“Anything,” Swayze breathed, as she sat across the table from him at the Mystic Café.
Rhiannon was working, strumming soft ballads quietly from the dais at the end of the room, while Hugh Drummond, the owner and local werewolf Keeper, kept vigil behind the counter.
Mark and Brodie were at work, but soon after she had arrived and joined Swayze at his table, Barrie and Mick had come in to buy coffee and claim a table nearby, and soon after they’d arrived, Declan had also come in with Sailor. They’d made a point of stopping by to say hello to Swayze and Alessande.
“Anything?” Alessande repeated now. “Okay...my family is originally Norse, but I was born and spent my childhood in Scotland. I love where I’m living now—I’m in the Valley—and I do a lot of gardening when I’m not working. And, frankly, I haven’t done much acting. I just love your screenplay so much—that’s why I wanted to be involved in the film somehow.”
“Thank you. Death in the Bowery is a project I’ve wanted to do for a long, long time. My folks came from New York City, so I’ve been reading about the history of the city from the time I was a child. I got the idea for the plot from reading about some gruesome murders that occurred at the time and were never solved. But the story’s not about going for the gore factor, it’s about people. It’s about overcoming prejudice. Back then there were people living in mansions the size of a full city block, while there were others eating garbage and living among the rats—desperate just to survive.”
“You’ve painted that picture perfectly with your words,” she assured him.
“And you are my ideal Jane Adams,” he told her.
“Well, honestly...I think I’d be happier with a smaller role. I love the role, but I really don’t have the experience to...” She decided not to push that point at the moment. Instead she decided to see what she could find out about the other members of the production team. “It seems as if everything’s falling into place. The director, the costume designer, even the producers...” She smiled. “Imagine having Alan Hildegard involved.”
Swayze nodded. “Believe it or not, I was as stunned as the next person when he came on board. He’d read the screenplay and loved it, but he couldn’t get backing from the Horrific channel—it’s certainly not the kind of thing they do, and they have him pretty well tied up—but they can’t control what he does with his own time and money, so the next thing I knew, he had me all set up through Blue Dove and Gnome Entertainment, and if you ask me, I think he’s got a stake in one or both of those.”
“And you wound up becoming friends with his whole family. That’s pretty cool.”
“I don’t know about being friends, exactly, but they’re all supporting the project financially as well, so—all of them have a say in casting, so it’s not as if I can make the decision anyway. Honestly, I’m lucky as hell the director is even giving me a say. The biggest problem I’m having right now is that they want a rewrite of the end.”
“A rewrite?” Alessande asked.
“They want a twist. They want the villain to win at the end—a statement on truth, Alan says.” He shook his head in amazement. “I wasn’t stupid when I signed my contract. I kept control over the material. They’re still pushing, though. Alan keeps pointing out how many serial killers have gotten away with their crimes over time. And how the victims—so many of them society’s disenfranchised, lacking someone to make a fuss when they disappear—have met their ends without being noted.”
“Oh,” Alessande said.
“Don’t worry. They can’t change it without my say-so, and so far nothing they’ve said has convinced me to give it.” He looked at her anxiously and put his hand over hers. “Will you still be on board, no matter what?”
“Of course. If the ending is rewritten, you’ll be the one to rewrite it, correct?”
“Yes—though I like it the way it is.” His hand still lingered on hers.
“I’m sure we’ll all be on board,” she said.
“‘We’?”
“Yes. My friend Sailor auditioned, too—remember?” She nodded toward the table where Sailor sat, sipping tea and talking to Declan, who was facing them. It was nice, Alessande thought, how well the group was looking after each other. It was good to feel so safe.
And yet, that thought also made her feel guilty, because she should have been there for Regina.
