Hollyweird

  “Now then,” Shade said, her caramel eyes sparkling. “We can talk frankly.”

  I shot Des and Jameson a “Say what?” look. They seemed equally confused.

  “Your sister’s obviously not in the know, and I want to respect that.”

  In the know? What did Shade mean? She couldn’t possibly know … “Uh, I’m not sure,” I stammered.

  “Word travels fast,” she explained. “I know you’ve been asking about Dakota Danvers.” Not waiting for a response, she turned on the heel of her boots and said, “Follow me.”

  Des, Jameson, and I shared nervous glances but followed her to a back storage room/office where she sat behind a heavy, battered gothic revival library table that served as her desk and motioned us to some chairs from the same era. I couldn’t resist the urge to run my fingers over the finials and arches before I sat down and faced our enigmatic hostess.

  “Dakota’s up to no good.” Shade gave Jameson a knowing look. “But you know that.”

  “We do,” Jameson agreed. “But we don’t know exactly what. That’s what we’re trying to figure out, so we can stop him.”

  “So far,” Des said as she traced her finger along the carvings on the front of the desk, “all we know is he bought a helluva expensive chalice and a bunch of candles.”

  Shade waved her fingers dismissively. “Window dressing.”

  “Sorry?” I had no clue what she was talking about. Obviously this lady knew waaay more than we did. I found myself intrigued and intimidated. She exuded wisdom and strength the way Missy projected sexuality and confidence.

  “It’s just for show,” Shade explained. “Most rituals have props, but that’s all they are. Real magic requires little to nothing.”

  “Then how do we figure out what he’s up to?” Jameson asked.

  “You don’t look,” she said with an encouraging smile. “You listen. The underground is talking.”

  “What’s it saying?” I asked.

  Her lips flattened, her eyes hardened. “That he’s approaching preternaturals.”

  “For?” Jameson prodded.

  “I don’t know, exactly.” Shade leaned toward us and the concern holding her taut rippled over me. “All the whispering suggests he’s doing some kind of ceremony, and that he wants one preternatural apiece to stand in for their race.”

  I thought about this for a minute. “You mean, like, he’s getting a werewolf, a witch, a vampire—”

  “Oh, my!” Des said, and then swallowed a nervous giggle. “Sorry.”

  Shade tossed her a wink before answering me. “Yes, that’s exactly what I mean.”

  “Why would he do that?” Jameson asked. “Many of the races can’t stand each other. What could bring them together?”

  “A common goal,” Shade answered.

  “Something that would benefit them all,” I said.

  “That can’t be good,” Jameson said. “But we still don’t know enough. We don’t know when, where, or why things are going down.”

  “The when is probably in a few hours,” Shade said with a grimace. “There’s a full moon at 1:39 a.m. The next one isn’t until the end of August.”

  Holy crapola. We were supposed to stop this runaway train now?!? I wasn’t ready. None of us were ready.

  “Are you serious?” Jameson gasped, voicing my freak-out. One look at his watch and he raked his fingers through his hair in an “I’ve got to be losing my mind” motion. “Shade, it’s 8:30. You’re talking five hours and we don’t know the where.”

  “Okay, okay, don’t panic,” Des said in a shrill voice that screamed panic. Hearing her tell-tale squeal, she closed her eyes and drew a deep breath. After she blew it out she calmly asked, “Where can a bunch of PNs meet that’s inconspicuous?”

  “Not just a place they can sneak off to without suspicion,” Shade said, “but a place of power.”

  We all sat in silence. I certainly had no clue. L.A. wasn’t my scene, and the only places I knew of were touristy. Disneyland, while sinful in many ways, probably wouldn’t be the host spot.

  “What kind of place do you think of when you think power?” Jameson asked.

  “Somewhere outdoors,” I said. I’m a Coloradoan; my state’s majestic mountains always give me a high. But in this context I should think bigger, be more specific. “What about monuments?”

  “That’s good,” Des said with a nod. “Are there any kind of historic sites around here that hold power or energy?” she asked Shade.

