Keeper of the Dawn tkl-4

by Heather Graham

  “So you were there when the other girls were killed,” Rhiannon said harshly.

  Tears suddenly welled up in Brigitte’s eyes. “I was, but I didn’t kill them!”

  “Where were they killed?”

  Brigitte hesitated, looking from each of them to the next. She was clearly about to deny that she knew, but then her brother lashed out at her.

  “Where were they killed?” he demanded.

  She exhaled and whispered. “At the church.”

  “At what church?” Alessande asked, her voice thick.

  “The church by the house—St. Ann’s.”

  There was silence in the room.

  “I don’t believe that!” Charlaine exploded. “I know Father Lars. He would never allow such a thing. He’s a good man. And the church...the church has been consecrated!”

  “They weren’t killed in the church,” Brigitte said. “There’s a section of the cemetery, overgrown and filled with broken stones. It’s where they’ve buried the dead-by-suicides since the beginning of the last century.” She winced. “It isn’t hallowed ground. Oh, my God, Alan, don’t...don’t be angry with me. Don’t—don’t turn away from me. I just wanted our family to rise to its full potential. I didn’t want to kill anyone—really. I didn’t. And when I saw that people were dying... I was afraid. I was afraid to back out. That’s the truth—I swear it,” she vowed.

  Alan looked at Mark, seeking mercy for his sister.

  “Barrie will be back soon. She’s Keeper of the local shapeshifters. Brigitte’s punishment will be a matter for her to decide,” Mark said.

  “I didn’t kill anyone,” Brigitte insisted again.

  “You tried pretty damn hard to kill Mark and me,” Alessande reminded her harshly.

  “But...I failed. I probably failed because I didn’t really want to kill you,” Brigitte said.

  “Why did you do it, then?”

  Brigitte was sitting up, and she looked across the room at Mark. “I was ordered to kill you by the priest. He gave the orders for the girls to be taken. And he’s the one who killed them.”

  “Why sell drugs? What was the money for?” Alessande asked.

  “For the new world order, I suppose.”

  “Why didn’t the priest approach your brother and you cousin?” Mark asked. “They’re Hildegards, too.”

  “Because we aren’t weak idiots,” Charlaine said.

  “Alan...” Brigitte begged, and grabbed his hands.

  Alan disentangled himself and stood. “I’ll ask our Keeper for mercy on your behalf, though I’m sure this will also be a council matter. People were killed,” he said. “For now...”

  “Take me home, Alan. Please, take me home.”

  He shook his head slowly, looking at her. “Brigitte, I can’t. You were instrumental in multiple deaths, and you risked the very existence of the Other community. You will have to pay a price. Most of all, you have to take responsibility for what you’ve done. You should be grateful that you’re alive right now. You might have died, too.”

  Brigitte didn’t say anything, and Alan turned away from her and looked at Mark. “Will Charlaine and I be safe if we go home? I fear that whoever—and whatever—this priest is, he’ll figure out that Brigitte has cracked. And what if he knows that we gave permission for you to dig up Sebastian and throw his ashes into the sea?” He turned back to Brigitte. “Did you tell him?”

  “I—yes,” she admitted.

  Alessande walked over to her. “Where did you meet with him, Brigitte? And how often?”

  “I don’t know how often. Five times, maybe six. I went to the church—to the back. There’s a huge oak. I perched there as a hawk, and when the priest came, I transformed quickly and told him what I knew. I don’t know how he knew I was there, but somehow he always did.”

  “And you’ve never seen his face?” Alessande demanded.

  Brigitte shook her head. Tears were sliding from her eyes. “No. He always wore the gold mask, along with the cape and cowl. And each time I talked to him...”

  “Go on,” Alan said. “Each time you talked to him—what?”

  “I was promised that we’d be royalty—Hildegard royalty—in the new order. That when Sebastian rose, he would rule the world.”

  Alan turned without a word and walked toward the door.