“Right, Sailor Gryffald,” Swayze said. “She did a great reading. And she also has the look we’re after as well, that kind of blond innocence that can cover a world of strength. And that’s the perfect description of Jane Adams. Despite the miserable circumstances of her birth and the squalor in which she’s been raised, she believes in the goodness of people. But, she’s not stupid. She knows that evil is out there—she’s seen it. Yes, Sailor would do very well in the role. Except, of course...there’s you.”
There’s me—because, for some reason, you’re obsessed with me, Alessande thought.
“You’re both going to be getting callbacks,” he went on.
“That’s great,” she said. “Thank you.”
She didn’t know how to end the conversation and leave, but she definitely thought it was time to go. After speaking with him, she was pretty sure he was entirely innocent. There was a way to make sure, of course. She was worried, though, about leading him on or appearing flirtatious.
Still, it had to be done.
She smiled and stared directly into his eyes, and concentrated on listening to the words that were in his mind rather than those he spoke.
* * *
Mark and Brodie’s first stop was the hospital, where they were able to see Chelsea Rose.
She was weak and looked as frail as the delicate rose petal her name invoked as she lay in her hospital bed.
She offered a tiny smile when she saw them. “You’re the detectives who saved my life,” she said. “Thank you.”
“We’re glad to see you awake and still here with us,” Brodie told her.
“Thank you,” she said.
It disturbed Mark to realize just how blonde and blue-eyed she was. He knew instantly that she wasn’t Elven—but with her looks, she could have been. And that made him worry more about Alessande.
But Alessande was in a public place and surrounded by friends. He had to trust in them to keep her safe. He knew that, but it didn’t make it any easier.
“Chelsea, can you tell us anything that might help us find the people selling the drug that nearly killed you?” Mark asked her.
She frowned. “I saw the newspaper today. It sounds like the man who was behind it is dead. James someone—a butler. I didn’t even know people still had butlers. And that the guy who actually sold us the pill was killed, too.”
“That’s the problem, Chelsea,” Mark said. “Digger—the dealer—was killed after James Laughton was already dead. That means that someone else is still out there. And that someone is the person in charge. James wasn’t in charge. He was working for someone else, just like Digger was, and Digger wasn’t about to fall on his sword.”
Her mind was obviously still working slowly. “He had a sword?” she asked.
Brodie and Mark exchanged a stunned glance, then Brodie took the question. “That’s just an expression, Chelsea. It means someone is either so afraid of or so loyal to his boss that he’s willing to die rather than risk a police interrogation and possibly give something away.”
“Oh!” she said, blushing.
Mark took the chair at her bedside and glanced out to the hallway. The police guard was in his chair, reading the paper. There were no nurses or doctors in sight.
“Chelsea, look at me, please,” Mark said. He stared at her intently. “Just relax and think about everything you did that night. Try to picture the street when you two ran into Digger. Tell me everything you saw.”
She stared back at him. She didn’t blink.
“Easy...just let your mind go back,” he said.
“We wanted a high, something fun. I remember telling T
erry that night that L.A. can be so random. Like, you have the Snake Pit, but you turn a few corners and it’s all crack houses. He said that was great for us, because we could score but still be kind of safe. I didn’t feel very safe, though, and I just wanted to go back, but by then we were lost. We saw a few really grungy people, but we didn’t even speak to them, but then that man—Digger—came up to us. He told us he could get us to a safer street. And then he asked if we were looking to get high and said he had just what we wanted, and offered us that pill. He said only one of us should take it, because whoever took it would get really, well, horny, so the other one needed to be more with it. Terry...he always wants to have sex, like...day and night...and I work and sometimes I’m tired and not so into it. So I took the pill....”
She paused; her eyes never left Mark’s, but something seemed to strike her from deep in her memory. “I remember the sound,” she said.
“What sound?” Mark asked.
“Whoosh,” she said.
“Whoosh?” he prodded.
“Yes, a whoosh. I thought it was weird, because I didn’t see any birds, but it sounded like...something flying by. Like wings. I said something about it, but Terry didn’t hear it. I had taken the pill by then, though, so maybe that was it.”