  “Tons. This entire area has a long, rich history. From the Hollywood sign to Grauman’s Theater to the Bradbury Building and La Placita Olvera. They all hold old energy and power.”

  “Are you talking ghosts?” Des asked.

  “Yes,” Shade said, “but also vibrations from years past.”

  “I’m not sure that’s the kind of power Dakota would be interested in,” I said thoughtfully. “It doesn’t seem … spiritual enough.”

  Des snorted. “Spiritual? You’re talking about a demon.”

  “I know, but his power is spiritual.”

  “She’s right,” Shade said. “His spirituality just comes from a darker place.”

  “Thinking spiritually, where do you go?” Jameson asked.

  “Church,” I answered automatically, and then realized how stupid I sounded. Squirming with embarrassment, I laughed at myself. “Like he’d go there.”

  “Oh no,” Shade gasped, her complexion chalky white. Yanking a stack of newspapers across her desk, she flipped through the pages in alarm. “I know I saw it. Where was that?”

  Des gave me a “has she flipped?” look and I shrugged.

  “Shade? What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “I think you’re right,” she cried. “Dakota’s going to church.”

  “What?” Jameson asked. “Wouldn’t that be the last place he’d go?”

  Shade spun the paper around and tapped her finger on an article that read, “Saint Peter’s Demolition.”

  “They’re tearing down a church?” I asked.

  “Sadly,” Shade said. “It’s a hundred and twenty-five years old. It’s been locked up the last ten years and vandals have wrecked it. The community and some local businesses came up with a fundraising plan to restore it, but the city put up roadblocks. They want the property, so Saint Peter’s is coming down.”

  “When?” Jameson asked.

  “According to this, tomorrow.” Shade frowned. “It’s the perfect place at the perfect time.”

  Jameson stood up and paced around the chairs. “How can you be so certain he’ll go there?”

  “Because it’s a place of great spiritual strength, it’s abandoned, all evidence will be destroyed tomorrow, and holding his ritual there would be like thumbing his nose at God.”

  “Like a black mass,” Des said.

  “What do you know of those?” Shade asked, her eyes narrow with disapproval.

  “Not a thing from personal experience,” Des rushed to assure her. “I just read about them in a book. I read a lot.”

  “What is it?” I asked.

  “It’s twisted, that’s what it is,” Des said as she tugged at her lip ring. “Call it the antithesis of Catholic mass. Urine instead of wine. Rotted turnip instead of bread. Black candles instead of white. Things done in reverse. Devil worship. Orgies. Human sacrifices.”

  “Sweet Jesus,” I said, shaking off a shiver.

  “Right,” Des said. “And get this—it was très populaire among seventeenth-century French nobility. Louis XIV’s mistress was even used as a naked altar.”

  I covered my mouth in horror. “So wrong.”

  “Yet so right for Dakota,” Jameson said. “Question is, why?”

  “What’s something all preternaturals want?” I asked Shade, figuring she had the most insight.

  “To be free,” she answered with a sad smile. “To live out in the open, as ourselves, without fear.”

  Something she should be able to do. That every PN should have the ri
ght to do.

  “I get that,” Des said. “Everyone wants to come out of the closet. But what does that do for Dakota?”

  “Nothing that I can see,” Shade said.

  “What would it take to make you unafraid?” I asked Shade.

  “I’m not sure. I just want to live in harmony next to my neighbors, be they human or preternatural.”

  “You’re afraid that if people know you’re a real witch, you might be in danger?” Des asked.

  Shade gave a scoffing laugh. “It only takes one zealot. I wouldn’t want to see history repeat itself—the only thing I want burning over a fire is marshmallows. Most humans fear what they can’t understand. PNs are vulnerable. My best friend is a were. If she came out, it would just take one silver bullet.”

  “What if you were invincible?” Jameson stopped his pacing. “What if some dark power stripped away PN weaknesses? What would happen then?”

  Shade’s eyes widened and her mouth slipped into an O of realization. “That wouldn’t be good, either. If there were enough impervious preternaturals, the balance would change.”

