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

by Heather Graham

  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.

  “She’s safe. We’ve got her in Barrie’s basement,” Mark explained.

  “All right. Now get those ashes dumped in the Pacific as soon as you possibly can.”

  “Yes, sir, will do,” Mark promised and rang off.

  When he returned, Alessande was seated near Brigitte, watching over her. He couldn’t read her expression, but he was amazed once again that she always proved to be so much more than he expected. She had known just what to do to give him the chance to take Brigitte down.

  “I think she’s going to come out of it, but it may take a little time,” Rhiannon said. “Barrie, you and Mick need to get to work at the paper. We don’t want to draw suspicion by doing anything out of character.”

  “We need to scatter Sebastian’s ashes right away,” Mark said.

  Declan stepped forward, “Sailor and I can handle that.”

  “Works for me,” Sailor said. “I don’t need to be at work until later. And it looks like my acting career is going to get lost in the disaster of yet another movie not being made.” She smiled wryly. “It’s okay. I will make it one day.”

  Declan pulled her into his arms. “Yes, you will. But for now, let’s get moving. Rhiannon, we’ll head straight back here when we’re done.”

  “I wonder if one of us should stand guard outside,” Alessande said.

  Rhiannon smiled at her. “No need. We have Wizard and Jonquil.”

  The next thirty minutes seemed longer to Mark than the nearly three hours they’d spent at the mortuary. He and Brodie paced, passing each other in the small space every few seconds.

  “Stop!” Rhiannon finally begged them.

  Brodie nodded and sat down with his back against the wall. Mark perched at the foot of the couch where Brigitte lay.

  Finally Rhiannon removed the IV apparatus. Brigitte had more color, but she still wasn’t stirring.

  “You haven’t given up, have you?” Mark asked.

  Rhiannon smiled, shaking her head. “She’s gotten all she can take. She’ll come around soon.”

  Five minutes later, Brigitte moved at last. Her head twisted, and she groaned. Then her eyes opened and she stared at them with loathing.

  “You worthless bastards,” she said, her voice whispery. “You don’t deserve to be what you are. You are less than the weak humans who people this world like ants!”

  “Right, whatever,” Mark said, staring at her. “Now talk. Who is the head of the Cult of Tyr trying to raise your great-grandfather?”

  She stared at him and blinked hard. Then she smiled. “Stupid. I’m the head of it.”

  “No, you’re not,” Alessande said. “You’re a follower. It’s not enough for you that you’re living a great life—you want to be a queen, or a princess. You want Sebastian back because you believe he’ll give you the power you crave. But you’re not the head of anything.”

  “Yes, I am. Why won’t you accept that, Elven witch?”

  “Because you’re too foolish and ignorant to be the head of anything,” Alessande said calmly. “And I’m so sorry, but you’re not hurting my feelings at all. Some of my dearest friends are witches.”

  Brigitte swore at that and tried to turn away from them, but Brodie held her fast.

  “You were at the tomb the night Brodie and I came in, weren’t you? You escaped as a bug or a toad, I’ll bet—very fitting, by the way,” Mark said. “And you tried to kill Alessande and me the next night.”

  “I will kill you—eventually,” she swore sweetly. “I mean, seriously, just what are you going to do now? Kill me and then tell my brother what you did? He wouldn’t like that.”

  “I don’t think he’d like what you did tonight, either, Brigitte,” Brodie said. “I think Alan is very fond of his lifestyle. He doesn’t want anyone getting in the way of that or taking power away from him—not even you.”

  “He won’t let you hurt his sister,” Brigitte insisted.

  “We don’t intend to hurt you. But we will make you talk,” Alessande said, leaning closer to the prisoner. Mark had never seen her look more merciless and terrifying—not even as an avenging peregrine falcon. “We want to know where to find Regina Johnson.”

  But Brigitte seemed serene. “You are all so foolish. It’s begun, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. It would have been nice if things had worked out at the tomb that night. But that wasn’t the end. All your friends managed to do was delay us. Sebastian will return. You’ve failed.”


  “And you’re a terrible liar,” Alessande said.

  That caused Brigitte to frown for a moment. But then she smiled again, slowly. “Do you really think that you could destroy Sebastian? He’s more powerful than you can possibly imagine. You will all die—and I will be lifted up. I will be a queen,” she told them.