“And then?” Mark pressed.
“Then...I woke up here, in the hospital.”
It was clearly all he was going to get. Mark made a point of blinking to release her from his hold. “Thank you, Chelsea.”
“Is Terry okay?” she asked anxiously.
“He’s fine,” Mark assured her.
“Can I see him?” she asked.
“Sure, we’ll make it happen,” Brodie said. “We’ll see what we can do, say, later this afternoon or tonight.”
She blinked and frowned, confused. “How odd,” she said.
“What’s that?” Mark asked.
“I hadn’t remembered that until you asked me, but it felt like there were birds all around in the sky, but I couldn’t see them. I actually looked—and there were no birds.”
“Thank you, Chelsea,” Mark said. “You’ve been very helpful.”
They left the hospital. It was still early, but Mark was anxious. “I’d asked earlier for a search warrant for the Hildegard house. Let’s pick that up and then head over there.”
“We have to run by the station and coordinate,” Brodie reminded him.
“Why? They could meet us—”
“Edwards left a message on my cell while we were in with Chelsea. He wants to talk to us,” Brodie said.
Mark groaned. “Something isn’t right, then. Let’s get moving. The more time that passes, the more time the Hildegards have to hide whatever they’ve been up to.”
* * *
Alessande sat in the backseat wedged between Sailor and Barrie.
“So...I don’t understand exactly what happened,” Declan said from behind the wheel. “You read his mind, he didn’t look away, but you didn’t get anything.”
“I got some things,” she said. “Just nothing exactly...useful. Mainly, he was wondering what his next move should be to get me into bed.”
“At least he wasn’t thinking about killing you,” Sailor said.
“Maybe he is just a pawn in the big game,” Barrie suggested.
“I don’t know. All I got was what was foremost in his brain. Oh, Sailor—he knows you’re the better actress, but he also knows that you’re with Declan and he still believes he’s got a shot with me. If the movie does happen—”
Sailor laughed. “I’m sure there are still other contenders for the role, and anyway, last time I thought I’d get a break, it turned out I was dealing with a bunch of criminals and killers—just like might be happening now. Not to mention that my agent turned out to...well, let’s not go back there. Alessande, please don’t worry. I have faith in myself. I love acting, and I will get my breakout part. So let’s use his interest in you until we get what we need, okay?”
“I just don’t know if we will get what we need,” Alessande said. “If the real players are Others, they know how to hide their thoughts—how to avoid an Elven’s eyes....” She let her voice trail off and hesitated. “I think we’re going to have to consider shifting—even if our enemies are actual shapeshifters.”
“Possibly,” Declan said, glancing at Mick. “Possibly. But shifting’s dangerous. It takes a lot out of you—and you could wind up in a precarious situation after shifting. There’s got to be a better way.”
“Mark and Brodie are getting a search warrant. I’m sure they’ll find out something today,” Barrie said with confidence.
“And don’t forget Merlin,” Alessande said. “The day we figured out I’m in line to be a Keeper, Merlin was telling me about Sebastian. We need to talk to Merlin again—get him to tell us everything he possibly can.”
“Great idea—maybe Merlin can steer us in a better direction,” Barrie said.
When they reached the estate of the House of the Rising Sun, Wizard greeted them enthusiastically in the yard. He preferred watching over the house from outside, but when they went inside, he followed them. He and Jonquil began racing through the living room. Barrie told the two massive dogs to behave or take it out to the yard. Both whined and looked at the door, and she let them back out.
“I’ll make tea,” Barrie said.
“Yes, of course, tea—we drink tea a lot, don’t we?” Declan asked.
“Tea grows from the earth and brings strength,” Alessande said.
“So do carrots,” Declan said.
Alessande laughed. “Ask any Brit or Irishman—they’ll tell you to have a cup of tea. Besides, its known for its medicinal powers.”
