Keeper of the Dawn tkl-4

by Heather Graham

  Charlaine smiled at her. “We have an order of exhumation,” she explained quietly. “My cousin Alan has signed it as legal next of kin. We’re still going in secret, and it will take some effort to keep anyone from finding out what we’ve done, but at least no one has to break in.”

  “Oh,” Alessande said.

  She turned and realized that the others were standing behind her, staring at Mark, Brodie and Charlaine in as much shock as she was.

  Distrust was heavy in the air.

  “Whether you want to believe me or not,” Charlaine said, “I’m facilitating something you want to happen. We’ll still be entering in darkness to keep anyone from knowing what we’re doing.”

  “But you’ll know, won’t you?” Alessande said.

  “I don’t know what to say or do to make you believe I’m on your side,” Charlaine said.

  “I do,” Mark said, and reached into his jacket pocket to produce a book. “Sebastian’s diary, which Charlaine gave me of her own free will. It may even tell us a way to end this.”

  “Darkness has fallen,” Brodie said. “We need to get going.”

  * * *

  Alessande had to admit, Charlaine had made a complete turnaround. She wasn’t smiling, flirting or touching anyone—especially Mark. Still...

  They took two cars. Declan had provided the van he used for hauling things to and from the Snake Pit—perfect for taking the body from the cemetery. For their second vehicle they used Mick’s new car, a Honda Odyssey that could seat eight.

  The cemetery was empty. A large pair of bolt cutters took care of the lock on the gate, and they kept the headlights off as they drove up to the tomb to avoid being seen.

  Charlaine had the keys to the tomb—which made Alessande wonder how the crowd had gotten in the night she had nearly been sacrificed. But no sooner had she decided to wait on that question until they’d finished for the night than Charlaine said, “Jimmy must have gotten hold of the keys that night—it would have been easy enough for him. They’re kept on a hook by the kitchen door.” She paused. “Participating in the cult would have given him access to Others and the drug, in whatever order it occurred.” She looked directly at Alessande. “And not through the Hildegards.”

  So much for that bit of intrigue.

  The women stood guard outside and watched through the iron gate serving as a door while the men went in. Brodie and Mark worked at chiseling off the massive slab of marble with the effigy of Sebastian, and finally they succeeded then lifted the weighty lid.

  “Careful,” Brodie cautioned.

  “Absolutely,” Mark agreed. “If we smash it to smithereens, this whole mission is doomed.”

  While they struggled to set it down, Mick and Declan used the crowbar on the old coffin lid, which gave easily in comparison.

  A puff of fetid air escaped, and then they were looking at the remains of Sebastian Hildegard.

  Charlaine walked over and gazed into the casket. “Interesting. I would have thought he’d be perfectly preserved.”

  Abandoning the door, Alessande and the three cousins joined her in staring at the remains.

  Sebastian Hildegard’s skin had turned dark and leathery, and he looked almost mummified.

  Alessande glanced from the corpse to the effigy. It was impossible to tell if they were one and the same.

  “The suit...the suit is definitely custom-tailored—just as all his were,” Charlaine said.

  “How do we know it’s really him?” Alessande asked suspiciously.

  Brodie and Mark had set down the massive slab of marble and came over to see the corpse, as well.

  “We’ve come this far. Let’s get him into the van,” Mark said.

  Alessande still didn’t feel right about things. But she supposed that because his followers all thought he could come back to life, she—like Charlaine—had thought he would be perfectly preserved, as if he’d been laid to rest days ago, instead of decades.

  She backed away as Mark leaned forward and lifted the corpse. It was stiff. Dust fell as he shifted the body, and an odor of decay swept through the tomb.

  Mark handed the body off to Declan, who took it outside. Alessande and the Gryffalds closed the coffin, and then Mark and Brodie lifted the giant marble slab back into place.

  When they were done, Rhiannon surveyed the area. “We’ve done it. It looks as if no one has been here.”