  “Where is Regina Johnson?” Alessande demanded again.

  Brigitte was thoughtful. “I don’t know.”

  “You do know,” Alessande accused her.

  “No, you can torture me from now to the Apocalypse, but it won’t matter. I really don’t know where Regina is right now,” Brigitte said.

  Alessande looked as if she was about to pounce. Brigitte shrank back into the couch, but before Alessande could address her lie and smack the woman, she stood and walked away.

  Mark rose and went over to join her.

  “I know what I said before, but can I torture her anyway?” she asked through clenched teeth.

  “Alessande...”

  “Yeah, yeah, that would make us as bad as she is.”

  “I’m not sure that’s really my point right now, but I don’t want to lose her. I have a better idea. We’ll leave her with Rhiannon and Brodie, and go get Alan and Charlaine. Let them talk to her.”

  Alessande arched a brow. “That just might work—I guess.”

  Mark turned to Brodie. “I’m going to take Alessande out for a bit, see what we can dig up.”

  “You won’t dig up anything,” Brigitte said confidently. “I am the priestess. I am the head of the cult, and you will be sorry you ever crossed me.”

  “Take care,” Rhiannon said. “And don’t worry about our friend here—she doesn’t have the strength of a two-year-old at the moment. And I can always rip out her throat if I choose to.”

  “No violence, hon,” Brodie warned.

  “I say cuff her, at least.”

  “I will turn into a crocodile and eat your heads,” Brigitte promised.

  Alessande laughed. That had probably been the greatest insult Brigitte could have received, with its implication that she couldn’t even shift her way out of handcuffs.

  Mark and Alessande left then, taking the Charger and heading toward the Hildegard mansion.

  As they navigated the canyon, she looked through a grove of trees atop a cliff to a scene that seemed oddly familiar. “Mark!”

  “What?”

  “Stop. Please, stop.”

  He pulled off the road. She got out of the car and walked through the trees, feeling a chill settle over her as surely as if they’d been hit by a sudden ice storm.

  “What is it?” Mark demanded, catching up to her.

  “Look,” she said, pointing. “The road to reach it must be just around on that bend we passed. Mark, it’s—”

  “The church from the wedding,” he finished.

  She swung around and stared at him, the chill deepening. “You saw the same church, didn’t you? In your vision?”

  He nodded.

  She swallowed, noticing the strange look in his eyes. He wasn’t afraid, but it was the look of a man facing the unknown.

  “I’m going to investigate,” he said. “You need to—”

  “What? Are you crazy? I am not waiting in the car and we are not splitting up.”

  He smiled. “I wasn’t going to suggest that. I was going to say that you have to be very careful. And I mean very careful.”

  She smiled. “Okay.”

  “Give me your hand. Let’s walk up there. If we drove, our engine would warn anyone that we’re coming.”

  She agreed with that. As they approached, however, she pulled him back. “Maybe one of us should shift,” she suggested.

  He looked at her dryly. “Well, I can do a large wolf or a bat. If there is a legitimate clergyman up there, I think either one would be extremely disturbing to him.”

  “Ferret?” she asked him. “I can curl around your neck and watch from there.”

  “I like the sound of that,” he teased.

  She started to tell him that he needed to be serious, but then she realized that he was joking for her sake.

  “Should we call the others first?” she asked softly.

  “We’ll just take a look right now,” he said. “Come on, oh talented Keeper-to-be.”

  She smiled, transformed and crawled up his body to settle around his neck.

  Touching him in any way, she realized, felt good. And it made her feel secure to curl around his neck and absorb his heat as they moved up the hill.

  The church was beautiful. It was small, but built in the Gothic style, like New England churches. It was whitewashed, with stained-glass windows. There was a graveyard next to the church and stretching around the back.

  Mark paused and read the welcome sign aloud. “‘St. Ann of the Little Flower, erected 1893,’” he said. “‘Welcome all of Faith. Father Lars Gunderson, pastor.’”

  Gunderson. Lars Gunderson. He was an Elven! She knew him from council meetings.

  “It looks like a perfectly nice church and nothing more,” he said. “I’m going in.”

  He walked up the brick path to the front steps. When he opened the door, he paused, letting his eyes adjust to the dimness, then looked into the interior.

