Keeper of the Dawn (The Keepers: L.A.)

by Heather Graham

  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.”

  “Cement? What are you talking about?” Alessande asked.

  “The Hildegard tomb was just being built when the girl was found,” Barrie said. “They found cement dust on her that looked like the same cement being used to build the tomb.”

  “What did Hildegard die of?” Mick asked, leaning over Barrie.

  “Cancer,” Merlin said. “He’d been treated for it for a while. Unusual for a shifter, but it can be just as fatal as for anyone else.”

  “So he knew he was dying,” Alessande said. “And he was in that cult, so...maybe he killed her so her blood could be used for some kind of sacrament when he was laid in his tomb. And maybe the people who want him back revived the cult, or maybe founded a version of their own, knew that somehow.”

  “Or maybe they were familiar with the family tales,” Sailor said thoughtfully.

  “Is there a description of the victim in the article?” Alessande asked Barrie.

  “Not here...let me try searching the name....” She typed for a moment and then started reading aloud to them. “‘Aspiring actress Belinda Bevin was twenty-six, five-eight, blue-eyed and blonde. Her friends described her as magically beautiful.’”

  “Elven,” they all said in unison.

  Alessande considered everything for a moment. “Neither of the recent victims was Elven. And we have no way of knowing for sure if this victim was, either. Let’s say she was, though, and that she was killed because her blood was important for Sebastian’s burial, maybe to ensure that he’d be able to come back someday. And now they need Elven blood to accomplish that return.” She looked around at the others to see what they thought of her theory.

  Sailor gasped softly. “Elven don’t get cancer,” she said.

  “Or,” Declan suggested, “maybe Elven blood was chosen because Elven have magic in them, but they’re not as deadly as, say, a vampire or a werewolf. And, in mythology, vampires and werewolves are associated with darkness and death, while Elven are associated with light, life and healing.”

  “Whatever the reason,” Alessande said, “I believe that whoever wants to raise Sebastian from the dead conducted a few ‘trial runs’ using non-Elven women just to make sure they could get through the ceremony without making a mistake. That’s why the police received the anonymous tip to be at the Hildegard tomb the other night. The cult had taken a woman they knew was Elven and planned to conduct the ritual for real. For publicity.”

  “That all makes sense—except for one thing,” Barrie said.

  “What’s that?” Mick asked.

  “They were already holding an Elven. Regina Johnson. Why didn’t the call come sooner?” Barrie asked.

  “I don’t know, but they still have Regina,” Sailor said.

  “And that means the whole thing is still set to go with an Elven sacrifice,” Alessande said. “We just have to stop them before they can complete the next ceremony. The ringleaders are probably lying low now because they made such a lucky escape last time.”

  “While we wait for them to make their next move, we need to find out more about this Cult of Tyr and what Sebastian was up to before he died,” Sailor said.

  Declan slammed his hand down on the table. “No,” he said. “What we need to do is dig up the body of Sebastian Hildegard and burn it to ash—that will stop whatever is going on.”

  “But it won’t help us find Regina,” Alessande said. “They’re holding her—and if we destroy their chance of raising Sebastian, they’ll kill her. They’ve already killed twice, after all.” She grew thoughtful for a moment, then said, “There is a way....”

  “And that is?” Sailor asked.

  “We dig up Sebastian without anyone knowing.”

  Chapter 11

  “I don’t know what to tell you. This is all we could get,” Bryce Edwards said irritably.

  Mark stared at him. “Lieutenant, this won’t give us anything. We needed a warrant for the whole house. All we’re going to do is piss off Alan Hildegard when we come in with something like this.”

  “Lieutenant,” Brodie said. “Doesn’t the D.A. want this thing solved?” He looked around the station and lowered his voice. “We have to get an Other judge who’ll give us a better warrant.”

  “Judge Varlet is a vampire,” Edwards said softly. “He says he still has to follow the letter of the law, and that warrant is good for
the butler’s personal space and the kitchen. That’s all they can do. So far, we don’t have an iota of evidence that suggests that Alan Hildegard—or Brigitte or Charlaine—might be involved with the drug business in any way.”

  “We caught people in the Hildegard tomb—” Mark began.

  “And the leaders escaped or disappeared. We didn’t end up with a single thing on the people you did bring in—every story they gave us checked out. They were just dumb minions roped in to fill some kind of quorum. You have nothing that implicates any member of the Hildegard family,” Edwards said. “You both know the law.”