  “Then let’s go. We’re taking him to the Borden Mortuary,” Mark said. “We’ve got another—” he paused, looking at his watch “—five hours, then people will start arriving for work.”

  “The Borden Mortuary?” Alessande asked.

  “It’s owned by Hugh Drummond’s family,” Mark explained quickly.

  “The werewolf who owns the Mystic Café,” Rhiannon said.

  “I know, I know,” Alessande said. “Let’s just get there.”

  Charlaine saw to it that the mausoleum was locked and secure, and then they piled into the cars. Alessande rode with Declan, Sailor, Mark and the corpse. She tried not to look at it. Tried not to imagine that it was going to come to life behind her, reach over the seat and place dead, decaying fingers around her throat.

  The corpse didn’t move.

  They reached the mortuary and pulled around back. Declan had barely parked before he’d exited the van and rushed around to open the rear doors to reach for the corpse. Brodie, who had the keys to the business, opened the entrance that led directly into the morticians’ prep room. By then the others had arrived and Mick hurried forward to the massive incinerator.

  Alessande tried not to look around, but she couldn’t help sneaking a peek.

  An elderly woman, freshly made-up, waiting only for her hair to be completed, lay on one of the preparation tables. Another held an older man.

  A third held the body of a young male who had apparently been killed in a terrible accident; the morticians were working to restore his face. This being Hollywood, they knew the secrets of special effects makeup and had it almost resembling what it may have been.

  She felt chilled. With Others owning the place, anyone could work here.

  Including shapeshifters.

  She kept imagining that one of the corpses would spring from its preparation table and attack them. Maybe all three.

  The rest of their group didn’t seem to be bothered by any such thoughts. The crematory temperature was raised, and the body of Sebastian Hildegard was set on the slide and sent into the fire.

  The door was closed and locked. The flames burned high.

  “It’s hot enough, right?” Barrie asked.

  Mark checked the gauge. “Optimum,” he said. “Eighteen-hundred degrees.”

  “How long?” Alessande heard herself ask. She was grateful that her voice didn’t quiver.

  “Two and a half hours,” Brodie answered. “A long time to sit here among the dead. A few of us could head on out.”

  “If the opportunity’s up for grabs,” Rhiannon said, “I’ve been working long hours all over town and I’d love to get home.”

  “I should get back, too,” Charlaine said. “I would just as soon not be spotted coming home in the wee hours by one of the household staff.”

  Declan said, “All right, I’ll take the van and bring Rhiannon, Charlaine and whoever else home.”

  “I’ll stay. I need to see this through,” Mark said.

  Alessande wanted to scream. If Mark was staying, she felt that she should stay, too. She had walked into this whole thing with so much courage, and yet here in the mortuary, where people worked daily, where death was accepted, she was afraid.

  But something about the whole night had seemed off to her.

  Charlaine Hildegard suddenly becoming one of them?

  Or the condition of the corpse?

  “I’ll stay with Mark. Everyone else can go home and get some sleep,” Alessande heard herself say. “Mark and I will be fine.”

  Everyone thanked her, and when they were gone, she sat at one of the m
orticians’ desks and tried to smile at Mark. “So, how did it go at the Hildegard mansion? Did you find anything interesting besides the diary?”

  “Laughton lived in the attic suite, and it was full of evidence,” Mark told her. “A box of the pills, and a veritable forest of carefully tended Transymil plants. He had lights set up...heaters, water gauges, you name it. Everything.”

  “And you believe he was behind everything?”

  “Not on your life.” He smiled and walked over to her. “I’ve never been the least bit attracted to Charlaine, you know. But she did give me the diary. And she made it easier for us to accomplish what we have tonight.”

  “I just wish I knew for sure that that’s really Sebastian Hildegard’s corpse burning in there,” she said. “Anyway, there’s a coffee machine. Do you want some?”

  “Sure. We do have a long wait.”

