Keeper of the Dawn

“How rude of them,” Alessande said.

“Not to that trio,” Mark said.

“Don’t judge too harshly,” Mick said, smiling. “I mean, we don’t really know them. Perhaps they’re lovely people.”

“I should know them, since they’re shapeshifters,” Barrie said. “My domain.”

“I’m pretty sure Declan only knows them because they come to the club,” Sailor said. “I’ve never met any of them.”

“And they’re joining the film crew of Death in the Bowery,” Mark said, “so there definitely is a connection.” He glanced at Barrie. “Well, you started the interviews, so you should continue.”

“I can’t just walk up to their table,” Barrie said.

“I can,” Mark told her. “Give them a minute to get settled.”

“I’d wait another minute if I were you,” Alessande said softly.

“Why?”

She indicated the doorway, where Declan was busy greeting someone else.

Greg Swayze.

“Well, this is getting interesting,” Mick murmured.

“I could become a fly and buzz on over,” Barrie suggested.

“No,” Mick told her. “They’re shapeshifters, they might suspect.”

“Only the Hildegards are shapeshifters,” Barrie argued. “If I were to settle around one of the others...”

“Mick is right. Too dangerous,” Mark said. He stood before they could argue, pretending to stretch and then notice the Hildegards.

Charlaine was looking his way. She smiled. He pretended to be startled to see her, then walked over to her table. “Hello. Nice to see you,” he said, smiling at them one by one, first Alan, followed by Brigitte—and then Charlaine.

“Detective. What a surprise to see you here,” she said.

“I come fairly often. Declan is a friend,” he explained.

“Well, of course,” Charlaine said softly, and he heard in her tone an acknowledgment that it was natural for one Other, especially a cop, to know another, especially someone with a public profile like Declan’s. “Let me introduce you to our friends. This is Katrina Manville—”

“Of course. The renowned costume designer,” Mark said.

“Pleasure. I’ve seen you here before,” Katrina said.

“And Taylor Haywood, Milly Caulfield, Greg Swayze and Tilda Lyons,” Charlaine said. “And, of course, you know my cousins Alan and Brigitte.”

“Detective Mark Valiente,” Alan said, introducing him in return. “He’s working on that dreadful business that occurred at our family tomb,” he added, as if to explain why he would know a civil servant.

“Nice to meet you all. Actually, I’m not on duty tonight. I’m just here with a few friends who I believe know you,” Mark said, smiling at the film crew. “They’re actresses.”

“Oh?” Swayze said, looking in the direction Mark had come from, but there were people in the way, blocking his view.

“Sailor Gryffald and Alessande Salisbrooke,” Mark said. “They auditioned for a role in your new film.”

Swayze nodded. “Alessande is here? And Ms. Gryffald, of course.”

“Right over there,” Mark said.

He was surprised when Swayze stood right away. “Excuse me,” he mumbled, and was gone.

“Both of them read very well,” Haywood told Mark.

“The girl is playing a fox-trot, a real fox-trot,” Charlaine said. “I do love a fox-trot. And how often does one get the chance these days? Detective, you’re already standing. Do you dance?” she asked, a mischievous smile on her lips.

“I do, yes,” he said, offering her a hand. “And I’d be delighted if you’d join me,” he said.

Charlaine took his hand and rose, smiling sweetly. He excused them to the others and led her out to the floor.

She slid into his arms easily, holding her head and shoulders at a perfect—very lofty—angle. She seemed to savor the music like a sensual touch, allowing her head to fall back for a moment, her eyes closed. Her fingers moved on his shoulders, and then her eyes opened and she looked at him. “Lovely, Detective. Few men can dance these days. Really dance. But then, you have been around for a while, haven’t you? Long enough to remember when dancing took true finesse, and when manners and courtesy were to be admired.”

“Yes, I have been around awhile,” he said.

“Vampires tend to be so magnetic,” she murmured.

“I’m glad you think so,” he said.

“Have you made any headway, Detective? My cousins are quite distraught, you know.”

“We’re searching for the truth of the situation, Ms. Hildegard,” he said. “And I promise you, we’ll find it.”

“You suspect my family has something to do with this, don’t you?” She smiled, pursing her lips slightly. “You’re quite wrong.”

He changed the subject. “Your cousin Alan led me to believe he’d passed on filming Greg Swayze’s screenplay.”

“Oh, he did pass.”

“But given his presence here tonight, it seems he is involved with the filming?”

She smiled. “This is Hollywood, Detective. ‘Involved’ can mean so many things. Alan loved the screenplay, and though he couldn’t afford to option it himself, he made some calls to ensure that it went to a studio that would do it justice. In doing that, it seems, he has befriended Mr. Swayze. And since this is one of our favorite places, when we decided to take Greg and his associates out, this seemed like just the place to suggest.”

“I see.” He did see. Alan was still involved in the project at the heart of his murder case.

She laughed softly. “Oh, no, Detective. You don’t see at all. So,” she added softly, “you will keep investigating and...coming round, won’t you?”

“I may need your help again, yes,” he said.

“I’ll be delighted to give it.”

As she spoke, another couple swept by them.

Alessande—and Greg Swayze.

Swayze didn’t even notice them; his eyes were only on Alessande. Mark couldn’t help but feel a twinge of jealousy.

He tried to dance closer to them without Charlaine realizing his purpose, using his heightened hearing to eavesdrop.

Swayze certainly wasn’t telling Alessande any deep, dark secrets. He was waxing eloquent about the intelligence, the courage and the passion of the heroine of Death in the Bowery.

“Are you a movie buff, Detective?” Charlaine asked him.

“Not particularly.”

“But...those actresses are your friends, right?”

“Yes.”

“Keepers!” Charlaine said with a hiss.

He grinned at that. “You don’t like Keepers?”

“We don’t need Keepers,” she said. “We need rights, the right to be free to be what we are.”

“But Keeper law allows for that. It’s the very point of their existence.”

“Ah, spoken like a true vampire,” she said. “Shifters are...different.” She shrugged. “Your friend—the Elven cop. They’re the least powerful, aren’t they? The Elven. The most like human beings.”

“I like to think that we all, Others and humans, share something that binds us.”

“Oh?”