  “Don’t leave me!” Brigitte cried. “Please, Alan, don’t turn away from me.”

  Alan looked at Mark, then back at his sister. “You’ll be safe here, Brigitte. You’ve been lucky to be captured by Others, held by Keepers, not the human law. Thank your lucky stars that you survived—and that you just might have a chance at having a life again.”

  Ignoring her wailing, he walked out. Mark followed and caught up to him at the bottom of the stairs.

  “What do I do now?” Alan asked. “I don’t believe that Charlaine and I are safe.”

  Brodie joined them, firmly shutting the door to the sealed room. “He’s right, Mark. They won’t be safe. They’re going to have to hunker down here. They can sleep over at Pandora’s Box. You and Alessande can stay at Castle House with Sailor and Declan, and Rhiannon and I will stay here, guarding our captive with Barrie and Mick.”

  Mark figured there was no reason not to speak plainly in front of Alan Hildegard. “What if this is all a ruse? We’ll have our enemies right here in the compound.”

  “We have Wizard and Jonquil,” Brodie said. “And other...forms of security.”

  Mark realized that Brodie was referring to Merlin, who could easily keep an eye on the Hildegards—and report anything suspicious.

  “That’s fine,” Mark said. “But work or no work, we need everyone back here now. We know where to look for the priest who seems to be the head of the cult, so now we have to find him before he realizes we know more about what’s going on.”

  “Mark.”

  He turned around and saw that Alessande was standing there.

  “I know exactly what we should do to stop this—and stop this now.”

  “What?” he asked.

  “Plan a wedding.”

  Chapter 13

  Alessande was as surprised as anyone else by what she’d said—not to mention that she had meant it. Well, actually, she’d meant it as a sham, but when Mark had looked at her, she realized that in fact she had really meant it. And when he smiled, she knew that he meant it, too.

  Mark started to laugh. She knew that Brodie and Alan were looking at the two of them as if they’d gone mad. And then, to her amazement, Mark suddenly fell to his knees and took her hand. “Alessande, I’ve never really had a chance to say this, and I’m not particularly good with flowery words—”

  “You’re a vampire,” she told him, her lips twitching in a smile. “It’s all in the eyes.”

  “True, but right now I think it’s appropriate to speak, as well. I love you. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you do me the supreme honor of becoming my wife?”

  There was nothing to do but join him down there on the floor and whisper yes as he kissed her hand.

  “Are they crazy?” she heard Alan ask Brodie.

  “Crazy in love, I guess,” Brodie said.

  “But...what does this have to do with...what we’re facing?” Alan asked.

  “I’m sure it’s a long story,” Brodie said.

  “It is,” Mark said. “And we’ll tell it as soon as everyone’s here.”

  “Just trust me when I say that this wedding might well be a catalyst in solving this case,” Alessande added.

  * * *

  Later that night, with Declan standing watch over Brigitte and Merlin keeping an eye on Charlaine and Alan at Pandora’s Box, the rest of the group gathered in the Castle House dining room, where Mark and Alessande explained about the dream and everything that they felt for each other.

  In the middle of their conversation, Mark received a call from Bryce Edwards. He excused himself and went into the next room to talk. When he returned, he told them, “Well, our
forensic accounting unit made some intriguing discoveries. Blue Dove Entertainment is—as we believed—legitimate. The owners are hardworking and honest. However, their last movie out—The Devil Takes London—”

  “I saw it—it was wonderful,” Sailor said.

  “Have to admit—I loved it, too,” Rhiannon said.

  “We’re digressing here,” Brodie cut in. “What about the movie, Mark?”

  “It was a critical hit, and the general consensus is that everyone involved will be up for all kinds of honors come awards season, but it was expensive to make and Blue Dove is still struggling to get out of the red. It’s a situation that should be rectified once DVD sales, cable rights and all the rest are in, but in the meantime, the studio was very wary of making another investment that big.”

  “Okay, but isn’t that why one of Alan Hildegard’s companies-within-his-company got involved?” Alessande asked.

