Keeper of the Dawn

to a few coproducers or executive producers or associate producers? Sometimes you get a producer credit just for providing money. Sometimes you get it because you legitimately did the work to get the money, hire the director, the rest of the crew...putting it all together,” Barrie said. “We know that Hildegard couldn’t afford to option the script himself but is still associated with the movie. Specifically, we found out that Death in the Bowery was going to require a higher budget than Blue Dove Entertainment was willing to risk on its own— despite the fact that our screenwriter is Hollywood’s current golden boy. They wanted to go with a fresh face for the heroine, but they wanted to hire a big name, the kind of name that can carry a picture, for the villain. For that kind of star power, they were going to need a big budget—plus they wanted to hire huge talent behind the scenes, like Katrina Manville to do the costumes. And the sets for a historic piece can be almost as pricey as for an action flick where you’re blowing cars up every minute.”

“So, if he was telling the truth at all,” Mark said, “Alan Hildegard was smitten by Death in the Bowery and the brilliance of the screenwriter—and the fact that his last movie made a small fortune. Alan was probably thinking that with a real box office draw and some money behind the production, they could rake in the millions. He knows that he can’t bankroll something like that on his own and the Horrific channel won’t be interested, so he puts a treatment together and goes to someone over at Blue Dove Entertainment, promising that he’ll pull together some of the money so they won’t have to shoulder the whole risk.”

“So Blue Dove gets involved,” Sailor went on. “They start the hiring process, bringing in a noted director and casting director—and probably contacting whatever name they want for the villain.”

“And,” Rhiannon theorized, “Alan now has a semiofficial reason for having and sharing the screenplay. Because he needs tall beautiful blondes to be sacrificed, he uses the screenplay to find them.”

“Maybe he makes a point of looking for them at the House of Illusion because it’s so close to the old family studio,” Alessande suggested.

“Yes, he meets them, gets the screenplay into their hands and suggests that he can help them with a reading in preparation for their auditions—they just have to meet him at the old studio,” Barrie said.

“This is definitely a decent working theory,” Mark said. “Who would want to bring back a Hildegard more than another Hildegard? And we know that the priest conducting the ceremony in that tomb was an Other. Someone who could disappear—and a shifter could easily turn into a gnat and vanish.”

“Maybe we’ll find something concrete tomorrow,” Brodie said.

“Tomorrow?” Rhiannon asked. “Where?”

Mark told her, “Because of the Jimmy connection, we’re going to get a search warrant.”

“Alan Hildegard—whether he killed Digger or not—will know what happened by morning. Won’t he expect you to show up?” Alessande asked.

“Maybe. And maybe he’ll think himself so high and mighty that nothing will stick. I’m sure he intends to disavow anything to do with Jimmy. The guy was a servant—nothing more,” Brodie said. “That’s the Hildegard way of thinking.”

Mark looked at Alessande. “I’m not sure you should have coffee with Greg Swayze tomorrow. This is getting too dangerous. You’ve been attacked twice now.”

“We’re going to have coffee at the Mystic Cafe,” she said. “I’ll be fine.”

“I’ll make sure I’m working,” Rhiannon said firmly.

“And Sailor and I can go have a coffee ourselves—not to mention the place is owned by that old werewolf Keeper Hugh Drummond,” Declan said. “We’ll keep an eye on things, Mark. I promise.”

He was pretty sure they were all amused at his overprotectiveness. He supposed it was obvious that there was something going on between him and Alessande. Had Charlaine Hildegard figured that out, too? Did it even matter to her, since she was only playing with him anyway?

Why hadn’t that gooey-eyed screenwriter figured it out yet? he wondered.

Rhiannon yawned. “Whatever’s happening tomorrow, we have to get some sleep tonight.”

“Mick and I are out of here,” Barrie said, then paused. “We’ll leave the computers here, though, and consider Castle House the command center for this...situation.”

Rhiannon was already standing, ready to walk back to Pandora’s Box.

Brodie turned to Mark. “You coming with?” he asked.

“I thought I’d hang here. Not that I don’t have tremendous faith in all the protective spells and things around the property, but I would hate to see Alessande attacked twice in one night.”

“Yeah, sure,” Brodie said, his lips twitching.

Actually, Mark realized, they all looked at one another, lips twitching. But Alessande didn’t protest.

He was staying.

* * *

It had been a long day; a painfully long day. But the minute they closed the door of the guest room, Alessande was in his arms with a warmth and need so erotic and evocative that before he knew it, he was stripping off his clothes, desperately eager to feel her naked length against him. His arousal was as acute as if he was sixteen again.

They tangled together, lay together, marveled together, as only new lovers could do. Everything was still unique, and touching her, feeling her touch, created a world of wonder. The caress of her lips running down his naked flesh was pure bliss. Hunger ripped through him in jagged streaks as she teased him with her mouth, her hands. At last they merged in a frenzy of movement, desperate and arousing, urgent, until it felt as if his blood were simmering while his heart hammered and his very being seemed about to explode. After they climaxed, he lay beside her, still feeling a sense of wonder that, even after making love, he couldn’t bear to move away from her.

Elven, he reminded himself.

“Vampire,” she said softly, offering him a small smile.

And he smiled in return, pulling her closer. “Elven,” he said.

“Vampires are known for being the most skilled and fiery lovers,” she said.

“And Elven beauty is known to mesmerize and leave those touched by it in awe,” he reminded her.

“Oh, come on,” she teased, stroking his face. “When we met, you thought I was an absolute bitch.”

“You were a little rude about having your life saved.”

“I did think I had it covered,” she said.

He chuckled and stroked her hair. “It was a life well worth saving,” he told her, a slight tremor in his voice. “And there was the oddest thing....”

“What?” she asked, rising on one elbow to search his eyes.

“I was dreaming—or daydreaming—about you right before we met.”

“Really?” she asked, then bit her lower lip and looked downward for a moment. “That’s bizarre. But...confession. I had a dream about you, too. It was wicked and erotic.”

He grinned at that, touching her face with wonder. Then he grew serious. What he had envisioned had not been good.

Her eyes widened as she watched him. “Did you dream of something...strange?”

He thought about lying to her. They were still so deep in all this. Then he decided he had to tell her the truth. “The night we saved you at the Hildegard tomb, I had dozed off earlier in the car while we waiting, and I dreamed that I was at a wedding. My wedding. I heard the music, and I saw Brodie...all kinds of people. We were in a church, and I knew that I was insanely in love, ready to get married, looking forward to getting married...and everything was beautiful. There was a red velvet runner up the aisle, leading to the altar. I looked toward the altar and there was a woman lying on it, my bride, and suddenly the runner was blood and the woman had been killed, her throat sliced....”

“And the woman was me?” she asked.

“I thought so, but...who can really tell in a daydream?”

She let out a soft, tremulous sigh, but her voice was strong. “Before...before I had my very erotic dream about you, I had the same dream you just described.”

“What?” He rose up on an elbow, facing her on the bed.

“It was terrifying.”

He pulled her back into his arms, trembling as he lay down with her again. “They were just dreams,” he