  Alessande could see that it was indeed the church she’d seen in her nightmare. The central aisle led to a large and richly decorated altar, with sacramental objects sitting on it. A golden cross took pride of place in the middle.

  The windows allowed light to streak through, taking on the colors of the glass.

  And a blood red runner ran down the aisle.

  Mark started walking toward the altar.

  “Maybe I was here when I was a kid,” he said softly. “I do feel that I know this place.”

  “Hello, welcome to St. Ann’s.”

  As Mark turned, Alessande saw that a man in priestly garb was walking toward them. She studied him quickly, then ducked beneath Mark’s jacket, peering out but taking care to remain hidden.

  “Welcome, welcome. I’m Father Lars Gunderson—Father Lars to my parishioners and friends, and I hope I can call you a friend,” the priest said.

  Mark offered him a hand. “A friend, yes. I’m Mark Valiente. I saw your church from the road. It was so beautiful, I had to investigate.”

  “Yes, she is pretty, isn’t she?” Father Lars said. “I’m lucky to be assigned here.” He stopped, looking curiously at Mark. “You’re staring rather strangely.”

  “Am I? Sorry. I’m just a bit in awe. I’m from this area, and I’ve never noticed the church before.”

  “We’re up on the hill, hard to see from the road. We have a fine supply of parishioners, though. And we do our best to give back to the community.”

  Mark dug in his pocket and produced one of his cards. “Father, in all honesty, I’m a cop. And we’ve been having some trouble in the Valley, girls disappearing—”

  “And dying,” Father Lars said gravely. “I’m not barred from reading the papers, you know.”

  “Of course. I’m just curious. Have you had new parishioners lately? Or noticed anyone unusual hanging around or...had any break-ins, anything like that?”

  “The rectory is down the hill, so I don’t always see what’s going on,” Father Lars said. He hesitated. “But, yes—someone did break into one of the alms boxes about a week ago.”

  “Did you call the police, Father?”

  The man smiled. He really was the perfect priest—warm smile and cheery red cheeks, deep brown eyes and salt-and-pepper brows. “Father” was a good fit; he would probably have been a great dad, gentle and patient.

  “Detective Valiente,” Father Lars said, “when a man is desperate enough to break into an alms box, I trust in God that he needed the money. No, I didn’t report the theft. What could the police have done anyway?”

  “Father, thank you for your time,” Mark said. “I’m glad to have had the chance to see your beautiful church.”

  He was
surprised when the priest smiled with a touch of bemusement. “I’m happy that my church can please a vampire. One living in the light, of course.”

  Mark was startled. “Father—”

  “I am a friend to many Others,” Father Lars said. “Please, come back anytime.”

  Mark shook the priest’s hand again. Then he turned to leave and walked along the path. Alessande scurried around behind his back to watch as they moved away. She was sure that she saw dark shadows lurking by the side of the church, as if they were emanating from the graves. She felt a chill seeping into her again, despite the warm coat of fur she had given herself.

  When they were back down the hill near the car, she scurried to the ground and resumed her true form.

  “That’s it,” she said. “That’s the church I saw in my nightmare. Well, the inside of it anyway. You were there, and Brodie and Rhiannon, and I was...”

  “You were going to be killed,” he said flatly.

  “We have to use this knowledge, Mark. I believe we were given a warning. And I know Father Gunderson—I know him because he’s Elven. Well, half Elven anyway.”

  He swore softly to himself. “Of course. I knew there was something about him.”

  She smiled. “It’s because he’s mixed. His father was Elven. His mother was human. I think he’s spent most of his life being as human as he could. He’s a good man, I know. I’ve seen him in the councils for years.”

  “We have to tell the others everything we saw in our dreams—maybe they’ll know what it means,” Mark told her. “For now, we need to go and get the Hildegards.”

  * * *

  Mark knew that Alessande was suspicious of the entire Hildegard family—and with good cause.

  After all, Brigitte had tried to kill them twice.

  But both Alan and Charlaine looked so horrified and confused, Mark couldn’t imagine that even shapeshifters could put up such a front.

  Alan swallowed hard. “Is—is Brigitte all right? Forgive me—I understand that she tried to kill you, but...she is my sister.”