“We’ll have to get in contact with the rest of the L.A.–area Keepers about this,” Rhiannon said. “And we’ll have to call our own councils to discuss the matter. Someone out there somewhere knows something. We just have to find out who.”
“And anyone who’s not equipped or trained to deal with criminal activity needs to stay out of it,” Mark said, turning to look at Alessande.
She fought hard to control her temper.
Maybe it didn’t help that he was so tall. As an Elven, she stood eye to eye with most men, but not him. Valiente was six foot four or so. He probably made a good cop. He was muscular and imposing, with ink-dark hair and the yellow-gold eyes that were frequently found among his kind, plus many striking features.
The better to terrify jaywalkers, she couldn’t help but think.
“Shall we?” he offered.
She walked to the door and paused before turning back. “Brodie, if you and Mark are both going to the old studio, who’s going to continue interrogating the humans you brought to the station?”
“Brodie already questioned them while you and I were speaking with the lieutenant,” Mark told her. “Besides, you’re the one who just said that they were basically worthless as sources of information.”
“I know I did, but…didn’t you learn anything? I couldn’t hear everything that they were saying to Brodie,” she said.
“Strange, it sounded like you did,” Mark said casually.
“Most of them thought it was a show, something to amuse the tourists,” Brodie explained. “The junkie said he thought he’d joined up with a religious group performing a ritual. Only thing he heard that impressed me was that he thinks they believed they could bring Sebastian Hildegard back to life—that he’s a new messiah.”
“And he thought nothing of an ostensibly unconscious woman lying on top of a sarcophagus?” Alessande asked.
“He thought you were part of the group, that you were just there to greet Sebastian when he came back to life,” Brodie told her. “He thought the knives were merely symbolic.”
“But—”
“We can’t prove that he or any of them knew you were kidnapped. They all seemed to believe that you were a volunteer, part of the ritual, the show, the tour—whatever they had stumbled into,” Brodie said quietly.
Mark sighed. “We don’t even have enough evidence to hold them for more than twenty-four hours. One guy threatened to sue the department for breaching his civil rights. Says even if he stumbled into something he knew nothing about, everyone is entitled to religious freedom. At least we interrupted the really bad guys tonight. Being Others, they were a lot more powerful and dangerous than the people we’ve got in custody. The sect, or whatever it is, is going to be regrouping.”
They were getting nowhere, Alessande realized, and continued on toward the door. She turned once more, looking back at the Gryffald cousins. “Thank you,” she told them.
With all the dignity she could muster, she stood by the door and waited for Mark. All she had to do now was keep a civil tongue until the vampire cop got her home so she could sleep for a while and forget the trauma—and the failure—of that night.
She had to admit, she was exhausted.
Mark Valiente joined her at the door, led her out and pointed to the vintage Mustang in the driveway. She already knew it was his car, although she had made the drive from the police station to the House of the Rising Sun with Brodie.
“Pretty nice car for a cop,” she said, then wanted to bite her tongue. Be civil, she chastised herself.
He shrugged. “It moves when it needs to,” he assured her, then grinned. “It’s actually my work car—came out of a police auction.”
The car didn’t have much of a backseat, but the front seats were comfortable and afforded a lot of space for long legs. Alessande slid in quickly, before he could hold much less open the door for her, though she didn’t know if he would have tried to or not.
They were both silent as he headed down the driveway, waited as the gate opened and eased out onto the road. It was dusk. The air was growing cooler, and the sun was falling in the western sky. The sunset was beautiful, shades of purple and orange slowly disappearing in the encroaching darkness. She couldn’t believe how late it had gotten, but they’d been at the police station for what had seemed like forever after the raid at the tomb, and then they’d been at the House of the Rising Sun for a while, too.
Alessande turned, looking at him, and said at last, “What about the bad guys? Do you think they’ll kill Regina out of anger over what happened—whether to get even with us or as a warning?”
“I don’t think that Regina is in any more danger than she has been. She’s Elven, young and very beautiful. I imagine they want her for something important,” Mark responded. He glanced her way. “As an ancient, you should be able to tell me. Do you know anything firsthand about Sebastian Hildegard?”
There it was—that damned age reference again. “I was in Scotland at the time,” she said haughtily. “What about you, vampire? How the hell old are you? Weren’t you around at the time?”
He smiled grimly. “I was living in New York City back then. And,” he said, assessing her, “what are you really? About eighty?”
“One hundred six.”
“I was born soon after the American Civil War. I suppose I do have you by a few years. My family didn’t come out to California until the 1970s. We moved around a lot before that. You know, you can’t stay anywhere long when you don’t age.”
Alessande started to open her mouth as they were driving along the steep winding trail of Mulholland Drive, but something slammed down on the roof of the car—as if hit by the Hand of God. The Mustang veered wildly toward the edge of the cliff, teetering dangerously toward the chasm that plunged hundreds of feet to the ground—and certain death.
Chapter 2
Mark prided himself on being alert and wary of danger at all times, but the thunderous attack on the Mustang had taken him completely by surprise.
He gripped the wheel in a death lock and swung the car around, barely saving them from a fatal fall into the canyon below. As he jerked the car to a halt, he knew that something evil was out there with them on the road where the houses were few, far between and built into the cliff at all angles.
He looked over at Alessande; to her credit, she hadn’t screamed, didn’t seem to be in a panic and was staring at him as if ready to follow his lead.
“Go,” he told her softly. “Teleport, but not home. Go back to the House of the Rising Sun.”
“I can help—”
“Please…go. I think they’re after you.”
She didn’t need to ask him why he had told her to return to the Gryffald estate. They both knew that teleporting took a vast amount of energy, and that she would be in a weakened state once she reached her goal, so the best place to be was among friends with supernatural strengths of their own.
He got a good look at her in the split second when she nodded before teleporting.
She really was stunning. Of course the Elven came that way. But her face was as perfect as a fairy-tale princess, her eyes as deep and mercurial and enchanting as the sea, and the spun white-gold of her hair framed her classic features.
Then