Frenchman Street_A Novel of The Sentinels of New Orleans Page 3

  I picked up the paper as soon as he’d settled back into the chair. “Rand,” I read, and looked up. “Should I say Dear Rand?”

  “Nope. Too formal, but I’m sure he’d like it if you called him Your Royal Highness.”

  “Then he’d know I was being a smartass.”

  Rene laughed. “Yeah you right.”

  I continued reading: “I know there’s a lot we disagree on, but we both know it will be a disaster if the humans of New Orleans learn of our people’s existence, which is what Florian wants. Let’s work together. I promise to help you in whatever way I can, short of overt action against the wizards, if you will, in turn, offer me your protection in returning to New Orleans. I can’t help anyone sitting on the sidelines, and—”

  “The elf ain’t gonna know what sidelines are, babe,” Rene interrupted. “They don’t do sports.”

  I huffed and changed sidelines to outside, then continued: “I can’t help anyone sitting on the outside, and both Zrakovi and Florian are trying to kill me. I have reason to believe Florian has taken the throne of Faerie and has plans to reveal his powers to the humans within the next three weeks. Let me know if you agree.”

  I looked at Rene. “What do you think?”

  He was staring past me toward the door, then leaned over and held out his hand. “Give it to me.”

  “Why?” I followed his gaze and saw nothing but the gradual lightening of the sky outside the windows, signaling the gray hour of near-visibility that passed for sundown in most of the Beyond. Then I heard bootheels on the hallway outside, growing louder. I scribbled my signature at the end of the note and put the letter in Rene’s hand; he folded it and stuck it in his jeans pocket just as Jean appeared in the doorway.

  What was that about? Rene trusted Jean…but he might not trust the tall, sexy-as-sin man who pushed past Jean and proceeded him into the room, trailing a cloud of aggressive energy.

  “DJ, we need to talk.” Alex looked at Rene and ignored Jean. “Alone.”

  What an ass. Alex was always rude to Jean, but he liked Rene.

  The pirate went out of his way to brush Alex’s arm as he walked to the bar and poured his own brandy.

  “As this is my home, Monsieur Warin, and you are here on my forbearance only due to my respect for Drusilla, I believe any decision regarding privacy should be made by her.”

  He turned to me. “Jolie, would you like to discuss your dog’s recent whereabouts in private? I believe you will find them most interesting.”

  “You bastard—you followed me.” Alex turned on Jean, fists clenched. Jaw clenched. He wanted to fight so badly his nostrils were flaring.

  “Please refrain from using such language in my home. And how could I follow you when you left for Old Orleans before I?” Jean was the soul of annoying calm. He’d never let Alex goad him into a fight unless in self-defense, and if Alex was thinking straight, he wouldn’t try. After all, as I had reminded him often, Jean was immortal, kept alive by the magic of human memory. Alex, a canine shifter, might be strong and heal fast, but he was very, very mortal.

  A point my big, shaggy dog finally seemed to remember. “Fine. DJ, if you want to talk, I’ll be on the porch.” He looked at Jean. “Make that the fucking porch.”

  He turned and stalked out of the room. In a few seconds, the front door slammed shut.

  I sighed and apologized to Jean. I’d done a lot of apologizing since Alex had been forced to take refuge here. Never mind that Jean had saved Alex’s life by giving him asylum and that he’d only done so because of our friendship. I called it a friendship; I still wasn’t sure what Jean called it.

  “Rene, fill Jean in on our plan.” I whispered as softly as I could, glad the windows were closed so Alex wouldn’t hear. I wanted to tell him myself. “If Rand agrees to negotiate, I’ll try to get Jean and Alex back into the city too.” Rene was under suspicion, but no one was trying to kill him. So far, he was still free to come and go.

  Rene handed Jean the folded letter from his pocket without a word, and I headed out of the study, across the entry hall, and through the wide double doors that led to the veranda of Maison Rouge.

  It still smelled of fresh-cut wood mixed with ocean-tinged air. Much of the house’s exterior facing the beach had been damaged by a hurricane. The storm had arrived in late December courtesy of Prince Florian, or King of the Universe, or whatever the Summer Prince of Faerie called himself these days. The undead pirates had sheltered inland during the tempest, then returned to rebuild.

  A hammock was strung up on the right side of the veranda, and when he’d first arrived, Alex and I had spent hours wrapped up in each other’s arms in that hammock, talking about what had happened to Jake and trying to come to terms with his death in a way that didn’t involve blame.

  However, as time passed and no warfare began, Alex had grown distant and restless.

  He hated Jean Lafitte.

  He hated my comfort level with all the ambiguities and contradictions life had thrown at us since Hurricane Katrina tore down the borders between modern New Orleans and the Beyond.

  He hated that the pretes had flooded across the border and then refused to go back where they belonged. Except for the wizards and shifters, of course. We’d been mainstreamed with humans since forever.

  Sometimes, just sometimes, I thought he hated me. Losing Jake had made him harder, made getting through his Teflon shield tougher than ever.