  “Yeah, but the problem is, this isn’t going to fall into the regular scope of the law,” Mark said.

  Edwards leaned closer, speaking very softly. “Then you two need to work outside the law. But whatever you do, don’t get caught. I suggest, however, that you do serve this warrant. I can send officers with you. Make sure you have Alan Hildegard, his sister and his cousin believing that you’re convinced only the butler had anything to do with the drug and probably the murder, that he had heard the family stories about Sebastian and was probably trying to curry favor with the family by bringing their patriarch back.”

  “Better than nothing,” Brodie told Mark.

  “I guess,” Mark said. “Still, a butler has full run of the house. Couldn’t we have used that angle?”

  “I got what I could get. Now you two use what you have and get this done,” Edwards told them.

  A few minutes later, as the detectives left the station, Brodie asked quietly, “Did he just tell us to use whatever Other powers we have to cut through this?”

  “Sounded like it to me,” Mark said, then he made a call to alert the team that Edwards had assigned to them. They arrived at the mansion to be met by six officers and forensic specialists.

  Alan Hildegard answered the door himself.

  Of course; he didn’t have a butler any longer.

  “I’ve been expecting you,” Alan said. “Come on through—I’ll show you to Jimmy’s apartment.”

  The bastard knew what their warrant contained!

  Of course. He wasn’t stupid.

  Both Brigitte and Charlaine were there, as well. Brigitte watched them silently as they entered; Charlaine smiled at Mark. “Detective, what a pleasure to see you, again. Of course, the circumstances are terrible—we’re just shocked about Jimmy, of course. He was a wonderful butler. But I suppose that watching us...seeing this house, the family money...made him long to make some real money of his own. Sadly, he decided to do it by selling drugs. I’m horrified, just horrified. The young people who might have been hurt...it’s just terrible.”

  “Unfortunately, Jimmy wasn’t working on his own, Charlaine,” Mark said, contravening the lieutenant’s suggestion and not caring.

  “What makes you think that?” Alan asked, walking up behind him.

  “For one thing, he killed himself rather than be arrested,” Mark said.

  Alan shrugged. “I’d kill myself, too, before I’d let myself be confined.”

  “Don’t be silly,” Charlaine said. “You’d never be confined.” She dropped her voice so that only Mark and Brodie could hear her next words. “You’d turn yourself into a bee or a wasp and fly right out of prison. But, that is a good point. I think a lot of people would prefer death to being locked away.”

  “Well, there’s another reason—I’m sure you read in the papers that Jimmy was working with a man who went by the street name Digger. Digger was murdered,” Mark said.

  “Jimmy murdered this...Digger before he died?” Brigitte asked.

  “No.”

  “How do you know?” Alan asked.

  “Because Digger was killed after Jimmy was already dead,” Mark said.

  “Interesting. The papers didn’t say who was killed when. I’d rather assumed Jimmy had murdered his cohort, then killed himself,” Alan said. “Anyway, come through this way, will you? Jimmy had his own apartment. It’s the entire attic, actually. Take your time, and if there’s anything we can do to help you...”

  “Actually, there is,” Mark said. “Laughton was your butler. He had the run of the house. With your permission, we can search everywhere.”

  “My, my! How industrious,” Charlaine said. “You’re more than welcome to search my suite. I’ll go along to help in any way I can.”

  “I agree,” Brigitte added. “Search anywhere you like.”

  “Alan?” Brodie asked.

  “Go for it,” Alan told him. “We were appalled to discover that a member of our household was involved in this ridiculous cult that’s grown up around our great-grandfather, not to mention murder. Search anywhere you like.”

  “We’re going to need a bigger crew,” Brodie murmured to Mark. His tone was one of definite surprise.

  “I’ll call it in,” Mark said, looking at Alan. Had they been wrong about all this?

  He studied the three members of the Hildegard family. Alan returned his regard with what appeared to be sincerity. Brigitte stood quietly by her brother.

  Charlaine, though... Charlaine was smiling just like the cat that had eaten the canary.

  He realized that they could search all they wanted, but they wouldn’t find anything. No, actually, they would.

  They would find it in Jimmy’s apartment—right where it had already been planted.

  But they needed to go through the motions.

