Angels of Darkness

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.
    â€œA Guardian,” he said, and when Brand looked to Radha, she formed her wings and added, “Me, too.”
    â€œGuardian,” 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.”
    â€œYour grandfather?” Marc asked.
    â€œAbram 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.”
    â€œAh, 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.
    â€œI 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?”
    â€œMiklia’s friend?” Radha’s surprise echoed his.
    â€œThat’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.
    â€œNot 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?”
    â€œWe 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.
    â€œWere 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