  I shut the door behind me and sat next to him on the top of the stairs that led to the raised boardwalk stretching toward the beach. The dusky gloom revealed the whitecaps that churned in the distance over the dark blue-gray waters of the Gulf.

  Between Alex and me were about ten inches of real space but a Gulf-sized span of emotional distance, or at least it felt that way.

  “You sure are pink tonight.” He glanced at me briefly before turning back to watch the waves. His emotional shields were up, so I couldn’t tell whether he was thinking about us or about the price of beer in Belgium. “I guess Lafitte gave you an earful.”

  He obviously didn’t know Jean that well. An earful from the pirate would take hours; the man loved to hear himself talk.

  “He didn’t say a word. Anything I hear, I want to hear from you.” Although if he didn’t tell me what he’d been up to, I might singe him with the elven staff. “Is this talk we’re having about where you were earlier today, or is it about us?”

  Both were on my agenda.

  Alex sighed and reached across the figurative Gulf to take my hand. “I do love you.”

  There was a but coming, so I’d beat him to it. It wasn’t like I hadn’t been dancing around the same thoughts.

  “I love you too, Alex, but is it enough?”

  “I used to think so.”

  So had I. I thought if two people truly loved each other, they could get through anything. But that belief had been eroding for months. “When did you stop thinking so?”

  He squeezed my hand but still didn’t look at me. “We’re such opposites, but until Eugenie we were at least trying to reach a compromise.”

  Not Eugenie, but Eugenie’s baby with Rand. That had been the line neither of us would cross. I wouldn’t follow Zrakovi’s orders to kill the unborn child using my magic, and Alex tried to get me to agree to follow orders, no matter what. He couldn’t understand that the immorality of the act outweighed any obligation to be obedient. He was wired to be a good soldier, to follow orders no matter what, to see the world in political black and white.

  He took a deep breath, and when he spoke his voice had turned hard. “And I blame you for Jake’s death, DJ. You should never have brought him to New Orleans last month. He’d still be alive if you hadn’t dragged him into your mess of a life.”

  My breath caught, and the rage and sadness that had been dammed up inside me threatened to spill out. I’d known the sorrow was there, but my own fury took me by surprise. Jake had taken a lethal shot of magic meant to kill Alex, but Alex wouldn’t have eve
n been in Zrakovi’s shooting range but for his own pig-headedness.

  I didn’t try to stop the tears this time, but I pulled my hand from his and knotted my fists in my lap. Truth was, we both held a lot of blame for the things that had happened to Jake. But he’d died honorably, saving the cousin he loved like a brother. He was there because he wouldn’t have considered staying behind.

  Jake also would never let Alex lay the blame at my feet. He’d have put the blame right where it belonged—with Zrakovi.

  Jake was a better person than both of us.

  I closed my eyes, sending a cascade of tears down my cheeks, but my voice was laced with steel. “And I blame you, Alex. If you’d let us rescue you instead of arguing until it was too late, Jake would still be alive. But you had to be right. You had to do things your way. And once again, you chose Zrakovi over the people who love you.”

  He didn’t respond, but the stiffening shoulders told me I’d hit a nerve. “Then I guess you won’t be surprised to know that I was in Old Orleans today, meeting with Willem.”

  He’d met with Zrakovi? My jaw fell open wide enough to catch flies, as my grandmother back in Alabama would say. “Oh, I’m surprised all right. Last I heard, you were wanted for treason and scheduled to be executed at the next opportunity.”

  “Things have changed since Florian took the throne. A duplicate head of Christoff was delivered to Zrakovi and another to that rat-bastard Quince Randolph, both with invitations to Florian’s coronation.”

  An unladylike snort escaped me before I could stop it. “You mean when Florian outs all the preternaturals to the humans on Mardi Gras day? And did it occur to anyone that since Christof doesn’t have three heads, all three might be fakes?”

  This time, Alex did turn and look at me, dark eyebrows meeting in the middle, those beautiful chocolate-brown eyes squinting in suspicion. “How did you know about the coronation?”

  “From Mr. Ed, the Talking Unicorn.” I waited, mentally daring him to talk about DJ-the-chaos-magnet, but he just stared at me, so I continued. “Have you seen any of the duplicate Christof heads since the immediate faery glamour wore off? You’re the only canine I know who can both see through faery glamour and talk.”

  “No. Zrakovi burned the one delivered to him, and Randolph is refusing to talk to anyone except through text messages. But there’s a meeting between Zrakovi, Randolph, Melnick, and myself on Sunday. Is the head brought by the unicorn still here? It’s probably the original.”

  “Jean took it to Old Orleans and it doesn’t look like he brought it back. I don’t know what he did with it.” The importance of Alex’s words sunk in. That meeting would be a ghost of the Interspecies Council, minus the historical undead and the water species. Apparently, Garrett Melnick had made a deal. So had Alex. “Why will you be there? What did you promise Zrakovi?”

  I figured he’d promised blind loyalty, but I wanted to hear it from him.

  “I’ll be representing the shifters and weres on the council, as I was before, except now that will include the water species since Rene’s dad won’t get off the fence.”