“I think I’ll have a beer,” Mick said, heading to the refrigerator. “Cool and refreshing—add a hot dog and it’s good old-fashioned American medicine.” He looked around at the empty air. “Merlin? You here, Merlin? We need you.”
There was no response.
“I’ll head over to Pandora’s Box, see if he’s there,” Declan said.
“I’ll try Gwydion’s Cave,” Mick said.
“Good idea. He likes to hang out at my place,” Barrie said. “I get several papers, and he loves to read them. He’s so proud that he can turn the pages.”
“Next thing you know, we’ll be getting him his own e-reader. He’ll have a heyday once he masters it,” Alessande said.
“That’s a great idea,” Barrie said. “He’s always so helpful. Providing him with a new challenge would be a nice thank-you.”
She left to brew the tea—no matter that they had just left a coffee shop—and Mick and Declan went off to look for Merlin. In a few minutes they were back, with the ghostly magician in tow. Everyone adjourned to the dining room with their tea, or beer, and Merlin sat at the head of the table.
“I’m not sure what else I can tell you,” he said, addressing the group. “As I said, I remember Sebastian. He entertained at the House of Illusion often enough. He liked to bill himself as Sebastian the Magnificent or the Dark Enchanter—he loved to saw people in half and that kind of thing. He practiced his scripts—not just his illusions. He told the audience that ‘the lords of the shadows’ listened to him. He was very dramatic, and audiences loved him. In fact, sometimes his illusions weren’t all that good, but people didn’t care, because they enjoyed listening to him—they liked his showmanship. He told me once that I should honor him as a god, and then he could see to it that I lived forever. Thankfully, I never fell for his malarkey.”
They were all silent. Merlin might not have lived forever, but he had figured out how to stay around in his own way.
“Maybe those are key words,” Alessande said thoughtfully. “‘Lords of the shadows’ and ‘Dark Enchanter.’ Maybe we could find something about what he was up to in old newspaper stories,” she said, looking over at Barrie and Mick.
They seemed to be considering it. “To go back that far...” Barrie murmured.
“We’ll need to go
to the office and see what we can find,” Mick said. “But we can do that now.”
“Let me see....” Merlin said thoughtfully. “Oh, yes! He claimed that he was a high priest of the cult of...something or other.”
“Something or other?” Alessande pressed.
“Something...pagan,” Merlin said. “Ah! I remember. He said he was a high priest in the Cult of Tyr. But I can’t remember just who—”
“Laptop!” Barrie said, rushing off to grab Sailor’s.
“Tyr is a Norse god,” Alessande said. “He’s the god of combat, among other things. In English, the day of the week Tuesday comes from his name.” They all stared at her. She shrugged. “I was born in Scotland, but my parents were Norse. I heard all the stories and legends when I was very young. Tyr is also the god of victory and triumph.”
“Victory and triumph—over death?” Sailor asked.
Barrie had found a website on the Norse gods and spoke up. “Alessande is right.”
“But you could be on to something,” Mick pointed out to Sailor. “Victory—triumph. Sebastian saw himself as a priest, a warrior—a ruler. Someone to have victory over death.”
Barrie had started typing again. “You won’t believe what I just found! This is a site on the history of L.A., and there’s a picture of Sebastian Hildegard here.” She stared at them in disbelief. “He was a suspect in the murder of a young woman found in a vacant lot off Sunset just weeks before his own death.” She hesitated, reading quickly, then looked at them again. “Her throat had been slit. He was never charged, and his name never hit the media, but he was considered a person of interest, and he was interviewed.”
“Merlin, did you know about this?” Alessande asked.
Merlin shook his head. “The most scandalous murder of my day was the Black Dahlia,” he said. “I don’t remember hearing anything about this case.”
“It was never solved,” Barrie said, still reading.
“Why would he have been a suspect? Sunset is long and well traveled—why would a body discovered there arouse suspicion about Hildegard?” Alessande asked.
Barrie gasped softly. “Because of the cement the cops found on her.”
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