the failure—of that night.
She had to admit, she was exhausted.
Mark Valiente joined her at the door, led her out and pointed to the vintage Mustang in the driveway. She already knew it was his car, although she had made the drive from the police station to the House of the Rising Sun with Brodie.
“Pretty nice car for a cop,” she said, then wanted to bite her tongue.
He shrugged. “It moves when it needs to,” he assured her, then grinned. “It’s actually my work car—came out of a police auction.”
The car didn’t have much of a backseat, but the front seats were comfortable and afforded a lot of space for long legs. Alessande slid in quickly, before he could hold much less open the door for her, though she didn’t know if he would have tried to or not.
They were both silent as he headed down the driveway, waited as the gate opened and eased out onto the road. It was dusk. The air was growing cooler, and the sun was falling in the western sky. The sunset was beautiful, shades of purple and orange slowly disappearing in the encroaching darkness. She couldn’t believe how late it had gotten, but they’d been at the police station for what had seemed like forever after the raid at the tomb, and then they’d been at the House of the Rising Sun for a while, too.
Alessande turned, looking at him, and said at last, “What about the bad guys? Do you think they’ll kill Regina out of anger over what happened—whether to get even with us or as a warning?”
“I don’t think that Regina is in any more danger than she has been. She’s Elven, young and very beautiful. I imagine they want her for something important,” Mark responded. He glanced her way. “As an ancient, you should be able to tell me. Do you know anything firsthand about Sebastian Hildegard?”
There it was—that damned age reference again. “I was in Scotland at the time,” she said haughtily. “What about you, vampire? How the hell old are you? Weren’t you around at the time?”
He smiled grimly. “I was living in New York City back then. And,” he said, assessing her, “what are you really? About eighty?”
“One hundred six.”
“I was born soon after the American Civil War. I suppose I do have you by a few years. My family didn’t come out to California until the 1970s. We moved around a lot before that. You know, you can’t stay anywhere long when you don’t age.”
Alessande started to open her mouth as they were driving along the steep winding trail of Mulholland Drive, but something slammed down on the roof of the car—as if hit by the Hand of God. The Mustang veered wildly toward the edge of the cliff, teetering dangerously toward the chasm that plunged hundreds of feet to the ground—and certain death.
Mark prided himself on being alert and wary of danger at all times, but the thunderous attack on the Mustang had taken him completely by surprise.
He gripped the wheel in a death lock and swung the car around, barely saving them from a fatal fall into the canyon below. As he jerked the car to a halt, he knew that something evil was out there with them on the road where the houses were few, far between and built into the cliff at all angles.
He looked over at Alessande; to her credit, she hadn’t screamed, didn’t seem to be in a panic and was staring at him as if ready to follow his lead.
“Go,” he told her softly. “Teleport, but not home. Go back to the House of the Rising Sun.”
“I can help—”
“Please...go. I think they’re after you.”
She didn’t need to ask him why he had told her to return to the Gryffald estate. They both knew that teleporting took a vast amount of energy, and that she would be in a weakened state once she reached her goal, so the best place to be was among friends with supernatural strengths of their own.
He got a good look at her in the split second when she nodded before teleporting.
She really was stunning. Of course the Elven came that way. But her face was as perfect as a fairy-tale princess, her eyes as deep and mercurial and enchanting as the sea, and the spun white-gold of her hair framed her classic features.
Then she was gone.
And when he looked up, a giant eagle was ripping the roof off his car.
At least Alessande had listened to him; she was gone, and she would be safe.
As the top of his car went flying over the canyon, Mark leaped out. He was excellent at transformation himself; in an instant he was airborne in the guise of a vampire bat. After a few seconds of intense concentration, he had increased his own size to that of the eagle. Flying ever upward, he avoided the sharp talons of his foe. Soaring above the gargantuan bird, he dive-bombed and caught the thing at the back of the neck, careful to hold it without inflicting a crucial bite.
But even as he did his best not to kill it, he rued his own stupidity in getting this close to an Other with this size and power.
It must have taken a lot for the shapeshifter to become such a mammoth creature, but it hadn’t been the end of the shifter’s strength. Now the thing turned into a gnat and slipped easily out of Mark’s grasp.
Swearing, he concentrated on his own body, shrinking, then changing back into his human form. He stood next to his car, staring with disgust at the ruined vehicle.
He’d lost his attacker.
And he’d lost his car. Materialistic and shallow as it might be, he had loved that car.
He swore, dug his cell phone out of his pocket and called Brodie. “Did Alessande make it back all right?” he asked anxiously.
“Yes, she’s here,” Brodie told him. “She’s exhausted, though. Sailor has given her tea and gotten her up to bed. What happened? Did you catch him? Alessande said it was as if a two-ton crane smacked down on the car.”
“Shapeshifter, definitely,” Mark said. “And no, I was trying to keep it alive, so—thanks to my own stupidity— it went into gnat form and disappeared. You’re sure that Alessande is all right?”
“Yes, she’s fine. She really needs sleep. It’s a good thing she’s in exceptional shape—eats the right food, exercises, hones her skills to perfection—because the last twenty-four hours have taken a lot out of her. I’ll call impound and let them know the car needs to be towed in. I’m sure they’ll want to know what the hell happened to it. Is it fixable?”
Mark looked at his car. “No,” he said sadly. Still on the phone, he walked over to it. With an angry shove of his foot, he used his supernatural strength and sent it over the edge, crashing down into the bracken in the valley below.
“Don’t worry about the car. I got rid of it. It would have been too hard to explain. Come get me—I’m about two miles away on Mulholland—and we’ll head to the old studio, check it out, see what we can find.”
“Be there in five,” Brodie told him.
As Mark waited for Brodie’s arrival, he was worried, really worried. Someone knew that Alessande was on to something.
And that someone seriously wanted her out of the way.
* * *
“I know it’s nothing like your house, Alessande,” Sailor said apologetically as she got her friend settled. “I mean, Castle House is kind of Goth-gone-bad compared to your place. But it’s safer for you to stay here.”
Alessande was comfortably stretched out on the bed in the guest room, with the cousins keeping her company. She hadn’t had much strength when she had started to teleport, already exhausted from everything she’d been through, so she’d more or less crash-landed on the Castle House stairs, startling everyone who was
