As Mark ripped another throat from one of the zombies he thought, We will win this. There are enough of us, and we are stronger, smarter and better equipped to tear things to shreds.
Then it struck him: they were meant to win.
But they were meant to fight a long battle.
And suddenly he knew why.
“Brodie!” he called.
Brodie looked his way.
“The church!” Mark roared, and ran for the building.
* * *
Alessande lay on the altar, pretending to be drugged but in actuality able to open her eyes just a slit and see what was going on.
She wasn’t sure how—maybe the blood sacrifices of their human victims had given them the power?—but somehow the evil beings were now able to function inside a consecrated church.
The front door was now open and someone was standing there, just at the entry. He wore a golden mask, a cape and a cowl and cradled a dead man in his arms. Brigitte’s evil priest, she realized, but who was he carrying?
Could that be the real corpse of Sebastian Hildegard? Was that what Brigitte had meant when she’d said they couldn’t destroy Sebastian? That they’d had the wrong body all along?
Three women were circling the altar and chanting.
The first was Katrina Manville.
Human.
Next came another human: Tilda Lyons, associate producer for Death in the Bowery.
The third was the shapeshifter Brigitte Hildegard.
Suddenly Tilda stopped chanting and said, “We’ve got to do it now—now, before someone gets in!”
“Finish the chant!” the priest in the doorway roared. “It won’t work if you don’t finish the chant.”
Alessande was just able to see that Father Lars lay facedown in the long red carpeted aisle between the pews. She prayed that he was alive. She strained to get a better look at the figure at the end of the aisle.
The women stopped moving—and speaking. Alessande knew that at any moment a knife would plunge toward her, but still she tried to figure out who was wearing the mask and cloak.
“Now, Brigitte, now!” the priest commanded.
Brigitte turned. Alessande opened her eyes and stared up at her. Brigitte looked as pale as a ghost, holding a lethal-looking dagger tightly in her white-knuckled hands.
“Now!” the priest shouted again.
“I can’t!” Brigitte cried.
The priest let out a terrible scream of fury. “You will pay for your insubordination!”
“No!” Brigitte cried, crumpling to her knees.
In a fury, the priest started moving. As he left the doorway and entered the church, fire kindled in the air and licked at his robes. Entering the consecrated ground of the church, Alessande realized, could prove fatal to him. He moved quickly, as if to stay ahead of the flames, skirting the prone body of Father Lars as he rushed to the front of the church.
He laid the corpse at the foot of the altar, then wrenched the dagger from Brigitte’s lax hands.
The moment of truth was at hand.
As he raised the dagger, Alessande jerked up, knocking his arm aside and wrenching the mask away.
She gasped in shock. “Regina!”
“Damn it! Why can’t you just shut up and die?” Regina Johnson screamed at her. She still held the dagger, and Alessande was frozen in complete surprise.
The dagger started its downward thrust....
Just as the door to the church swung open.
And there he was, filling the doorway, gun in hand.
Mark.
Alessande teleported.
Regina Johnson—not a victim but a killer—slashed fruitlessly with her dagger.
But it fell from her hands as Mark’s bullet ripped straight through her heart.
For a moment there was silence.
Alessande reappeared at Mark’s side. He felt her there, turned and took her into his arms.
* * *
It really was a mess.
Thankfully, there were lots of Other cops on hand, and Barrie and Mick were the first among the media.
As soon as they had assured themselves that Father Lars had suffered only a minor head injury and had him on the way to the hospital—Hugh Drummond driving—they began the cleanup.
And the cover-up.
A sudden storm had started things. And then the guests had imagined they were seeing zombies when a freak localized earthquake had forced the dead from their graves.
Mark would have to be debriefed. After all, he had fired a fatal shot, but they all knew he wouldn’t have a problem claiming it a righteous kill, given that Regina had been about to skewer Alessande.
Katrina and Tilda had been arrested for conspiracy to commit murder, and no amount of babbling about the Cult of Tyr and zombies would change their fate.
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.”
Epilogue
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.