Keeper of the Dawn

Chapter 12

Mark realized he should have seen it coming. No matter what, he knew it was prudent to be suspicious at all times.

Actually, being suspicious was his nature.

But he had looked at all the corpses when they had entered and had checked for movement. Now he berated himself for also, and unintentionally, thinking instinctively, distrusting the young man who, even with half his face ripped off, had looked the most powerful.

He’d never suspected the grandmotherly old woman.

Damn shapeshifters. Of course it made sense to choose a seemingly innocuous form.

He slammed the door behind them, but it nearly came off its hinges as the creature slammed against it.

He shoved the box of ashes into Alessande’s hands and shouted, “Get in the car!”

“No! You might need me.”

“We need the ashes,” he said, leaning with all his might against the door.

She nodded and hurried to the minivan, throwing open the door.

Suddenly he felt the weight against the door ease. He looked down, afraid the shapeshifter had decided to become something small and escape underneath the door.

He heard glass crashing and turned. The massive beast had vaulted through one of the rear windows and was moving rapidly in his direction.

Mark instantly morphed into a bat, and then his attacker shifted into the form it had used the first time he had seen it: a giant bird of prey.

He swooped and soared, trying to get above it so he could plummet down and get it by the neck. Once his bite was secure he could sink his fangs into it and start to drain it, forcing it to lose strength and careen toward earth.

But as if it knew his intent, the shapeshifter flew higher, staying above him.

“Hey!” he heard Alessande shouting. And then, before his eyes, swiftly and easily, she transformed. She became a bird, a peregrine falcon, and soared into the sky to join the battle.

The giant hawk turned, going almost into a free fall as it moved to attack Alessande.

It was the perfect opportunity—exactly what he needed.

He went into a deadly dive and landed on top of the massive hawk. He bit hard and deep. The two of them began to tumble together, but he amped himself up in size and pulled up—fangs still buried deep in the shifter’s flesh—just in time to keep them from slamming onto the cement of the parking area.

The falcon alit beside him, transforming back into Alessande in the blink of an eye.

Mark himself reverted to full vampire form, clasping the shapeshifter tightly before withdrawing his fangs. Alessande stepped closer, and together they looked at their attacker as it, too, reverted to human form.

“Brigitte,” Alessande breathed. “Brigitte Hildegard.”

Brigitte began spewing oaths at them as Mark held her to the ground. She clutched the back of her neck, where Mark’s fangs had sunk into her.

“Have you got anything we can use as a bandage?” Mark asked Alessande. “She’s bleeding to death.”

Alessande ripped off the bottom of her shirt, then wrapped the admittedly filthy fabric around the downed shapeshifter’s neck. By the time she finished, Brigitte was no longer speaking; she was unconscious.

“Let’s get her back to Castle House,” Alessande said, looking at him. “I can try to heal her there.”

“She nearly killed us,” Mark muttered, throwing the woman over his shoulder.

“She’s all we’ve got,” Alessande said.

She was right, of course. Brigitte might well be the connection they needed.

Or she might be the head of whatever was going on, though on reflection he doubted that. She was a follower by nature. Somebody else had to be pulling her strings.

Alessande sat in the backseat with Brigitte sprawled half on her lap as Mark drove. The box of ashes lay on the console between the two front seats.

He looked back now and then, making sure that Brigitte wasn’t playing at being unconscious, even though he knew better. He’d taken a lot of blood.

He turned down Laurel Canyon Drive and then started the climb up to the House of the Rising Sun. He used the remote in the car to open the gate as he drew near.

In the yard, Wizard barked insanely. By the time he was parked, people were spilling out of their various houses—everyone in robes or pajamas.

“What the hell?” Brodie asked. “That’s Brigitte Hildegard.”

“Remember the corpse of the old woman? That was Brigitte,” Mark explained dryly. “She had a remarkable transformation into a tiger and then into a hawk the size of Kansas.”

They took Brigitte to Barrie’s house because, as Keeper of the Laurel Canyon shapeshifters, she had the best provisions for the incarceration of a shapeshifter, and if they were able to heal Brigitte, she would be a danger anywhere else.

Rhiannon raced into Pandora’s Box to find the medical equipment to give Brigitte a transfusion. She kept supplies on hand since she never knew when a vampire would come to her needing help.

