Brodie nodded. “I know, but...she’s mixed.”
“She can’t be,” Mark argued. “It was forbidden until this generation. The Others barely got along with each breed, which is surely why the Ultimate Power—God, if you want—created Keepers. We Others can be nasty bloodthirsty monsters when we’re not kept in check.”
“So can human beings,” Brodie reminded him. “Anyway, Alessande never knew her real father, because he died when she was a baby. Her mother remarried, and then her mother and her stepfather died—”
“I know that. And I’m sure that’s why she feels so responsible for Regina,” Mark said.
“The point is, she didn’t know her father. And the evidence says he must have been a shifter Keeper.”
Mark mulled that over. “She won’t know what she’s doing,” he said quietly. “This could mean even more trouble for her.”
“A Keeper’s job is trouble,” Brodie reminded him.
“But she’s not a Keeper—yet. Not really. A Keeper is assigned to a certain area. Rhiannon is the Keeper of—”
“The canyon, yes,” Brodie finished for him. “But there are all kinds of areas around L.A. where she might belong. Or maybe she’s meant to be somewhere else altogether. Only time will tell.”
This isn’t good; it isn’t good at all, Mark thought. The woman is already headstrong and...
“Let’s get through this, then we’ll head back to the House of the Rising Sun,” Brodie said.
He pulled the car into the Hildegard drive and announced the two of them into the guardhouse speaker. A moment later the giant iron gates swung open. They navigated the long drive and parked in front of the house.
Mark stared up at the facade. It was a fitting home for a line of illusionists—and shapeshifters. It was like Cinderella’s castle gone over to the dark side. Giant gargoyles sat guard above the porch and window ledges.
The day itself seemed to darken as they rang the bell.
A butler admitted them.
Human, Mark thought.
They were led down a dark hallway with ancient chandeliers and stands with armor from the fourteenth to the eighteenth centuries. A doorway led to the study where Alan Hildegard was waiting to speak with them.
He seemed to be a surprisingly small man, but then Brodie was Elven and six foot four, and Mark, though a vampire, was his equal in height.
Mark had known the Hildegard name most of his life. His mother had been a working character actress, and she still emerged from her Arizona retirement now and then to play someone’s mother or grandmother. He’d grown up hearing about the famous inhabitants of L.A.
He knew all the legends about old Sebastian Hildegard. He’d just never had occasion to be at the Hildegard estate or meet the current generation.
Alan Hildegard did not fit the house, and not only because he was slight. He was in a navy blue suit that made him look like a stockbroker. He was about five foot eleven and had sandy hair. While his clothing gave him the appearance of a businessman, his casual haircut and deep tan made him look like a surf bum gone Wall Street.
Shapeshifter, most likely, Mark presumed, given the Hildegard lineage.
“Good to see you—I’ve been waiting for L.A.’s finest,” he told them, offering his hand to each man in turn.
“Yes, thank you for seeing us,” Mark told him. “I’m Detective Mark Valiente, and this is Detective Brodie McKay.”
“Can I get you gentlemen something? I realize you’re on duty, so...coffee? Water? A soda?”
“I could definitely go for coffee,” Brodie said.
“Sure. Have a seat. I’ll call Jimmy, and he’ll take care of us,” Hildegard told them.
He indicated a group of chairs arranged on three sides of a lion-legged coffee table that faced a giant tiled and marble hearth. They sat while Hildegard moved to a phone on a side table and spoke with Jimmy.
Then, flipping the tails of his jacket, Hildegard joined them.
“I understand that a group of...thugs has been using my family tomb for some brand of cult nonsense,” he said, irritated. “And that you two broke them up and got them the hell out of there—something for which I’m eternally grateful. I can’t believe that the family sold off the cemetery—before my time, I assure you. It’s disgraceful.”