  Jameson nodded. “They’d become the ruling race. And if Dakota were the one to free them—”

  “He’d have an unstoppable army of evil,” Shade finished. “First, he’d have the PNs he handpicked for his ceremony. Then he’d seduce preternaturals who felt wrongly suppressed into joining his ranks. Of course there’s no way he could get every PN on his side—most are like me, just wanting to live in harmony with humans. Still, he could assemble a formidable legion.”

  “Shitfire,” Des murmured in awe. “That’s gotta be it. But how is Dakota going to pull that off?”

  Jameson and Shade looked at each other and then, like a mismatched mirror reflection, both shrugged their cluelessness.

  “We know the when, the where, and most likely even the why,” I said, slapping my hand on the desk. “But what’s the how?”

  “Doesn’t matter,” Jameson said with a shake of his head. “I’ll just go to the church tonight and stop whatever it is.”

  Des snorted. “You and what cavalry? You’re one teeny tiny widdle fallen angel with super hearing up against a totally BAMF pack of magical preternaturals. They’ll make you their bitch if they don’t sacrifice you.”

  “Des!” I snapped. Sure, that was totally true, but would it hurt her to show a little sensitivity? Placing my hand on Jameson’s shoulder, I turned him to face me. “She’s rude but right. You can’t go in there blindly. We have to figure out the last piece of the puzzle first.”

  “And if we don’t?” Jameson asked, his face stony. “You have to know I’ll do something before doing nothing.”

  “No need. We’ll figure it out,” I said firmly.

  “What can I do to help?” Shade asked.

  “Pray,” I said, and then realized I’d been thoughtless. “It’s not that I don’t want you to be free. I—”

  “You don’t need to explain,” Shade said with an understanding smile. “I don’t want my freedom at the expense of the human race. I’m human, too.”

  “With a little added oomph,” Des added with a grin.

  “That’s right. And I will pray for you and try to use my ‘oomph’ to protect you as best I can.” Then she excused herself and went to check on Missy for me.

  “When, where, why,” Jameson muttered. “But how? How?”

  “Maybe he’s got a powerful witch brewing up a spell,” Des suggested.

  “No one witch would be strong enough to pull that off,” Jameson said.

  “Can you text the big guy?” I suggested. “He might give us the missing link.”

  “No can do, but I can call my angel buddy Michael,” he said.

  “I can call my angel buddy Michael,” Des mimicked. “Who says that? You take name-dropping to a whole new level, my friend.”

  Jameson smirked and then asked if we’d watch the door while he dialed Michael.

  Des stood with her back pressed to one side of the doorframe, still within earshot of the call. I got tingly just thinking of Jameson calling heaven. After he pressed the last number, he put the call on speakerphone and laid the cell on the desk between us.

  “Jameson, whassup?” the old angel said, doing a very bad impression of the old Budweiser commercials.

  I slammed my hand over my mouth to keep from giggling, but Des doubled over at the door.

  “He tries to be hip and embarrasses himself in the process,” Jameson whispered out of the side of his mouth. “Mikey, we finally have a lead on what Dakota’s up to, but I need your help figuring out the last puzzle piece.”

  “Hit me,” the angel said.

  “Dakota is holding some kind of ritual tonight in the abandoned Saint Peter’s church. He has a preternatural standing in for every race. We think he’s trying to make them invincible somehow, but we don’t know how he could do that.”

  “Oh, dear. Oh, dear,” the angel muttered, dropping all pretense of being cool. “That would shift the balance of things. You have to stop him.”

  Jameson bowed his head. “That’s what I’m trying to do, Mikey. I need to know what I’m up against.”

  “Of course. Let me think.”

  Jameson tugged the ends of his hair in thought as if pulling hard might stimulate an idea. “Where, when, why,” he murmured. “And come to think of it, why did he send Dumb and Dumber off to Vienna when he’s got all this going down?”

  “Who’s Dumb and Dumber?” I asked.