Barrie’s basement was soundproof and could be completely sealed—ensuring that no shapeshifter could become a worm or a roach and escape through a crack in a door or window. Brigitte was quickly laid out on a couch there and the process of the transfusion begun.

Alessande spent several minutes preparing a potent herbal tea, one with healing properties, so it would be ready to administer when—if—Brigitte regained consciousness. “Is she going to make it?” she asked anxiously on her return.

Rhiannon nodded. “She’s getting some color back now. I think she’ll come to soon.”

As they waited, Mark glanced at his watch. It was morning; the mortuary staff would be there by now and wondering why one of the windows was broken—from the inside. He excused himself and made a call to Lieutenant Edwards, to bring him up-to-date on the night’s events.

“Keep an eye on her—don’t let her escape,” Edwards ordered.

“She’s safe. We’ve got her in Barrie’s basement,” Mark explained.

“All right. Now get those ashes dumped in the Pacific as soon as you possibly can.”

“Yes, sir, will do,” Mark promised and rang off.

When he returned, Alessande was seated near Brigitte, watching over her. He couldn’t read her expression, but he was amazed once again that she always proved to be so much more than he expected. She had known just what to do to give him the chance to take Brigitte down.

“I think she’s going to come out of it, but it may take a little time,” Rhiannon said. “Barrie, you and Mick need to get to work at the paper. We don’t want to draw suspicion by doing anything out of character.”

“We need to scatter Sebastian’s ashes right away,” Mark said.

Declan stepped forward, “Sailor and I can handle that.”

“Works for me,” Sailor said. “I don’t need to be at work until later. And it looks like my acting career is going to get lost in the disaster of yet another movie not being made.” She smiled wryly. “It’s okay. I will make it one day.”

Declan pulled her into his arms. “Yes, you will. But for now, let’s get moving. Rhiannon, we’ll head straight back here when we’re done.”

“I wonder if one of us should stand guard outside,” Alessande said.

Rhiannon smiled at her. “No need. We have Wizard and Jonquil.”

The next thirty minutes seemed longer to Mark than the nearly three hours they’d spent at the mortuary. He and Brodie paced, passing each other in the small space every few seconds.

“Stop!” Rhiannon finally begged them.

Brodie nodded and sat down with his back against the wall. Mark perched at the foot of the couch where Brigitte lay.

Finally Rhiannon removed the IV apparatus. Brigitte had more color, but she still wasn’t stirring.

“You haven’t given up, have you?” Mark asked.

Rhiannon smiled, shaking her head. “She’s gotten all she can take. She’ll come around soon.”

Five minutes later, Brigitte moved at last. Her head twisted, and she groaned. Then her eyes opened and she stared at them with loathing.

“You worthless bastards,” she said, her voice whispery. “You don’t deserve to be what you are. You are less than the weak humans who people this world like ants!”

“Right, whatever,” Mark said, staring at her. “Now talk. Who is the head of the Cult of Tyr trying to raise your great-grandfather?”

She stared at him and blinked hard. Then she smiled. “Stupid. I’m the head of it.”

“No, you’re not,” Alessande said. “You’re a follower. It’s not enough for you that you’re living a great life—you want to be a queen, or a princess. You want Sebastian back because you believe he’ll give you the power you crave. But you’re not the head of anything.”

“Yes, I am. Why won’t you accept that, Elven witch?”

“Because you’re too foolish and ignorant to be the head of anything,” Alessande said calmly. “And I’m so sorry, but you’re not hurting my feelings at all. Some of my dearest friends are witches.”

Brigitte swore at that and tried to turn away from them, but Brodie held her fast.

“You were at the tomb the night Brodie and I came in, weren’t you? You escaped as a bug or a toad, I’ll bet—very fitting, by the way,” Mark said. “And you tried to kill Alessande and me the next night.”

“I will kill you—eventually,” she swore sweetly. “I mean, seriously, just what are you going to do now? Kill me and then tell my brother what you did? He wouldn’t like that.”

“I don’t think he’d like what you did tonight, either, Brigitte,” Brodie said. “I think Alan is very fond of his lifestyle. He doesn’t want anyone getting in the way of that or taking power away from him—not even you.”

“He won’t let you hurt his sister,” Brigitte insisted.

“We don’t intend to hurt you. But we will make you talk,” Alessande said, leaning closer to the prisoner. Mark had never seen her look more merciless and terrifying—not even as an avenging peregrine falcon. “We want to know where to find Regina Johnson.”