“We caught a number of people—but, sad to say, none of them were the ringleaders,” Mark said. “They claimed there wasn’t going to be a sacrifice, that—”
“I don’t care! Charge them with trespassing. With desecrating a grave,” Hildegard said impatiently. “I want them jailed. We may not own the cemetery any longer, but we have a contract that guarantees perpetual care of the family vault.”
“Mr. Hildegard—” Mark began.
“Vampire, right?” Hildegard demanded suddenly.
“Yes.”
“And Elven?” he asked, turning to Brodie.
“Yes,” Brodie told him.
“At least this time I don’t have to mess with idiot human beings who have no idea what they’re up against with some of these—creatures!”
“A werewolf runs our robbery homicide division,” Brodie told him.
“Yeah, I talked to him today. I was impressed,” Hildegard said.
“All right, well, we don’t mean to be offensive in any way,” Mark said, “but, you understand, we have to ask you some questions.”
“Me?” Hildegard didn’t appear to be offended, just surprised. “I certainly wasn’t there when my family’s vault was being so shamefully used.”
“I understand that,” Mark said. “But it’s become clear that someone out there is making use of your great-grandfather’s legend. They’ve put together some kind of cross-species blood cult—there were human beings, shapeshifters, vampires... We’re not sure just how many Other races were involved.”
“They worship Sebastian Hildegard’s memory and are convinced they can raise him from the grave to be some kind of god,” Brodie said.
“Trust me,” Hildegard said, and he grinned, “I’m not behind any faction that wants to make a god out of my great-grandfather. I like being the head of the family.”
“You are in the magic business, aren’t you?” Brodie asked.
Hildegard laughed at that. “No—or rather, only in the typical Hollywood sense. I’m a producer. I put together packages for that new cable channel—Horrific. They’ve just started airing original movies, although we’re still pulling cheapies from the studio vaults, mostly.” He gave them a wry look that made his opinion of those cheapies quite clear. “Next original—Slasher and the Sleaze. Thing is, you can make those pictures ridiculously cheaply, and they sell like hotcakes on DVD all around the world.”
“So, these movies you’re producing,” Brodie said, “are you using the old family studio at all?”
Alan Hildegard’s features tightened as if he’d just been attacked by a sudden jolt of extreme indigestion.
“As you know, the fate of the studio is still in dispute,” he said angrily. “It’s the land I want. Nothing on those old soundstages is worth two cents. The equipment is older than Moses. No, Horrific has brand-new, state-of-the-art soundstages in Universal City. And I don’t really like hanging around the studio all day anyway. I’m a moneyman. I invest my own funds in prime projects and raise more as needed—and I confess I like wielding power. I love having the right and the ability to fire idiots at will.” He glanced at Brodie and half smiled, tilting his head at a curious angle. “That’s where I’ve seen you before—you were an actor! I saw you on stage in—”
Brodie shook his head firmly. “I was undercover at the time. I’m not an actor. I’m a cop. I like being a cop. I’m good at it. It’s what I was born to be.”
“Then you understand how I feel,” Hildegard said. “When you’re born a Hildegard, everyone thinks you have to be a magician. Well, I’m not. So, back to the vault. Just why were you there, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“The department received an anonymous t
ip,” Mark said, “and we went in to investigate. We discovered a young woman, who we later found out had been kidnapped, being held captive and apparently unconscious on top of your great-grandfather’s sarcophagus. We believe that the head priest or whatever he calls himself was going to sacrifice her in the mistaken belief that her death could bring Sebastian back to life.”
“Thank God you saved her,” Hildegard said.
“Mr. Hildegard,” Brodie said, leaning forward. “Two women mysteriously disappeared in what we believe was the vicinity of your old family studio and later showed up dead. Another woman is missing in similar circumstances. If you can think of anyone who might believe they can bring your great-grandfather back to life or is simply fixated on him in some way, we’re on a desperate hunt to find the missing girl before she, too, winds up dead.”