  “Cousin henchmen who are demi-demons. Small brains, big brawn, massive loyalty.”

  “Vienna?” Michael yelled. “Did you say Vienna?”

  “Yeah,” Jameson said. “He sent the goon squad there. Why?”

  “Oh dear,” Michael trilled. “I think I know how he’s going to make preternaturals invincible.”

  “Really?” Jameson asked, his green eyes alight with excitement. “How?”

  “Ethan and Andrew can only be after one thing. The Spear of Destiny.”

  Jameson

  You’ve got to be kidding me. THE Spear of Destiny? “I thought

  that was just a legend.”

  “No, Jameson,” Michael said. “Far from.”

  “Are you guys talking about the Hitler lance?” Des asked in awe. She started to scoot away from the door, but I waved her back to her post. We didn’t know who might be eavesdropping.

  “Who was that?” Michael asked.

  “That was Des. I’ve got you on speaker. Aly’s here too,” I told him.

  “Ah, a pleasure, ladies,” Michael, the ever-perfect gentleman, said. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

  “Thanks, Michael.” Aly smiled at his gallantry. “Please excuse me, sir, but I’ve got no idea what any of you are talking about.”

  “Allow me, then,” Michael said, and I nearly groaned when he put on his professorial tone. “The Spear of Destiny, which in actuality is just the spearhead now, has also been called the Holy Lance and the Lance of Longinus. When Jesus was crucified, a centurion named Longinus tried to prove to the other soldiers that it was unnecessary to break Jesus’ legs to hasten his death. To prove Christ had already died, Longinus pierced Jesus’ side with a spear. Blood and water flowed from the wound. Some of it splashed into the soldier’s eyes and healed his poor vision.”

  “Legend has it,” Des chimed in with unabashed enthusiasm, “that whoever holds the spear controls the world. If they lose the lance, they’ll die within minutes.”

  “That’s right,” Michael said. “People within the same alliance can touch it, but whoever touches it last and then loses it to another order is the one who will perish.”

  “Is that what happened to Hitler?” Aly asked skeptically.

  “Supposedly,” Des continued. “I read Hitler saw the spear in a museum when he was a kid and became obsessed with it. He got it while he was in power and held it for seven years until the Allied forces invaded and General Patton took the spear. Eighty minutes later, apparently, Hitler o
ffed himself.”

  “The spear has been in the hands of world leaders like Herod the Great, Charlemagne, Kaiser Wilhelm III, and more,” Michael said with grave reverence. “The power is real. There are actually four replicas, but only the lance in the Hofburg museum has a crucifix nail pounded into the blade. We’ve tried to recover the spear ourselves, and we have, several times, only to have it later slip into the wrong hands.”

  “How does it slip from heaven?” Des asked.

  “Sadly, even angels can be tricked or bribed,” Michael confessed.

  “I get the significance of the spear,” I said. “If Dakota has it, he’s undefeatable. But how does he share that with the other preternaturals?”

  “Blood,” Des answered automatically.

  I waited for her to explain further.

  “Blood represents strength, bonding. Just as Christ’s blood affected the spear. Just as it’s given to worshippers in the Eucharist.”

  “So they’ll drink Dakota’s blood, or he’ll drink theirs?” I asked. “Is that what the chalice is for?”

  Des bit her lip. “It’s gotta be something like that. He wants to spread the power out, but not have anyone be more powerful than him.”

  “What if each person cuts himself with the spearhead?” Aly asked. “And adds a couple drops of blood to the chalice.”

  “That’s it!” Michael said over the speakerphone. “Dakota drinks the blood, and—”

  “And everyone else holds hands to complete the chain, with Dakota at the starting point,” Aly finished.

  “That, combined with some dark magic, and they could spread the power to the entire race and not just the people in the circle,” Des finished in awe. “Preternaturals would be freed from their natural weaknesses. Vampires immune to wooden stakes, werewolves unaffected by silver bullets, djinns resistant to fruit pits.”

  “That’s not all bad,” Aly said. “People like Shade could live without fear of persecution.”