But Brigitte seemed serene. “You are all so foolish. It’s begun, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. It would have been nice if things had worked out at the tomb that night. But that wasn’t the end. All your friends managed to do was delay us. Sebastian will return. You’ve failed.”

“And you’re a terrible liar,” Alessande said.

That caused Brigitte to frown for a moment. But then she smiled again, slowly. “Do you really think that you could destroy Sebastian? He’s more powerful than you can possibly imagine. You will all die—and I will be lifted up. I will be a queen,” she told them.

“Where is Regina Johnson?” Alessande demanded again.

Brigitte was thoughtful. “I don’t know.”

“You do know,” Alessande accused her.

“No, you can torture me from now to the Apocalypse, but it won’t matter. I really don’t know where Regina is right now,” Brigitte said.

Alessande looked as if she was about to pounce. Brigitte shrank back into the couch, but before Alessande could address her lie and smack the woman, she stood and walked away.

Mark rose and went over to join her.

“I know what I said before, but can I torture her anyway?” she asked through clenched teeth.

“Alessande...”

“Yeah, yeah, that would make us as bad as she is.”

“I’m not sure that’s really my point right now, but I don’t want to lose her. I have a better idea. We’ll leave her with Rhiannon and Brodie, and go get Alan and Charlaine. Let them talk to her.”

Alessande arched a brow. “That just might work—I guess.”

Mark turned to Brodie. “I’m going to take Alessande out for a bit, see what we can dig up.”

“You won’t dig up anything,” Brigitte said confidently. “I am the priestess. I am the head of the cult, and you will be sorry you ever crossed me.”

“Take care,” Rhiannon said. “And don’t worry about our friend here—she doesn’t have the strength of a two-year-old at the moment. And I can always rip out her throat if I choose to.”

“No violence, hon,” Brodie warned.

“I say cuff her, at least.”

“I will turn into a crocodile and eat your heads,” Brigitte promised.

Alessande laughed. That had probably been the greatest insult Brigitte could have received, with its implication that she couldn’t even shift her way out of handcuffs.

Mark and Alessande left then, taking the Charger and heading toward the Hildegard mansion.

As they navigated the canyon, she looked through a grove of trees atop a cliff to a scene that seemed oddly familiar. “Mark!”

“What?”

“Stop. Please, stop.”

He pulled off the road. She got out of the car and walked through the trees, feeling a chill settle over her as surely as if they’d been hit by a sudden ice storm.

“What is it?” Mark demanded, catching up to her.

“Look,” she said, pointing. “The road to reach it must be just around on that bend we passed. Mark, it’s—”

“The church from the wedding,” he finished.

She swung around and stared at him, the chill deepening. “You saw the same church, didn’t you? In your vision?”

He nodded.

She swallowed, noticing the strange look in his eyes. He wasn’t afraid, but it was the look of a man facing the unknown.

“I’m going to investigate,” he said. “You need to—”

“What? Are you crazy? I am not waiting in the car and we are not splitting up.”

He smiled. “I wasn’t going to suggest that. I was going to say that you have to be very careful. And I mean very careful.”

She smiled. “Okay.”

“Give me your hand. Let’s walk up there. If we drove, our engine would warn anyone that we’re coming.”

She agreed with that. As they approached, however, she pulled him back. “Maybe one of us should shift,” she suggested.

He looked at her dryly. “Well, I can do a large wolf or a bat. If there is a legitimate clergyman up there, I think either one would be extremely disturbing to him.”

“Ferret?” she asked him. “I can curl around your neck and watch from there.”

“I like the sound of that,” he teased.

She started to tell him that he needed to be serious, but then she realized that he was joking for her sake.

“Should we call the others first?” she asked softly.

“We’ll just take a look right now,” he said. “Come on, oh talented Keeper-to-be.”

She smiled, transformed and crawled up his body to settle around his neck.

Touching him in any way, she realized, felt good. And it made her feel secure to curl around his neck and absorb his heat as they moved up the hill.

The church was beautiful. It was small, but built in the Gothic style, like New England churches. It was whitewashed, with stained-glass windows. There was a graveyard next to the church and stretching around the back.