  “Yes, but it turns out there’s another company providing some of the financing, too. Gnome Entertainment,” Mark said.

  “Gnome Entertainment? So should we be talking to the gnomes?” Alessande asked.

  “Too obvious, don’t you think?” Rhiannon said.

  “So what did the forensic accountants discover about this Gnome Entertainment?” Brodie asked.

  “They’re on it—they’ll let us know as soon as they find out anything,” Mark said. “Meantime, I’m going back to see Father Lars Gunderson in the morning. We need to hold this wedding as quickly as possible, and with St. Ann’s involvement in our dreams as well as Brigitte’s mystery priest—and I fervently hope Father Lars is not our man—it’s crucial that we have the ceremony there.”

  “Mark, you just can’t plan a wedding that quickly,” Barrie said. “I mean, not if you want people to come. And if you expect to the get the church and the reception venue and—” She got a look of dawning understanding and broke off. “Mick and I will make sure that it gets into the paper as soon as you have Father Gunderson on board.”

  “In that case, I don’t think we’re going to have a problem with our guest list. I think they’ll all arrive right on time,” Mark said.

  “You guys are crazy,” Rhiannon said.

  Alessande smiled at her. “We know.”

  * * *

  That night, when they went upstairs to bed, Alessande threw herself into Mark’s arms. “I love you,” she said in a rush. “How is that possible? How did it happen so quickly? How can I be so sure that I never want to live without you again?”

  “The same way I can,” he assured her. “I just know.” He held her face tenderly between his hands and kissed her lips.

  “You’re ridiculously headstrong, you know,” he told her a few minutes later, when he finally stopped to breathe.

  “You like to take charge.”

  “You take chances.”

  “You move in like a bull in a china shop.”

  “But those eyes of yours...”

  “Those eyes of yours...”

  “The feel of your skin...”

  They dissolved into a tangle of clothing, kissing and touching, and finally making love. It was late, very late, when Alessande lay incredibly content at his side, ready to sleep. It seemed ridiculous to be this happy when a young woman was still threatened with a cruel and bloody death. But she felt renewed hope that they were on the verge of solving this case at last and finding Regina Johnson safe and alive.

  It was amazing to think that, in searching for Regina, she had found someone she needed as much as she needed air to breathe—and that she could and would wake up beside him every morning of her life to come.

  But when she drifted to sleep, the dream of her wedding came again.

  There was the church.

  The church they had seen that very day.

  And the music playing.

  Music she loved and would have chosen....

  She saw the white of her gown, and she saw the smiling faces of her friends.

  And then she felt the shadows encroach as she walked down the red runner and it slowly became a sea of blood.

  She woke up, shaking. She tried not to move, so as not to wake Mark.

  But he was already awake. He was standing at the window, looking over at Pandora’s Box.

  “Mark?” she asked, rising and slipping over to stand by him.

  “They seem so real, so honest, but are they?” he asked, and she knew he was referring to Alan Hildegard and his cousin Charlaine.

  “Those tears Brigitte cried today seemed real,” she told him as she wrapped her arms around his naked waist and laid her cheek against the breadth of his back.

  “What are we missing?” he asked softly. “Because we are missing something, something we’re not seeing.”

  “I don’t know, but I think we will see it soon.”

  He turned, drawing her to face him, tilted her chin up and said, “This may be crazy, getting married so quickly, but...I think it’s what we have to do. And, I swear, Alessande, I won’t stop until we find Regina Johnson.”

  She rose on her tiptoes and kissed him. “I believe in you,” she said, “with all my heart. I believe in you, and I love you.”

  He kissed her again. “We’ve got to get some sleep. Before I go see Father Gunderson, Brodie and I are going to tear apart the old Hildegard Studio again. See what we can find.”

  “Just for safety’s sake, I’ll get Sailor and Declan to go with me to the church, because I’d like to speak with Father Gunderson, too. I’ll call him and tell him what we want to do, then you can meet us there.”

