Heather Graham - Keeper of the Dawn

Brigitte, a virtual puddle of tears, tried to explain things in her desperate attempt not to be handed into police custody. She reminded them over and over again that she hadn’t been able to kill Alessande when it had come down to it. Whatever happened, Alessande thought, that one point did hit home with her.

Brigitte told them how she’d discovered that Sebastian Hildegard had never really been buried in his tomb. He’d murdered another elderly cancer patient with an overdose of painkillers and had him buried in his place. Then Sebastian had ordered his servants to bury him secretly in the unconsecrated graveyard in the back of the church. Brigitte had known that, but when she’d met Regina Johnson and had begun to conspire with her, she hadn’t realized what evil her family tales would incite.

Or so she claimed.

While the cleanup and the cover-up were still going on, Alan and Charlaine returned. They joined Alessande, Mark and the others at the altar, looking down at the corpse that still lay sprawled there.

“Do you think he really could have been brought back?” Mark asked.

“I don’t know, but I don’t think we should take any chances,” Charlaine said.

“Well, Hugh lent me something before he headed out.” Mark reached down to the floor for Hugh’s sword, and slashed off the dry and decaying head with an easy swing.

“Cremation, too,” Alan said.

Lieutenant Edwards, who walked up in time to hear Alan’s words, assured them, “I’ll take care of that.”

Charlaine set a hand on Alessande’s arm. “What now? What about Brigitte?”

“They won’t take her to prison—Lieutenant Edwards knows she’ll just escape. Her fate will be left up to Barrie and a council of shapeshifters and shapeshifter Keepers,” Alessande told her.

“May we take her home for tonight?” Alan asked. “I swear, we’ll make sure she doesn’t escape.”

Mark looked at Alessande. She shrugged. “She did refuse to kill me. I think we can release her to her family for the time being.”

It was nearly midnight when they were finally able to return to the House of the Rising Sun.

“Well, the reception was a bust,” Alessande said, her hand in Mark’s as she surveyed the stacks of food the caterers had left for them.

But Mark only smiled. “That’s okay. We have the rest of our lives.”

It was three months before the next wedding took place.

Alessande and Mark had enjoyed a fantastic honeymoon at a ski chalet in Switzerland.

While things had been a bit rough at first, Death in the Bowery had finally gone into production . Of course, a new costume designer and associate producer had to be found, but this was Hollywood, and when things needed to happen, they happened quickly.

Sailor was ecstatic to have won the leading role. Alessande was happy to play a victim, knowing she would never let herself be one in real life again.

So it was early fall when the wedding took place.

Alessande enjoyed every second of the preparations. She festooned the entire compound with leaves and seasonal decorations. She painstakingly created a large vine-covered arch for an altar, entwining the greenery with all manner of herbs that promoted health and wellness and the happiness she believed would come. Mark watched her work with amusement in his eyes and a smile on his lips.

The day came, and Father Lars, who’d become a good friend, arrived to officiate.

Once again the guest list included Others of all kinds, and human beings, too, of course.

When the time came, Alessande was the first to walk down the flower-strewn aisle, tossing rose petals as she went and holding tightly to her husband’s arm.

Merlin—unseen by many, but known by the one who mattered most—walked Rhiannon down the aisle to give her over to Brodie. Hugh Drummond passed a stunning Sailor over to Declan, and Barrie was escorted by Bryce Edwards.

Father Lars read beautifully, and all three couples exchanged vows they had written themselves before being pronounced husband and wife, and husband and wife, and husband and wife.

Arm in arm, Alessande and Mark watched as their dearest friends were joined together. And this time the reception went off without a hitch.

And then they went home to sleep in Alessande’s bed, her beautiful wooden bed where she gained her strength.

Where they laughed and teased and made love, and where, when the lovemaking was over, they lay curled in one another’s arms, still smiling.

After a little while Alessande said, “I do wonder what he’ll be like. I mean, Keeper, vampire, Elven...”

“Huh? He who?”

“Or she.”

“She?”

“Our baby. I mean, he—or she—could be...anything.”

“We’re having a baby?”

“Ah, quick on the draw, vampire,” she teased, then quickly sobered. “Are you...happy?”

He let out a laugh that clearly showed he was more than happy.

And then he made love to her again, just to be sure she knew how happy he was.

* * * * *