Mark paused and read the welcome sign aloud. “‘St. Ann of the Little Flower, erected 1893,’” he said. “‘Welcome all of Faith. Father Lars Gunderson, pastor.’”

Gunderson. Lars Gunderson. He was an Elven! She knew him from council meetings.

“It looks like a perfectly nice church and nothing more,” he said. “I’m going in.”

He walked up the brick path to the front steps. When he opened the door, he paused, letting his eyes adjust to the dimness, then looked into the interior.

Alessande could see that it was indeed the church she’d seen in her nightmare. The central aisle led to a large and richly decorated altar, with sacramental objects sitting on it. A golden cross took pride of place in the middle.

The windows allowed light to streak through, taking on the colors of the glass.

And a blood red runner ran down the aisle.

Mark started walking toward the altar.

“Maybe I was here when I was a kid,” he said softly. “I do feel that I know this place.”

“Hello, welcome to St. Ann’s.”

As Mark turned, Alessande saw that a man in priestly garb was walking toward them. She studied him quickly, then ducked beneath Mark’s jacket, peering out but taking care to remain hidden.

“Welcome, welcome. I’m Father Lars Gunderson—Father Lars to my parishioners and friends, and I hope I can call you a friend,” the priest said.

Mark offered him a hand. “A friend, yes. I’m Mark Valiente. I saw your church from the road. It was so beautiful, I had to investigate.”

“Yes, she is pretty, isn’t she?” Father Lars said. “I’m lucky to be assigned here.” He stopped, looking curiously at Mark. “You’re staring rather strangely.”

“Am I? Sorry. I’m just a bit in awe. I’m from this area, and I’ve never noticed the church before.”

“We’re up on the hill, hard to see from the road. We have a fine supply of parishioners, though. And we do our best to give back to the community.”

Mark dug in his pocket and produced one of his cards. “Father, in all honesty, I’m a cop. And we’ve been having some trouble in the Valley, girls disappearing—”

“And dying,” Father Lars said gravely. “I’m not barred from reading the papers, you know.”

“Of course. I’m just curious. Have you had new parishioners lately? Or noticed anyone unusual hanging around or...had any break-ins, anything like that?”

“The rectory is down the hill, so I don’t always see what’s going on,” Father Lars said. He hesitated. “But, yes—someone did break into one of the alms boxes about a week ago.”

“Did you call the police, Father?”

The man smiled. He really was the perfect priest—warm smile and cheery red cheeks, deep brown eyes and salt-and-pepper brows. “Father” was a good fit; he would probably have been a great dad, gentle and patient.

“Detective Valiente,” Father Lars said, “when a man is desperate enough to break into an alms box, I trust in God that he needed the money. No, I didn’t report the theft. What could the police have done anyway?”

“Father, thank you for your time,” Mark said. “I’m glad to have had the chance to see your beautiful church.”

He was surprised when the priest smiled with a touch of bemusement. “I’m happy that my church can please a vampire. One living in the light, of course.”

Mark was startled. “Father—”

“I am a friend to many Others,” Father Lars said. “Please, come back anytime.”

Mark shook the priest’s hand again. Then he turned to leave and walked along the path. Alessande scurried around behind his back to watch as they moved away. She was sure that she saw dark shadows lurking by the side of the church, as if they were emanating from the graves. She felt a chill seeping into her again, despite the warm coat of fur she had given herself.

When they were back down the hill near the car, she scurried to the ground and resumed her true form.

“That’s it,” she said. “That’s the church I saw in my nightmare. Well, the inside of it anyway. You were there, and Brodie and Rhiannon, and I was...”

“You were going to be killed,” he said flatly.

“We have to use this knowledge, Mark. I believe we were given a warning. And I know Father Gunderson—I know him because he’s Elven. Well, half Elven anyway.”

He swore softly to himself. “Of course. I knew there was something about him.”

She smiled. “It’s because he’s mixed. His father was Elven. His mother was human. I think he’s spent most of his life being as human as he could. He’s a good man, I know. I’ve seen him in the councils for years.”

“We have to tell the others everything we saw in our dreams—maybe they’ll know what it means,” Mark told her. “For now, we need to go and get the Hildegards.”

* * *

Mark knew that Alessande was suspicious of the entire Hildegard family—and with good cause.

After all, Brigitte had tried to kill them twice.

But both Alan and Charlaine looked so horrified and confused, Mark couldn’t imagine that even shapeshifters could put up such a front.

