Then was she satisfied. But only for now.
CHAPTER 5
The coroner would have probably been too easy.
Special Investigations hadn’t been able to send Marc everything he’d asked for by the time he’d arranged to meet Dr. Richard Brand at the county morgue, but they’d come through with a substantial background. The info on Brand had been squeaky-clean—not even a speeding ticket to his name, or an indication of a payout from Bronner in his financials. For a man of sixty, that perfect record was a hell of an accomplishment, and enough to raise Marc’s suspicions a little more. Demons with fake identities often kept their backgrounds spotless.
At four o’clock in the morning, no one was around to question how Marc and Radha traveled from Riverbend to the county seat without a car. Silver-haired and robust with health, Brand met them at the morgue’s receiving doors. His mind was shielded.
For a moment, Marc considered blasting through those mental blocks to see if a demon lay beneath. He held out his hand instead.
Beside him, Radha tensed and stepped forward, leaving behind an image of the suited Special Agent Bhattacharyya. Demon or not, Brand wouldn’t see the crossbow she called in, her slick movement, or the bolt she held an inch from the man’s temple when his hand extended to Marc’s. Ready to fire, if Brand attacked.
He clasped Marc’s hand, shook. Warm skin, not hot like a demon’s, not cold like a vampire’s.
Human.
Damn it. Marc glanced at Radha, and with a sigh, she backed down and returned to the position that her illusory double stood in.
Through wire-rimmed lenses, Brand studied Marc’s face. “You’re not cold enough to be a vampire. What are you?”
If the man already knew about vampires, no harm in telling him the rest. Especially since Marc might have reason to work with him again in the future.
“A Guardian,” he said, and when Brand looked to Radha, she formed her wings and added, “Me, too.”
“Guardian,” Brand repeated softly, his gaze tracing the arch of her wings before she vanished them again. “My grandfather always said you were out there. I wasn’t sure whether to believe him.”
“Your grandfather?” Marc asked.
“Abram Bronner.” The man must have seen Marc’s surprise. “He didn’t tell you.”
Some of the lines on the man’s face weren’t just age, Marc realized, but grief and exhaustion. “He said you took a payout.”
“Ah, well.” Turning, Brand preceded them inside and down a short corridor, hard-soled shoes slapping against the concrete floor. “He probably said that to protect the family, so that no vampire could use us against him if they decided to challenge his leadership. We always protected him in return—a Brand tradition, with one of us always in position to help keep the community hidden. My granddaughter would have been next, to her dismay. After tales of Guardians, she was more interested in becoming one of you . . . and especially when she heard that one came to town a few months ago. That was you? My grandfather said you killed the demon.”
He’d slain a demon shortly afterward. He wasn’t convinced it was the demon who’d murdered Jason Ward.
“I was here for a bit,” Marc said. “I took a look into Jason’s coffin, made certain he had been a vampire.”
Brand shook his head. “I’ll admit, the one time I ever really became angry at Jess was when I found out she’d been telling the Ward girl that her brother had been transformed. Teasing her with it, I think, knowing the girl wouldn’t believe her.”
Jess . . . ? Marc put it together. “Jessica—she’s in high school and drives a Cherokee? She’s your granddaughter?”
“Miklia’s friend?” Radha’s surprise echoed his.
“That’s her,” Brand said. “And I was angry at first, but after Jason was killed, I kept the truth from the Wards. By then, though, Miklia knew what he was . . . there was no one else for her to go to but Jess. And Jess was shocked by it, too, needed some reassurance of her own.”
And now his granddaughter was more interested in becoming a Guardian. That explained the training, then, and the books they’d been reading at Perk’s Palace—and how Miklia had become friends with the girls she’d once called the Brainless Bitches. Jessica must have shared the truth with Ines and Lynn, too.
“Not that it matters now,” Brand continued. “They’ve both lost any connection to the community—Miklia to her brother, and Jess to . . .” The lines in the old man’s face deepened. “You saw the remains? You’re sure it was him?”
“We found his ring.”
At Marc’s mention of it, Radha called Bronner’s ring and his partner’s jewelry into her palm from her cache. She carefully wiped them free of ash before showing them to Brand.
With watery eyes, the man nodded. “That’s his. So let’s try to find out who did this.”
