissing the hand that was offered to him. He managed to grasp the hand—with its flawless manicure—and shake it. “Thank you so much for seeing us, and I apologize for the unpleasant nature of the topic we need to discuss with you, but, as I’m sure you’re aware, two women are dead, and we believe that another was meant to be sacrificed upon your great-grandfather’s tomb,” he said.

Charlaine wrinkled her nose. “This is ever so distasteful,” she said.

Yes, he thought, trying not to roll his eyes at her choice of words. Murder could be ever so distasteful.

“I do hope that you’ve found something with which to charge those people,” she added.

“At the moment, Ms. Hildegard,” Brodie said, “charges are pending.”

“At least you have the perpetrators locked up,” she said.

“I’m afraid they’re out on their own recognizance at the moment,” Brodie admitted.

“Goodness! What use are the police?” she asked.

“We believe that they don’t really understand what was going on that night,” Mark explained.

From her perch on the settee, Brigitte let out a soft groan. “Really, Detective, what was done to our family tomb, that is the real crime!”

Yes, to the Hildegard family, trespassing in their tomb might well appear to be a far greater crime than murder.

“Ms. Hildegard, according to newspaper articles of the time,” Mark said, “your great-grandfather was a student of the occult, and he himself professed a belief that he could be brought back to life.”

She smiled. “My great-grandfather was a showman, Detective. He knew how to entertain, his...dabblings in the occult made him very good at entertaining. I assure you, we aren’t hiding any ancient texts that hold the secrets to life and death—or life after death.” She smiled at him. “As a vampire, you should know far more about that than any of us.”

“I was born a vampire, Ms. Hildegard.”

“Well, of course you were. But to the best of my knowledge, only vampires can come back from death in any way, and that’s because, whether by bite or birth, their chemical makeup is different, so they’re not really dead until they have their hearts staked or their heads chopped off.” Her smiled deepened, but there was something taunting about it. “So, no, our family does not have any answers, and whatever performances my great- grandfather put on...well, they were just that. Performances. Now, as to the vandalism at my family’s tomb...you will see that something is done, correct?”

“We’ll do our best,” Mark promised.

She waved a hand in the air. Like a queen, she was dismissing them.

“Thank you so much for speaking with us,” Brodie told her.

Privately, Mark was wondering what the point of their trip had been, since she hadn’t actually told them a thing.

“Not at all,” she said. “You may, of course, call me at any time.” She looked from Brodie to Mark, where her gaze lingered, as if she were judging him.

Mark smiled. “A pleasure to have met you.”

As they left the Hildegard estate, Brodie turned to Mark and laughed. “You should ask her out. Maybe we could actually get some information from her that way.”

“What?”

“Seriously. Did you see the way she was looking at you?”

“And you know that how? Did you do some kind of Elven mind read?”

Brodie shook his head. “No. I tried, of course. Thing is, she’s an Other, and she knew she was going to meet a vampire and an Elven. She was prepared, careful not to let me make that kind of eye contact.”

“That woman is scary,” Mark said.

“Maybe, but she’s still into you,” Brodie said. He punched Mark in the shoulder. “You should take one for the team. You’re free, after all,” he said cheerfully.

Free. Yes, he was. But, oddly, he didn’t feel free. It had started with that freaky daydream at the cemetery.

And then...

Then, last night, he’d held her. Kissed her. And when he’d held her, when he’d kissed her...

No, I’m not free. I don’t know why, but I’m not. Which was ridiculous. And he should be free, because, if he wasn’t...

Again he saw the blood, running down the aisle as if it were a red velvet runner....

“We’re cops. I’m sure we can figure something else out,” he said casually. “Come on, we’ve got to get to Alessande’s house. A girl is dying. Alessande needs this lab report.”

* * *

“Transymil is actually in the hemlock family,” Alessande explained, dicing leaves to add to the potion she was making. “So you would probably treat it much the same way you would treat hemlock poisoning. Although...there’s more here than just a hemlock derivative. Okay, let’s go back to the beginning. Originally this drug was only known in the Otherworld. It comes from a plant grown solely in a small part of the world by the