“Paperwork,” Mark groaned.
“Happens to the best of us,” Brodie said. “Let’s head on out. We didn’t find anyone—but so far no one has found us, either.”
Alessande awoke to the gentle touch of a hand on her shoulder. She expected Sailor or Rhiannon or Barrie. She jerked when she saw the face of an elderly man.
Merlin!
“I’m so, so sorry, my dear. I didn’t mean to startle you. You were whimpering in your sleep. I knocked, but you didn’t answer, so…But I didn’t wish to scare you.”
Merlin was an extremely polite ghost. He’d been a lovely man in life, and he was a lovely man in death.
Without being an Other, he’d been a spectacular magician.
“It’s okay, Merlin,” she said quickly. “You just surprised me. I was whimpering? I had no idea. I thought I was out like a light.”
“The mind is a mysterious machine, my dear,” he said. “May I?” he asked, indicating the chair near the window.
“Of course.”
Merlin was a talented ghost. He’d learned to use his ectoplasmic strength to great effect. He drew the chair over to her bedside and sat. “I’ve just heard about the events at the Hildegard tomb.”
She winced. “Merlin, I’ve listened to a dozen lectures already.”
“Oh, I’m not here to lecture you, Alessande.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m here to warn you,” he said gravely.
“About?”
“Sebastian Hildegard,” he said.
She frowned at that. “Sebastian Hildegard must be pretty well decayed by now—even if he was embalmed. Dead and buried, as they say. It’s his heirs—or whoever is using his tomb—that we need to fear.”
Merlin shook his head. She smiled, watching him. He was white-headed and distinguished; he would have made the perfect grandfather.
“No, you don’t understand. I knew Sebastian Hildegard. He wasn’t just an illusionist and a shapeshifter—he was a man dedicated to achieving immortality.”
“But he’s dead.”
He shook his head at her naïveté. “Perhaps he can be resurrected. He certainly thought so.”
Alessande chose her words carefully. “Merlin, we’re all aware of the different powers we have, but even vampires can die. And shapeshifters don’t have the life span that vampires do. Shapeshifters die.”
“Sebastian did die,” Merlin said. “Look, I know this is hard to believe, but it’s true. Sebastian was into the occult—he studied ancient texts from dawn to dusk. I believe that part of him is still…is still in the atmosphere. Caught somewhere in time and space. And I believe that this cult intends to use the deaths of more young women to bring him back to life.”
“Merlin, I just can’t believe that’s possible,” Alessande said.
“Does it really matter if it’s possible so long as people believe it’s possible?”
Alessande murmured, “I guess not. So we should start by talking with his heirs, right?”
Merlin wagged a finger at her. “Not you, my dear. The police. The police need to start with the family.”
“Merlin…”
“Alessande, you’ve angered the wrong people. You need to stay safe.”
“I can’t sit around when a girl is missing.”
“You feel sorry for her,” Merlin said. “And it makes you feel that you need to get involved. Forgive me—I have been eavesdropping. I know what you did.”
“I really am capable, Merlin. I just wanted to see who was behind the mask before I acted. If I could have gotten to the truth, I—”
“What truth, Alessande? You’re dealing with shapeshifters. You could have seen anyone—a young mother. A politician. A—”
She shook her head. “Under the mask and cowl, the leader was showing his—or her—true face. I’m sure of it.”
“Maybe. And maybe not. He—or she—got away, right?”
“So you suggest that I just sit here and do nothing?”
“Yes.”
Alessande sat up. “Merlin, I don’t intend to endanger anyone else, but I won’t just sit here. When the Celebrity Virus went around, every single Elven out there was susceptible—and the only way to stop it was to go out and do something. I won’t spend the rest of my life being afraid.”
She was startled to see that he was leaning away from her in his chair and staring at her strangely.
“What?” she demanded.
“You, uh, you’ve changed,” he told her.
“What are you talking about?” she asked sharply.
He indicated the mirror. She hopped from the bed and walked over to the guest room’s full-length swivel mirror…
…where she stared at her own reflection and gasped softly.
Chapter 3
Mark Valiente figured they were incredibly lucky that Bryce Edwards, a very, very old werewolf, had been transferred over to become their lieutenant in the robbery homicide division. He’d been in Vice for many years, but after some of the recent disturbances in the Otherworld, he’d finessed a transfer.
They didn’t take long at the station. They explained what had happened, and Bryce put in a requisition for Mark to get another car.
“I’d been expecting you earlier,” Lieutenant Edwards told them. The werewolf looked like someone’s grandfather or a lean, beardless version of Santa Claus. But he was sharp, and he was in the right position, because he knew the law, people—and Others—through and through. “But now I see what caused the delay.” He studied Mark. “Pretty lucky you were able to fight him off. Were you seen?”
“The good thing is, if we were and someone called it in, 911 would just chalk it up to a movie being filmed or an overdose of something at a Hollywood party,” Mark told him. “Why? Any wacky calls to the station?”
“No, except for the one I’m about to get to—which wasn’t wacky, just preemptive,” Edwards said. He slid over a piece of paper. “Alan Hildegard called—he’s representing his kin. Naturally he was extremely disturbed to hear that his family’s vault was used by ‘such maniacs’ for their evil purposes. He wants to cooperate with the police in any and every way possible in regard to shutting down this occult group dedicated to raising his great-grandfather from the grave.”
“Alan Hildegard,” Mark mused. “He’s running the family interests now? Aren’t there several brothers, sisters and cousins?”
Edwards shrugged. “Alan is the self-professed head of the family. The oldest son of the oldest son or whatever. He owns the estate. I think one of the sisters lives there, too, and maybe their cousin. I thanked him for his cooperation and told him you were on your way or would be soon. He’s expecting you.”
“Lieutenant,” Mark said, “we found a screenplay on one of the old soundstages—a new screenplay. We’re going to go and see the author, Greg Swayze— because who knows what it was