subsequent rescue by Alessande Salisbrooke. And at the key moment, she unbuttoned her sundress down to her scar and showed them the marks of the winged creature. Then she took off her sunglasses.
The faces of her fellow Keepers showed shock, concern and anger.
“Are your eyes painful, my dear?” a woman asked. Sailor had forgotten her name, but she was Keeper of the Inland Empire, including the prestigious Palm Springs.
“No,” Sailor said. “It’s probably more painful for you to look at them.”
“Not at all,” the woman answered. “They’re lovely, in an unusual sort of way.”
A strapping man, totally bald, stood. Howard Zane, Downtown district. “Let’s focus on the attacker. Any chance it was an actual bird? Something predatory, maybe rabid?”
“No,” Sailor said. “It was Other. The air quality changed seconds before the attack. And whatever else I’ve got, it’s not rabies.”
“Then our problems are a lot bigger than four dead women,” Howard said. “Shifter or vampire, which would you say it was?”
“I can’t say,” Sailor said. “All I registered was Other—you know the feeling. And a rush of wind. And then there were wings all over me, and I was just reacting, protecting my face, closing my eyes.”
“Either way, this is serious,” Howard said.
“Either way it’s a tragedy.” This was the Anaheim Keeper, Sailor remembered, a man named George. “But am I the only one who’s relieved? If what we have is a walking, breathing killer, then he can be found and stopped. A biological hazard spread in some mysterious way, that’s a lot scarier to me than one man who has it in for a couple of beautiful actresses.”
“George,” said Justine Freud, “first, it’s not a ‘walking killer,’ it’s a flying one. And second, are you implying that as long as only women are being killed, things aren’t so serious?”
“Justine, not everything is a feminist issue,” George said. “I only meant that a serial killer is a lot easier to deal with than an airborne virus. Has the young lady been examined by a doctor?”
Sailor opened her mouth to speak, but Highsmith answered for her. “My physician will examine her this afternoon.”
She was about to contradict him, but more strident voices overrode her, three people talking at once.
“Can we get back on point?” Oliver Kent asked loudly. “Because once word gets out among the Elven that a vampire or shifter is killing their women, all hell will break loose. This Council has to come up with a plan that shows we’re on top of it or our charges will take matters into their own hands.”
“Exactly,” Charles Highsmith said. “Which is why secrecy is of the utmost importance.”
“Excuse me,” Sailor said. “I think speed is a bit more important than secrecy.”
“True,” Justine Freud said. Next to her, Reggie Maxx nodded.
Charles Highsmith stood. “You may take your seat, Sailor. Speed encourages carelessness. What I propose,” he said, putting up a hand to quiet a few voices of dissent, “is that within our individual districts, we make quiet inquiries among the most trusted Elven. There are bound to be rumors of blood feuds, talk of vampires or shifters with whom our charges may have had disagreements.”
“Disagreements?” Sailor said. “Four dead women would seem to indicate a bit more than—”
“I have the floor,” Charles said sharply.
She felt herself blush, her face growing hot. But being spoken to like an errant schoolgirl couldn’t override anger at Highsmith’s muted reaction to the crisis. She recalled Darius’s advice: Talk less, listen more. She made herself look around the table now, to see if she had any allies. No one met her gaze except for Reggie Maxx, who actually winked.
Reggie was cute, she noticed: broad-shouldered, but also boyish, with freckles and curly, reddish blond hair— Damn! she thought. Here we go again. The telltale flush of heat, the racing heartbeat. And Reggie wasn’t the only one looking appealing. Charles Highsmith himself, patronizing though he was, had the kind of leadership qualities that made General Patton get a movie made about him. And George from Anaheim, bald-headed and potbellied, was so at home in his own body that she couldn’t help feeling comfortable around him. Justine Freud? The picture of ancient wisdom. Focus, she told herself. You’re missing the meeting.
George was speaking, asking if it was necessary to stick to his own district. “Say you follow up on a rumor,” he said. “It starts in Anaheim but then ends up in Studio City. I think we need to be talking amongst ourselves, number one, and number two, we need