Keeper of the Dawn

At the beginning, he realized, she had meant to stage a sham wedding, something to precipitate what they had seen in their visions. But the minute he had spoken, they’d both known it was real, that whatever the future held, they would face it together.

And now it was happening.

The Hildegard family—including Brigitte—would be in attendance. Death in the Bowery was well represented, too. Greg Swayze, Katrina Manville, Tilda Lyons, Milly Caulfield and Taylor Haywood had all been invited. As had Antony Brandt, Hugh Drummond and Jerry Oglethorpe, of the House of Illusion, not to mention Bryce Edwards and every Other on the police force.

Whatever danger showed, they should be covered.

It was a shame that their wedding had to be so rushed because a woman’s life was at stake. But whatever happened, the marriage would be real.

The ceremony was planned for dusk. They would make their vows just as the sun began to fall in the western sky. Since a number of human beings would be among the guests, they’d decided jokingly that they weren’t going to say anything about the hundreds of years they both hoped to live. But whether they lived ten or another ten hundred, it didn’t matter.

Mark knew that he would love her forever.

The church began to fill up. The line of parked cars extended down the hill from the building to the street. Women arrived wearing spring colors that glowed in the gentle light of the waning sun.

Alessande would be here soon, along with the Gryffald cousins. Declan had provided the women with a white stretch limo for the day.

In one of the choral rooms, with Brodie standing by as best man, Mark took a long look in the mirror. The third tux he’d been shown had been the one he’d seen himself wearing in the vision. It was old-fashioned in style, charcoal-gray, worn with a white shirt and red vest.

“This is crazy,” Brodie told him for the several-thousandth time. “You do realize you haven’t even known each other a full two weeks.”

“We have a long, long time ahead of us,” Mark told him.

“We could have tried a different strategy. I mean, for all we know the cult won’t even show up to this wedding. We’ll end up no closer to the truth, and the two of you will still have rushed into a wedding.”

But Mark shook his head. “I believe in certain truths. That the greatest ‘religion’ we can follow is that of being as decent as we can to our fellow man, standing up for those who need our help and doing the right thing when we can. As Others, we spent years segregating ourselves, and even now, no matter how well we live our lives, some will still disapprove, will refuse to accept a union between vampire and Elven, even though Alessande herself is already of mixed blood. But that’s their loss. The point is, I know I love Alessande. I know that she loves me. And this wedding is what’s supposed to happen for the two of us. As far as I’m concerned, our visions were just a warning that we have to be careful today—and you can’t be much more careful than we’re being here.”

Brodie sighed. “I hope you’re right about that. About all of it.” He walked over to the door and opened it to look into the sanctuary. “It’s filled up—wow. So much for no one coming on such short notice.”

“Are the Hildegards here? Is Brigitte between Alan and Charlaine?”

“They’re flanking her like a pair of gorgons,” Brodie assured him. He shook his head. “We know that Brigitte was part of it. And we have the rest of the movie people here, as well. If any of them are in on it, too, we could be facing real trouble.”

“And we’re prepared,” Mark assured him. He walked over to the door and looked out himself. He felt reassured by what he saw. Declan’s massive leprechaun valet, Barney, was standing at the rear of the church. All those who could make it from his station house were there, including three werewolves, two shapeshifters, another Elven and four vampires. The cops—human and Other—were all armed.

As he stood there, Father Lars came to the door. “It’s time,” he told Mark. “You need to take your places.”

“The women are here?” Brodie asked, adjusting his collar.

“They are,” Father Lars told him.

“I need to find Sailor,” Brodie said, then looked at Mark and straightened his vest. “Good luck, buddy.”

He left, and Mark followed Father Lars to take their places before the massive altar.

The organist began to play the theme from Zeffirelli’s Romeo and Juliet. Declan and Rhiannon walked down the aisle together, since their significant others were best man and maid of honor. Barrie and Mick followed them and then next came Brodie and Sailor, who took their positions up front. Finally Hugh Drummond, the Keeper of the Laurel Canyon werewolves, appeared with Alessande on his arm.

She took Mark’s breath away.

She looked like an angel, her hair a shimmering gold so pale it glowed like a crown beneath her veil. Her gown highlighted her figure and fell in classic folds. She moved with such grace that she almost appeared to be floating.

Everyone stood as she walked down the aisle. Mark had a feeling that if evil was there in the room with them, it was as smitten with the bride as everyone else appeared to be.

“Who giveth this woman?” Father Lars said, beginning the ceremony.

Hugh responded, then lifted Alessande’s veil and kissed her on the cheek. And, at last, she was standing next to Mark. For a moment, as their eyes touched, all danger and dark shadows were gone. This is real, he thought. This moment is the most real of my entire life.

As the ceremony continued, Mark wasn’t even sure that he heard the words. But as Father Lars spoke, he felt that he was in a bubble of crystalline beauty. When they were pronounced husband and wife, he kissed the bride, humbled and trembling. He realized he had been kissing his bride just a little too long when he heard Father Lars clear his throat.

Everything had gone off without a hitch. And he was a married man.

They looked at one another and took a minute just to smile. But he knew that Alessande’s smile was as careful as his.

This wasn’t over yet.

They walked down the aisle, pausing to shake a hand here and there, or receive hugs and kisses on the cheek. When they stepped out of the church, their guests pouring out behind them, not only were they pelted with rice but Jerry, a magician from way back who owned the House of Illusion, had arranged for a flight of doves to soar into the heavens in their wake.

A second white stretch limo waited to take them to the House of the Rising Sun, where the reception was to take place. But as they greeted friends and the photographer ran around, trying to gather them all up for pictures, Mark felt a sense that something had changed.

He looked toward the western sky.

The sun hadn’t quite fallen beneath the horizon yet. It was a low-lying fireball, sending streaks of orange and gold against the mountains and hills behind the church.

And as he watched, the church seemed to grow dark against that splendid explosion of color.

He realized that shadows were creeping around the church. Something dark had arisen, and it was coming toward them with slow menace.

* * *

“Alessande!”

She’d been lost in such euphoria that she’d nearly forgotten the danger of the dream—that they’d seen this day and it had been filled with darkness and blood.

But as Mark called her name in warning, she immediately remembered.

The danger promised by her dream had never been destined to arrive in the church. The church was consecrated.

As she turned, she realized that the wind had picked up with a sudden ferocity, as if a dust storm had risen from the graveyard. It burst over them with such force that she immediately heard screaming and shouting as people ran about madly trying to reach their cars and escape the whirlwind.

White and stricken, Charlaine Hildegard went rushing by. Alessande caught her arm. “Charlaine, where’s Brigitte?”

Charlaine looked like a woman in shock. She stared blankly at Alessande.