He led them into a small examination room. Concrete floors, a long metal table, instruments, and recorders. Paperwork covered a small desk. Brand must have already finished his examination. All that remained was the smell of blood, death, and disinfectant.
“Were you able to identify the woman?”
Brand nodded. “Marnie Weaver. She’s a local. My grandfather paid her to come in twice a week, and she has been for the past twenty years. Nice girl—woman now. I’ve known her since she was just a young one. She never asked questions, but I don’t know. Maybe she’d figured it all out.”
“Were you able to get a fix on the time of death?”
“Not the time you’re looking for. Sunrise this morning was at seven-oh-four. Considering how cold my grandfather always kept the house, I’d put it anywhere between six and eight.”
Damn it. That time couldn’t tell him definitively whether a vampire or human had been responsible. But he realized Brand had more to tell him.
The old man sank into a chair, heaved a sigh. “A neighbor saw her car pulling up to the house this morning, though. At seven thirty.”
After the sun had risen. Marc glanced at Radha, saw the dismay in her eyes. A human, then. Someone that he and Radha couldn’t physically catch or kill—someone they couldn’t even touch if the person didn’t want to be touched. Not without breaking the Rules. Exposing that person, however . . . that they could do. As soon as they knew who the hell it was.
Unfortunately, Marc thought he did know.
“I know what that means.” Brand looked from Marc to Radha. “It wasn’t a vampire hoping to take over the community. Tell me that you’ll catch this demon bastard.”
A demon couldn’t have done it, either. “If a demon killed this woman, he’s already be dead,” Marc said. Rosalia and Deacon would have slain him by now—but they’d also have let Marc know they’d been here. “Do you have any idea who else might have known about the vampire community?”
“Anyone else . . . you mean, people?”
“A human, yes.”
Brand sat speechless for a moment, shaking his head. “No. Everyone who knows, they’re related to the vampires by blood. They have just as much reason to protect any vampires here.”
“All right,” Marc said. If the man didn’t want to see, he wouldn’t—especially if that meant looking at his own blood. “You’ve helped me. Thank you.”
Brand nodded. “I hope you’re wrong about it not being a demon.”
Marc hoped he was, too.
The last time Radha had visited a morgue, she’d been with a novice Guardian-in-training. She’d managed to fill a room with zombies and frighten the poor boy half to death before he’d realized they were illusions. If she told Marc later, he’d probably laugh.
Not now, though. That weary expression came over him again, the burdens of the world. They exited through the receiving door, into the dark, icy parking lot. Without a word, he formed his wings and launched up—but didn’t go far. He landed on the roof of the nearby courthouse, standing at the edge to look down at the empty street below. Radha landed next to him.
“Tell me I’m wrong,” he said.
He didn’t have to explain. She took his hand, loving the strong, warm clasp of his fingers. “Using a stake to kill a vampire is the mark of a demon trying to set a scene . . . or the act of someone who doesn’t know what the hell they’re doing. It’s difficult, inefficient.”
“They learned quickly, though. All the others, killed while they were sleeping, then dragged into the sun.” Jaw clenched, as if he still wanted to deny it, Marc shook his head. “Miklia was late to school yesterday morning. You remember Sam mentioning that?”
“Yes.”
“Late because they were killing vampires, killing a woman. And not a one of them walked out of the school looking like they killed anyone that morning, even accidentally. Did they?”
No. And that was disturbing. They’d shown no remorse, no guilt, or any other emotion. With the vampires, Radha could understand it, a little. She didn’t feel remorse or guilt for slaying demons. They were evil, pure and simple.
The girls must have believed the same thing about vampires—even though those vampires had been one of their brothers, their grandfathers.
Somewhere, they’d gotten the truth twisted around. Maybe a book they’d read, something they’d overheard, a movie or television show they’d seen. Maybe they’d heard of a vampire like the one who’d killed Radha, and that convinced them. Maybe when they discovered that the Guardians’ mission was to slay demons and to protect humans, they mixed it all up, thought vampires were the demons, or that the vampires were possessed. Something.
Whatever it was, they’d taken it too far.
She gently squeezed his hand. “We both know how belief can be warped, so that people think they’re doing something good—when in reality, they’re just destroying other good people.” Guardians and vampires were basically the same as they’d been before their transformations. Their personalities didn’t change; only their abilities did. “But to kill a woman, and not feel any remorse—that means they feel justified destroying anything standing in their way. And it’ll happen again.”