  While the coffee finished brewing, she turned to look around the room again. The far end—with the giant incinerator—seemed to glow red. The walls were full of open shelving holding makeup, wigs and all kinds of paraphernalia for making the dead look as if they were still alive. The morticians had been using some kind of putty on the face of the accident victim. It seemed odd that even in a mortuary, everything was so very Hollywood. Here, just as on the silver screen, the entire focus was on effects. Special effects. Effects to make it look as if the dead were alive, as if they were only sleeping, so that their loved ones could feel comforted that they truly were resting in peace.

  The minute the coffee was ready, she poured two cups and brought one over to Mark.

  He smiled at her and pointed to the rear of the incinerator. “There’s a scoop there, so we can collect the ashes and head to the ocean. I think we need to make sure they’re well and truly scattered.”

  “It’s a plan,” Alessande said. She sat next to him and sipped her coffee. The elderly man, the elderly woman and the young accident victim lay on their tables without moving.

  His fingers curled around hers and she looked over at him. She saw so much in his amber eyes, fire and, more importantly, tenderness.

  “You shouldn’t have stayed. I would have been all right alone,” he told her.

  She smiled and kissed the hand that held hers. “No. And I’m fine. I’m with you. It’s just...”

  “Just what?”

  “I don’t know. Something about tonight just doesn’t feel right.”

  He leaned back and looked thoughtful.

  “You feel it, too!”

  “We’ll just wait for the ashes, then scatter them and go home. Or to Castle House, as the case is for now. And then...a really long, hot shower.”

  “I’m willing to share the guest bath,” she said, smiling, then leaned against his shoulder to wait.

  Eventually the oven finished doing its job. Mark found one of the boxes where ashes were kept when the family hadn’t decided on an urn yet. She followed his directions, helping him as they scooped the old magician’s remains into the box.

  Mark didn’t seem to worry about the niceties of the situation. Now and then they came upon a fragment of bone and he just smashed it with the scoop.

  Soon they were ready to go.

  “The coffee area...back the way it was?” he asked.

  She looked around, then nodded. He picked up the box and they headed out. Just as they were about to close and lock the door, Alessande felt a prickle of apprehension.

  She heard something.

  She hesitated and looked back into the room. The elderly man lay just as he had been.

  She stared at the accident victim.

  Did he twitch?

  No, it was her imagination.

  “Alessande?” Mark said.

  “I’m coming. I’m—”

  She broke off. It wasn’t the accident victim who had moved.

  It was the elderly woman. The one who looked like the kind of grandma who made chocolate chip cookies and served them to her beloved grandchildren along with ice-cold milk.

  The woman sprang up and came at them, her face contorting and twisting.

  And then she morphed completely, becoming a massive tiger and lunging toward them with a deafening growl and the strength of pure muscled feline power.

  Chapter 12

  Mark realized he should have seen it coming. No matter what, he knew it was prudent to be suspicious at all times.

  Actually, being suspicious was his nature.

  But he had looked at all the corpses when they had entered and had checked for movement. Now he berated himself for also, and unintentionally, thinking instinctively, distrusting the young man who, even with half his face ripped off, had looked the most powerful.

  He’d never suspected the grandmotherly old woman.

  Damn shapeshifters. Of course it made sense to choose a seemingly innocuous form.

  He slammed the door behind them, but it nearly came off its hinges as the creature slammed against it.

  He shoved the box of ashes into Alessande’s hands and shouted, “Get in the car!”

  “No! You might need me.”

  “We need the ashes,” he said, leaning with all his might against the door.

  She nodded and hurried to the minivan, throwing open the door.

  Suddenly he felt the weight against the door ease. He looked down, afraid the shapeshifter had decided to become something small and escape underneath the door.

  He heard glass crashing and turned. The massive beast had vaulted through one of the rear windows and was moving rapidly in his direction.

  Mark instantly morphed into a bat, and then his attacker shifted into the form it had used the first time he had seen it: a giant bird of prey.