Alan swallowed hard. “Is—is Brigitte all right? Forgive me—I understand that she tried to kill you, but...she is my sister.”

“Brigitte is all right, but you have to understand that we’re holding her and have no intention of letting her go,” Mark said.

“But she’s...safe?”

“Yes, she’s safe. I gave her a good bite when she tried to rip me to shreds, but Alessande and the Gryffald cousins took care of her, and she’s fine—conscious, and claiming to be the brains of the Bring Sebastian Back to Life movement.”

Alessande spoke up then. “We need one of you to talk to her. We’re getting desperate. Whoever is doing this is still keeping an Elven girl captive. We’re trying to get her back before they use her in one of their rituals.”

“Because if they do—she dies,” Mark said.

“Let me get my jacket and we’ll follow you in my car,” Alan said.

As they drove back to the House of the Rising Sun, Alessande said, “The church is so close to the mansion and Father Gunderson said that he was a friend to the Other community. Do you think the Hildegards know that church? Maybe some of them have even attended services there over the years.”

“It’s quite possible,” Mark said. “Likely, as a matter of fact.”

The dogs greeted them enthusiastically on their arrival, then growled warningly as they saw Alan and Charlaine exit their own car.

“Are we all right?” Alan called.

“Unless you suddenly go crazy and attack one of us,” Alessande said.

“We’re here to help,” Alan reminded her.

“Of course,” Alessande said. “Please, follow me.”

They headed for Gwydion’s Cave, where Brodie let them in. Mark didn’t give them time to admire the wonderful assortment of decorative artifacts as they passed through the house; he led them straight to the basement.

When Alan entered, they all stood back and let him take the lead. “Brigitte,” he said sternly.

“Alan!” the youngest Hildegard gasped. For a moment she looked as if she were little more than a very innocent child.

Mark knew better. And glancing over at Alessande, he could tell that she was feeling the same.

“Brigitte, what have you done?” Alan asked, walking over to her.

Rhiannon, who had stayed to watch her, rose and backed away from the couch, allowing Alan room to sit down.

Brigitte seemed to shrink away from him slightly. “Alan, I... We are Hildegards! I read the diary years ago, and I knew that Sebastian was destined to come back. I only did what I had to do as a member of our family.”

“Brigitte—you killed people!” he told her.

“No, I never killed anyone,” she protested.

“Oh?” Alessande said angrily, walking up to stand at the foot of the couch. “Two women are dead, and you claim that you’re the head of what’s going on, so you killed them. They were held captive, held in terror—and then their throats were slit. Not to mention a junkie, a drug dealer and your own butler.”

“Jimmy killed himself!” she cried.

“Out of fear of facing a more horrible death?” Mark suggested.

She swallowed hard. “Okay, I’m not the head of the cult.”

“Then who is?” Mark hadn’t meant to shout, but his voice was so deep and powerful that the room seemed to shake.

Brigitte definitely did.

“I don’t know! A priest, but I don’t know his name or even what he looks like,” she swore. “I...I met him when I was bringing flowers to the tomb. He was wearing heavy robes, and he wore a gold mask under his cowl, and he told me that I was a Hildegard, so I had to help. I had to get the Transymil moving on the streets to make money, and I had to start showing up for the ceremonies, because Sebastian was waiting. And there was something about him.... It was as if I had no choice but to do what he said.”

“So you were there when the other girls were killed,” Rhiannon said harshly.

Tears suddenly welled up in Brigitte’s eyes. “I was, but I didn’t kill them!”

“Where were they killed?”

Brigitte hesitated, looking from each of them to the next. She was clearly about to deny that she knew, but then her brother lashed out at her.

“Where were they killed?” he demanded.

She exhaled and whispered. “At the church.”

“At what church?” Alessande asked, her voice thick.

“The church by the house—St. Ann’s.”

There was silence in the room.

“I don’t believe that!” Charlaine exploded. “I know Father Lars. He would never allow such a thing. He’s a good man. And the church...the church has been consecrated!”

“They weren’t killed in the church,” Brigitte said. “There’s a section of the cemetery, overgrown and filled with broken stones. It’s where they’ve buried the dead-by-suicides since the beginning of the last century.” She winced. “It isn’t hallowed ground. Oh, my God, Alan, don’t...don’t be angry with me. Don’t—don’t turn away from me. I just wanted our family to rise to its full potential. I didn’t want to kill anyone—really. I didn’t. And when I saw that people were dying... I was afraid. I was afraid to back out. That’s the truth—I swear it,” she vowed.