  “We should get an early start, so we really need to get to sleep.”

  But it was some time before they actually slept again. As Alessande drifted off, she realized that she hadn’t said anything to Mark about having the dream again.

  She hoped it wasn’t a bad omen.

  * * *

  “This seems to get more and more confusing as we go along,” Brodie said, sinking down into the couch where they’d found the screenplay for Death in the Bowery.

  “I know. Is it really over money—or ritual murder?” Mark said.

  Brodie shook his head. “Did they discover that the drug could render victims pliable and then that it could make big money on the street? Or vice versa?”

  “I don’t know. I do know that we’ve torn this place apart and there’s no sign that anyone is being held here.” Mark’s phone dinged to indicate an incoming text, and he looked down at the screen. “They still haven’t figured out who owns Gnome Entertainment. All they know so far is that it’s headquartered in the Cayman Islands.” He pocketed the phone. “Well, let’s get over to the church. We have to set things up for the wedding.”

  “Crazy,” Brodie said for the thousandth time. He glanced at his own phone as it beeped.

  “Edwards?” Mark asked.

  “No, Rhiannon. With good news.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Merlin reported that Alan admitted to Charlaine that he was afraid if someone did resurrect Sebastian, he’d be in for a torturous death. Makes him sound as innocent as he claimed to be.”

  “Here’s hoping,” Mark said. “Did she say anything about Brigitte?”

  “Just that she’s still safely locked in the basement.”

  “Good,” Mark said, then paused as they started to head out. “Hang on, I want to recheck the soundstage with the cemetery scene.”

  “With the decaying corpses coming out of their graves?”

  “Yep, that one.”

  “We already searched it.”

  “I know, but...something is sticking in the back of my head.”

  “What is it?” Brodie teased when they got there. “The zombies aren’t scaring you, are they?”

  “It’s not the zombies at all,” Mark said.

  “Then what?”

  “It’s the headstones. The way they’re set—I feel as if I’ve seen them before.”

  “Where?” Brodie asked.

  “At the
church. St. Ann’s.”

  * * *

  “A wedding gown is the first thing on the agenda,” Alessande said. “I can’t get married without a gown.”

  “That could take forever,” Sailor said. “And we need to be going to the church.”

  “I know, but it won’t take long, only about thirty minutes,” Alessande assured them. She was seated at the table, whipping through websites on Barrie’s computer.

  “Aha! I found it,” she said.

  Barrie, Rhiannon and Sailor all rushed over.

  “Gorgeous, very medieval, very...Elven,” Sailor said.

  “Are you sure that’s the one you want?” Barrie asked her.

  “Positive,” Alessande said, looking up at them. “I’ve already seen myself wearing it.”

  * * *

  Mark stood in the church graveyard, staring at the graves.

  There were no zombies clawing their way out of the ground, but he had been right. The crooked old stones were arrayed just as they had been set up on the soundstage. Even the big old oak tree—with its branches dripping with Spanish moss, tired and mournful looking—matched the fabricated oak on the soundstage.

  He was at the rear of the church, standing on the unconsecrated ground—the ground where the dead-by-suicides had been buried. Most of the stones were illegible now, the lettering worn away by wind and time, or obscured by mold and moss.

  “You’re definitely on to something here,” Brodie said, walking up beside him.

  “Since Sebastian was around at the time the filming was going on, I guess it was natural he told the designer to create a set that resembled something he knew. He probably sent him here to check it out, or gave him photos to work with.” He looked speculatively up at the old tree. “And this is also where Brigitte said she met with the masked priest.”

  “There’s definitely no one here now,” Brodie said.

  “No,” Mark agreed. “But...”

  “But?”

  “I don’t like it.”

  “Come on. The others will be here any minute. We have your wedding to set up.”

  * * *

  In the few days until the wedding they split up their duties, watching over the Hildegards in Pandora’s Box and the Hildegard being held captive in Barrie’s basement.