  He swooped and soared, trying to get above it so he could plummet down and get it by the neck. Once his bite was secure he could sink his fangs into it and start to drain it, forcing it to lose strength and careen toward earth.

  But as if it knew his intent, the shapeshifter flew higher, staying above him.

  “Hey!” he heard Alessande shouting. And then, before his eyes, swiftly and easily, she transformed. She became a bird, a peregrine falcon, and soared into the sky to join the battle.

  The giant hawk turned, going almost into a free fall as it moved to attack Alessande.

  It was the perfect opportunity—exactly what he needed.

  He went into a deadly dive and landed on top of the massive hawk. He bit hard and deep. The two of them began to tumble together, but he amped himself up in size and pulled up—fangs still buried deep in the shifter’s flesh—just in time to keep them from slamming onto the cement of the parking area.

  The falcon alit beside him, transforming back into Alessande in the blink of an eye.

  Mark himself reverted to full vampire form, clasping the shapeshifter tightly before withdrawing his fangs. Alessande stepped closer, and together they looked at their attacker as it, too, reverted to human form.

  “Brigitte,” Alessande breathed. “Brigitte Hildegard.”

  Brigitte began spewing oaths at them as Mark held her to the ground. She clutched the back of her neck, where Mark’s fangs had sunk into her.

  “Have you got anything we can use as a bandage?” Mark asked Alessande. “She’s bleeding to death.”

  Alessande ripped off the bottom of her shirt, then wrapped the admittedly filthy fabric around the downed shapeshifter’s neck. By the time she finished, Brigitte was no longer speaking; she was unconscious.

  “Let’s get her back to Castle House,” Alessande said, looking at him. “I can try to heal her there.”

  “She nearly killed us,” Mark muttered, throwing the woman over his shoulder.

  “She’s all we’ve got,” Alessande said.

  She was right, of course. Brigitte might well be the connection they needed.

  Or she might be the head of whatever was going on, though on reflection he doubted that. She was a follower by nature. Somebody else had to be pulling her strings.

  Alessande
sat in the backseat with Brigitte sprawled half on her lap as Mark drove. The box of ashes lay on the console between the two front seats.

  He looked back now and then, making sure that Brigitte wasn’t playing at being unconscious, even though he knew better. He’d taken a lot of blood.

  He turned down Laurel Canyon Drive and then started the climb up to the House of the Rising Sun. He used the remote in the car to open the gate as he drew near.

  In the yard, Wizard barked insanely. By the time he was parked, people were spilling out of their various houses—everyone in robes or pajamas.

  “What the hell?” Brodie asked. “That’s Brigitte Hildegard.”

  “Remember the corpse of the old woman? That was Brigitte,” Mark explained dryly. “She had a remarkable transformation into a tiger and then into a hawk the size of Kansas.”

  They took Brigitte to Barrie’s house because, as Keeper of the Laurel Canyon shapeshifters, she had the best provisions for the incarceration of a shapeshifter, and if they were able to heal Brigitte, she would be a danger anywhere else.

  Rhiannon raced into Pandora’s Box to find the medical equipment to give Brigitte a transfusion. She kept supplies on hand since she never knew when a vampire would come to her needing help.

  Barrie’s basement was soundproof and could be completely sealed—ensuring that no shapeshifter could become a worm or a roach and escape through a crack in a door or window. Brigitte was quickly laid out on a couch there and the process of the transfusion begun.

  Alessande spent several minutes preparing a potent herbal tea, one with healing properties, so it would be ready to administer when—if—Brigitte regained consciousness. “Is she going to make it?” she asked anxiously on her return.

  Rhiannon nodded. “She’s getting some color back now. I think she’ll come to soon.”

  As they waited, Mark glanced at his watch. It was morning; the mortuary staff would be there by now and wondering why one of the windows was broken—from the inside. He excused himself and made a call to Lieutenant Edwards, to bring him up-to-date on the night’s events.

  “Keep an eye on her—don’t let her escape,” Edwards ordered.