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 doing there. He could be involved. At the very least, maybe he has some insight. Additionally, now that it’s been confirmed that Others are involved, we’d like to take over as lead detectives on the murders of Leesa Adair and Judith Belgrave.” He leaned forward. “The media has speculated about a serial killer, of course, but we—the police—haven’t made an official statement. However, with what we know now…it seems that these deaths were at the hand of the same killer or killers. There’s a young Elven woman missing still, and we’re racing against time, hoping to find her before it’s too late. Were Adair and Belgrave here for the Hollywood dream? Would they have been actively auditioning? We need to know this stuff, and it will be a lot easier if they’re our cases.”
“Way ahead of you.” Edwards picked up two files from his desk and opened one. “Leesa Adair, twentynine, graduate of Carnegie Mellon’s theater school.” He flipped open the other folder. “Judith Belgrave was a waitress in Ramsay, New Jersey, before picking up and heading out here. Hang on, let me check the family interviews… .” He skimmed through the file and then looked up at them. “She told her sister she planned on being discovered. Said that in acting, a degree was a bunch of bull—you could act or not, and if you got the break, you could learn while doing. The camera would like you or it wouldn’t. So, yes, it seems that both girls were here following the age-old Hollywood dream.”
“And,” Brodie said, “Regina and Alessande met on a film set, so—”
“So someone seems to be targeting actresses,” Edwards said. “But things aren’t always what they seem,” he warned them. “The percentages of actresses out here is sky-high. Every waitress you meet is an actress—along with every female bartender and half the hotel clerks.”
“Yes, but the women’s descriptions…” Mark said, remembering the briefing they’d all received on the cases. “Tall, blonde and blueor green-eyed.”
Elven or Elven-looking actresses.
“All right, well…I’ll speak with Harvey Olstein and Myra McQueen, and get both cases transferred over to you. I don’t think they’ll mind. They’ve got plenty of other cases on their plates. Then I’ll call over to Missing Persons and tell them you’re pretty sure that the murders and the disappearance need to be seen as a serial event. Homicide feels they’re at a dead end as far as clues go, and Missing Persons has followed every lead, as well. No one knew about the old Hildegard Studio until you two walked in.”
“We didn’t know about it until we took Alessande to the House of the Rising Sun and got to talking,” Brodie explained.
Edwards shook his head. “And that girl was in here—being interviewed—half the night and morning!”
“In her defense, Lieutenant, I don’t think she knew the head of Robbery Homicide is an old werewolf,” Brodie said. “She wouldn’t have known to ask to speak with you.”
“Old werewolf?” Edwards demanded.
“Experienced werewolf,” Mark said quickly.
“Humph,” Edwards said. “Get going, then. Oh, and, Mark, you can pick up another car tomorrow. I’ve asked the auction guys to scrounge around for something you’ll like—can’t guarantee another vintage Mustang, though.”
Mark nodded. “Yeah, well…hey. It’s just a car, right?” He knew that Brodie was laughing at him. Too bad. He really did like vintage Mustangs.
“We’ll go to the Hildegard estate,” Brodie said.
“You’d better get this one solved quickly,” Edwards told them. He shook his head. “I hate it when Others cause trouble. So messy. Damn.” He pointed a finger at them. “Move it!”
By the time the Gryffald cousins, accompanied by Declan Wainwright and Mick Townsend, made it up to the guest room in response to Alessande’s summons, the “change” that had taken place had already diminished.
“I’m completely confused,” Barrie said. “You changed? Into what?”
“A giant! An angry giant!” Merlin exclaimed.
“Elven don’t shift,” Sailor said flatly.
“You are Elven, right?” Rhiannon demanded.
“You know I’m Elven!” Alessande said. “And I didn’t change into an angry giant.”
“Okay, so—” Barrie continued.
“Angry giant,” Merlin insisted.
“All right, I’m worried—obviously, or I wouldn’t have called you up here. I…got bigger,” Alessande admitted.
“Fat?” Sailor asked.
“No—all of me. I was about seven feet tall…and I did look a little peeved,” Alessande said.
Declan spoke softly. “Baby shapeshifters and occasionally even shapeshifter Keepers do it sometimes,” he said softly. “When they’re hungry, scared…they suddenly appear bigger. Not giant, but…bigger,” he repeated. “As infants, they can’t control their shifting.”
They were all staring at her. “I’m not a shifter! I remember my mother, and she was Elven.”
“But your father died when you were very young,” Barrie said. “Are you just as sure about him?”
“Stop staring at me, all of you. I feel like a sideshow at the circus,” Alessande said.
“If we have children,” Sailor said, looking at Declan, “they’ll be…mixed.”
“Mixed Keeper—fairly common,” Declan said.
“Who was your father?” Rhiannon asked speculatively. “If he were a shifter Keeper, that might explain why you never showed the ability until now. Think about it. Every living creature—human, Other, animal—gets a quarter of his or her DNA from each grandparent. Sometimes a brown-eyed parent and a blue-eyed parent have a blue-eyed baby, and sometimes they have a brown-eyed one. And sometimes our Otherworldly powers come out later in life,” Rhiannon said.
“She can’t be half Keeper,” Barrie said. “She’s Elven—we all know Elven when we see one. Besides, if she’d been born to be a Keeper, she’d have the birthmark,” Barrie said. “We’re all born with the mark of the race we’ll grow up to manage and whose talents we’ll share.”
“There! I have no birthmark!” Alessande said. “And I’m not stripping to prove it.”
Declan laughed. Mick, a shapeshifter himself, studied Alessande. “Half-breed,” he told her. “You must have the mark somewhere. Somewhere you don’t see.”
They all stared at her as she insisted, “Hey,