Hildegard looked confused. “This is L.A. County. It’s sad, but women come here all the time, drawn by the desire for fame. And even sadder, some of them die. We do have crime—despite your best efforts.”
As he spoke, a woman suddenly came sweeping into the room. She was small, perhaps five-two or five-three, slim, well built and very pretty, with huge blue eyes and golden-blond hair worn to her shoulders.
“Alan! Jimmy told me that the police were here.” She paused, looking at Brodie and Mark, who both rose.
“My sister, Brigitte,” Alan Hildegard said. “Brigitte, these are Detectives Mark Valiente and Brodie McKay.”
Brodie and Mark both murmured polite greetings.
She walked over and shook hands with a surprisingly strong grip for someone so small. “Are you here about that awful business in the cemetery?” she asked.
“Yes,” Mark said.
“I do hope you catch and prosecute those—defilers to the full extent of the law,” she said.
“The detectives believe we have a bigger problem, my dear,” Alan Hildegard said. “Two women have died—and another is missing. Their fates seem to have something to do with the fool who’s creating a religion around Great-Grandfather.”
Brigitte looked at Mark and Brodie in horror. “Someone is killing people over Sebastian? How horrible—and ridiculous. But...what makes you think there’s a link to Sebastian?”
Mark and Brodie didn’t look at one another; they both knew they had no intention of explaining anything about Alessande’s involvement.
“I’m afraid we can’t go into the details of an ongoing investigation,” Mark said.
“I’m sure you understand,” Brodie added.
“So why on earth do you think we can help?” Brigitte asked.
“Perhaps someone has been hounding your family—or maybe bothering you for details about Sebastian that only the family might know,” Mark said.
Just then Jimmy came into the room carrying a silver tray. “Coffee, sir,” he told Alan.
He set the tray on the table before the fire, turned and left.
“Sit down, please, sit down—Jimmy makes excellent coffee,” Brigitte said, her tone distracted. She herself perched on a chair by the coffee service, as if aware, in a corner of her mind, that no one would sit until she did.
“Sugar, cream?” she asked, filling two cups.
They both demurred.
“Then it’s true,” she said, a twinkle in her eyes. “Cops drink their coffee black.”
“Not all of them,” Mark assured her.
She looked over at her brother and then at the two detectives. “My cousin Charlaine is our family historian, and she lives here, but she’s not in right now.”
Mark produced a card from his pocket and handed it to Brigitte. “Would you ask your cousin to call us when she can, please?”
“Of course. I’m sorry—but I knew nothing about any of this.”
“I hate to say it, but bad news is so common these days—I didn’t even realize that two young women had recently been found dead,” Alan Hildegard said. “But if you need our help in any way, you only need to ask.”
They were being dismissed, Mark realized. Alan Hildegard had spoken, and that was the end of things.
Mark rose again. “Thanks for the coffee, and for your time.”
“Yes, thank you,” Brodie said.
The two of them left and were soon back in the car. When they drove toward the gate to leave, it opened automatically. Either that, or someone was watching and was anxious to see them leave.
“What do you think?” Brodie asked.
“I think they’re shapeshifters,” Mark said.
Brodie grinned. “Don’t go doing Other profiling, now.”
Mark grinned at that. “No, I mean that, as shapeshifters, they can give pretty much any impression they choose.”
“Alan seemed sincerely upset by the deaths and the connection to the family.”
“As did his sister.”
“Let’s hope the cousin contacts us soon,” Brodie said. “For now, I don’t know about you, but I have to get some sleep.”
Mark glanced at him. “I’d like to go back to the House of the Rising Sun with you. I want to hear more about Alessande being a Keeper now.”
“Sure. You can have the car if you want to go home afterward—or you can stay over at Pandora’s Box. Rhiannon has a nice guest bedroom.”
“Maybe I will crash there.”
* * *
Brodie had a remote in his car and opened the large gate at the Keepers’ estate. Wizard, Rhiannon’s massive wolfhound mix, followed as they headed up the drive and parked.