  “Thank you,” he told them. “Thing is, he might have put anything anywhere—intending for you to be blamed.” If they wanted to play a game of lies, he and Brodie could play it just as well.

  “I hadn’t thought of that,” Alan said. “Still, search wherever you want to, Detectives. We’ll be in the parlor, if you need anything.”

  “And, of course, though we’re down a butler, I do know how to brew tea, so let me know if any of your people would like a bit of refreshment,” Brigitte offered.

  “That’s kind of you,” Mark said. He nodded to Brodie to stay with the family while he put through the call to the lieutenant.

  “Detective,” Charlaine said, “why don’t you join me—I’ll help you search my quarters first.”

  “Sure, I’ll get some officers,” he said.

  He was startled when she brushed past him and tripped. When he bent to help her, she whispered to him, “I need to see you alone.”

  Curious, Mark followed her up the stairs to her second-floor suite.

  * * *

  Rhiannon returned to the house while the others were making plans. When she heard what they’d come up with, she said incredulously, “So we’re going to break into the Hildegard tomb, somehow remove Sebastian from his sarcophagus and burn him to ash. And by some miracle no one is going to notice this?”

  “Well, we’re going to need Mark’s and Brodie’s help,” Alessande said.

  “Two cops—great. There go their careers if we’re caught,” Rhiannon said.

  “Have you got a better plan?” Barrie asked her.

  Rhiannon considered it. “No,” she admitted. “So tell me—how are we going to execute this plan, and, once it’s accomplished, how do we find Regina?”

  “We’ve got to keep it entirely secret—that’s the only way to keep Regina safe,” Alessande said. “We need to send the men into the tomb, so you, Sailor, Barrie and I will have to stay outside and stand watch.”

  “I’ll be something very small—like a caterpillar. I’m good at caterpillars,” Barrie said. “That way, if there is trouble, I can get into the tomb unseen and warn the guys to get out. It’s risky, but it’s a risk I think we need to take, given everything we’ve found out.”

  “We’ll all need to be prepared to step forward and mesmerize anyone who stumbles on us,” Alessande told Rhiannon and Sailor. “Between us, we should be able to handle who- and whatever comes our way.”

  “Unless it’s the entire Cult of Tyr,” Sailor said.

  Rhiannon groaned softly. “Do Brodie and Mark know about this plan yet?”
r />   “No,” Alessande said. “And I think we’d better wait and tell them in person, don’t you?”

  In answer, Rhiannon only groaned again.

  * * *

  As soon as they reached her room, Charlaine dropped the coquettish-flirt act. She closed the door behind her. “I don’t know what’s going on,” she swore. “But it’s not going on in our family. Alan isn’t lying to you—he doesn’t want Sebastian coming back from the dead. He likes being head of the family. Brigitte...Brigitte follows Alan’s lead, because she doesn’t like doing any actual work. As long as Alan keeps everything going, she’s a happy camper. I have to admit, I’m not fond of work myself. I am fond of dancing at the Snake Pit, enjoying lunch at the Beverley Hills Hotel and shopping on Rodeo Drive. I like this house, Mark. I like living big and rich in Hollywood.”

  “In that case, can you tell me how James Laughton, your butler and a human being, wound up dealing Transymil—street name XF—a drug previously confined to the Otherworld?”

  “I don’t know—I swear, I don’t know. I never heard anything about any of this until those women were found dead. And then you and your partner swooped into the family tomb and arrested a bunch of people I’d never even heard of, much less met. Honestly—I’m telling you the truth. And I’m begging you to believe me, because you have to find who’s really out there killing, because—”

  She broke off and stared at him—an entirely different woman from the one who had behaved as if she couldn’t wait to jump his bones.

  “Because of what?”

  She inhaled. “Because I believe that Sebastian can be brought back from the grave—and because he shouldn’t be.” She shuddered. “I’ve studied the journals he left, and...I know that he murdered a woman before he died. I know that he murdered her with his own hands, that he drank a pint of her blood and covered his body with another pint. And I know that it will take the murder—the sacrifice—of another woman to bring him back to life.”

  “A blue-eyed blonde?”

  She hesitated again. She straightened. “You’re not going to want any of your human forensic specialists to find this,” she said. As she spoke, she walked over to the medieval-style headboard of her bed and twisted one of the carved rosettes.