Alan looked at Mark, seeking mercy for his sister.

“Barrie will be back soon. She’s Keeper of the local shapeshifters. Brigitte’s punishment will be a matter for her to decide,” Mark said.

“I didn’t kill anyone,” Brigitte insisted again.

“You tried pretty damn hard to kill Mark and me,” Alessande reminded her harshly.

“But...I failed. I probably failed because I didn’t really want to kill you,” Brigitte said.

“Why did you do it, then?”

Brigitte was sitting up, and she looked across the room at Mark. “I was ordered to kill you by the priest. He gave the orders for the girls to be taken. And he’s the one who killed them.”

“Why sell drugs? What was the money for?” Alessande asked.

“For the new world order, I suppose.”

“Why didn’t the priest approach your brother and you cousin?” Mark asked. “They’re Hildegards, too.”

“Because we aren’t weak idiots,” Charlaine said.

“Alan...” Brigitte begged, and grabbed his hands.

Alan disentangled himself and stood. “I’ll ask our Keeper for mercy on your behalf, though I’m sure this will also be a council matter. People were killed,” he said. “For now...”

“Take me home, Alan. Please, take me home.”

He shook his head slowly, looking at her. “Brigitte, I can’t. You were instrumental in multiple deaths, and you risked the very existence of the Other community. You will have to pay a price. Most of all, you have to take responsibility for what you’ve done. You should be grateful that you’re alive right now. You might have died, too.”

Brigitte didn’t say anything, and Alan turned away from her and looked at Mark. “Will Charlaine and I be safe if we go home? I fear that whoever—and whatever—this priest is, he’ll figure out that Brigitte has cracked. And what if he knows that we gave permission for you to dig up Sebastian and throw his ashes into the sea?” He turned back to Brigitte. “Did you tell him?”

“I—yes,” she admitted.

Alessande walked over to her. “Where did you meet with him, Brigitte? And how often?”

“I don’t know how often. Five times, maybe six. I went to the church—to the back. There’s a huge oak. I perched there as a hawk, and when the priest came, I transformed quickly and told him what I knew. I don’t know how he knew I was there, but somehow he always did.”

“And you’ve never seen his face?” Alessande demanded.

Brigitte shook her head. Tears were sliding from her eyes. “No. He always wore the gold mask, along with the cape and cowl. And each time I talked to him...”

“Go on,” Alan said. “Each time you talked to him—what?”

“I was promised that we’d be royalty—Hildegard royalty—in the new order. That when Sebastian rose, he would rule the world.”

Alan turned without a word and walked toward the door.

“Don’t leave me!” Brigitte cried. “Please, Alan, don’t turn away from me.”

Alan looked at Mark, then back at his sister. “You’ll be safe here, Brigitte. You’ve been lucky to be captured by Others, held by Keepers, not the human law. Thank your lucky stars that you survived—and that you just might have a chance at having a life again.”

Ignoring her wailing, he walked out. Mark followed and caught up to him at the bottom of the stairs.

“What do I do now?” Alan asked. “I don’t believe that Charlaine and I are safe.”

Brodie joined them, firmly shutting the door to the sealed room. “He’s right, Mark. They won’t be safe. They’re going to have to hunker down here. They can sleep over at Pandora’s Box. You and Alessande can stay at Castle House with Sailor and Declan, and Rhiannon and I will stay here, guarding our captive with Barrie and Mick.”

Mark figured there was no reason not to speak plainly in front of Alan Hildegard. “What if this is all a ruse? We’ll have our enemies right here in the compound.”

“We have Wizard and Jonquil,” Brodie said. “And other...forms of security.”

Mark realized that Brodie was referring to Merlin, who could easily keep an eye on the Hildegards—and report anything suspicious.

“That’s fine,” Mark said. “But work or no work, we need everyone back here now. We know where to look for the priest who seems to be the head of the cult, so now we have to find him before he realizes we know more about what’s going on.”

“Mark.”

He turned around and saw that Alessande was standing there.

“I know exactly what we should do to stop this—and stop this now.”

“What?” he asked.

“Plan a wedding.”