The minute they stepped out of the car, Wizard barked happily, seeing friends. “Don’t jump!” Brodie said.
But Wizard was already up, his giant paws on Brodie’s shoulders.
“We’re not doing so well with the dog training,” Brodie said.
Mark grinned. “He’s a good dog.”
As if aware of the compliment, Wizard came running over to greet him.
Mark was prepared for the dog’s embrace and the sloppy kiss on the cheek he received.
“Sorry—he’s kind of slobbery,” Brody said.
“He’s fine,” Mark said, wiping his face.
Brodie headed toward Castle House, where the others were still gathered. Mark started to follow him but was stopped by a loud “Psst!”
He paused, looking around. There was no one in sight.
He heard a self-satisfied giggle. Frowning, he spun around. He still didn’t see anyone.
Then a mourning dove came sweeping out of the nearest tree to land on the sidewalk before him.
The bird suddenly morphed right in front of him.
And there was Alessande, looking very proud of herself, tossing back a strand of white-blond hair and staring at him with defiance.
“I can’t believe I never knew about this! Shifting is amazing!” she said. “I’m well on the road to joining the ranks of the Keepers.” Despite her ongoing impudent look, she spoke with gentle amusement. “Mark, please don’t be offended, but I hope you know that now no one can tell me to stay out of any situation where shape-shifting is involved.”
Chapter 4
It was wonderful. Incredible. Exhilarating.
Once she concentrated, shifting was easy—far easier than teleporting. Teleporting meant moving through time and space, while changing simply meant switching appearance.
Admittedly, she was on a bit of a high, and she hadn’t been able to refrain from taunting Mark Valiente.
His expression wasn’t pleasant as he looked at her, shaking his head. “It’s all a big game to you, isn’t it?”
“What?” she asked him.
“Stretch your muscles, test your power. Play bird and fly around the yard. Women are dead, Alessande, and you just want to prove that you’re tougher and stronger and more talented than anyone else.”
She didn’t understand why his disapproval hurt so much.
Unless there was a grain of truth in what he was saying.
“No,” she said, speaking softly, seeking dignity. “I’m trying to lear
n. You were born a vampire. You grew up nurtured, learning to live in a world where once you would have been seen as nothing more than a bloodthirsty monster. When it came to being Elven, I, too, was taught everything I needed to know. But shifting... This is new to me. No one knows what they can and can’t do until they stretch their muscles, and I’m just trying to test mine. I’m not trying to be bigger or tougher or stronger. I just need to be involved—to help.”
“You need to stay out of this,” he said, and his tone seemed a shade gentler.
“Could you stay out of it?”
“I’m a cop.”
“Why are you a cop? Because you have to be involved. You feel that people need you—and that’s why you do what you do. Unless, of course, you feel a need to exercise your power.”
He looked back at her, studied her, and she was dismayed to realize that he very clearly didn’t like what he saw.
Why? Why did that bother her? She winced inwardly; she’d gotten into this because she knew what she had to do. She had to save Regina. And not just Regina. More women would die if this conspiracy of occult terror wasn’t stopped. And Mark...
Might have saved her life, despite her protestations to the contrary.
He turned to enter the house.
Maybe he had a right to look at her that way. Maybe things wouldn’t have gone so well if he and Brodie hadn’t shown up at the Hildegard mausoleum.
Startled and distraught by being so completely dismissed, Alessande stood at the door for a moment before reentering the house herself.
The Gryffald cousins were seated around the large table in the dining room. Declan Wainwright and Mick Townsend were with them. As Alessande entered, Brodie had just pulled up a chair and Mark Valiente was on his way to join them. She entered and saw that the table had become crowded. For a moment, she thought they weren’t going to make room for her.
Brodie watched her hesitate, stood and grabbed one of the chairs standing by the wall, drawing it up and waiting for her to sit. The minute Alessande had claimed her chair, Barrie spoke up.
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