  “I see.” I saw, all right. They’d thrown Toussaint Delachaise off the council because he hadn’t chosen sides. Nobody respected the water species anyway; they weren’t big and burly. But I’d choose Rene as my go-to backup anytime.

  I asked him again. “What did you promise in exchange for your pardon? Other than obviously selling your soul?”

  He stood up. “This coming from a woman so enamored of a dead guy with a French accent that she’s willing to overlook his total lack of respect for the law? And let’s not even talk about your husband the elf. There’s a fine example of soul-selling.”

  I hated to tell him, but Jean Lafitte had shown more depth of character in the last three months than the man standing in front of me. But I couldn’t condemn him for doing the same thing I was about to do in asking Rand for help. And I had sold my soul to Rand to avoid turning loup-garou. There was a difference.

  I opened my mouth to tell him I was asking Rand for asylum in exchange for my own freedom, but I had to face it: Alex was a choirboy compared to Quince Randolph. And in his own way, Rand was every bit as devious as Willem Zrakovi. I had no moral high horse, or lofty unicorn, on which to gallop away.

  And I didn’t trust Alex not to run back to Zrakovi and ruin whatever deal I might be able to make with Rand. He could find out after it happened, if it happened.

  The dog still hadn’t answered my original question, so I asked a third time. “What did you promise him?”

  “Loyalty.” He gave me a long look. “Total loyalty.”

  A chill stole across my shoulder blades. “Define total as it relates to me.”

  “He wanted me to turn you in for execution on grounds of treason, but I refused to do that as long as you stay out of New Orleans. Sit it out here in Barataria till the smoke clears, and you’ll probably be able to live where you want, just not as a wizard. They might not even strip your powers, just keep you out of the Green Congress, but I don’t know. I figured either way, that was fair and would keep you safe. He agreed. That’s the best outcome you could hope for, and I worked hard to get that much.”

  I was dumbfounded. He didn’t know me at all if he thought I’d agree, much less be grateful, although I had no doubt he’d had to argue with Zrakovi for any concessions regarding me. “You have no right to make deals that involve me. You have no say over where I do or don’t go.”

  “Oh, for God’s sake, DJ. Grow up.” Alex’s voice rose so loud I had no doubt Jean and Rene could hear. Of course, Rene had probably been listening all along and providing color commentary for Jean. “If you go back into New Orleans, I don’t care how many elven staffs you have, you’re going to be killed. You’ve always been impulsive, but don’t add stupidity.”

  Stupidity. I searched inside to find my inner adult.

  I stood up alongside him, reached out, and took his hand. We might not have a happily-ever-after, but I’d be damned if we were going to part as enemies or in a hail of insults. He could spew out as many mean and hurtful words as he wanted. I couldn’t force him to take the high road, but I could control my response.

  I had grown up; Alex just hadn’t noticed.

  “I’m sorry, but it’s not in me to sit back and watch others fight my battles.” I stared at him until he finally looked me in the eye, and his gaze softened. He still cared, and so did I—that’s what made this conversation so hard. If we hated each other, it wouldn’t hurt so much.

  “Do whatever you need to, Alex, even if that means Zrakovi orders you to kill me. But I hope that won’t happen and you won’t have to make that choice. I hope we’ll meet on the other side of this and be friends again.”

  He didn’t answer in words, but pulled me into a hug. I took in his scent, knowing it would probably be the last time we were physically this close. We weren’t going to survive as a couple, but damn it, I did want us both to survive.

  “Be happy, DJ. Try to be safe.” Alex walked down the stairs and onto the beach, headed straight for the transport. He wasn’t even taking his gun or what few personal things he had here at Barataria. His body had been here in the otherworld for the past two months, but his heart had never left New Orleans.

  I lifted a hand in a brief wave and watched him disappear into the transport, going back to his role as a soldier and rule-follower who believed in a world of black and white. If that world had ever existed, it didn’t anymore.

  Then I curled up in the hammock and released all the tears I’d been holding back. If I said I cried only for Alex, I’d be lying. I’d lost my father, the only mother I’d ever known, Jean (even if he had eventually come back, he’d died for me), Jake, Christof’s sister Tamara, and maybe Christof himself. Rene had lost his twin brother. Rand had lost his mother. Jake’s fiancée had disappeared. Eugenie had lost her innocence and her trust in the world around her, then been confined to Elfheim to keep her unborn child from becoming a political pa
wn.

  So much fear.

  So much death.

  So much loss.

  And it was only going to get worse.

  Chapter 4

  If I’d learned anything in the past few years, it was that I could only wallow in self-pity so long before even I got tired of it.

  I finally rolled out of the hammock and stomped back inside. Anger was a good cure for the lovesick blues, I guess, because if I could get my hands on Alex right now, I’d wrap them around his neck and squeeze hard. Maybe gouge out his pretty brown eyes. It was bad enough that he’d made a deal with Zrakovi; I couldn’t judge since I was trying to do the same thing with Rand. But he’d included my cooperation as part of his deal without asking. Because he knew I’d tell him to take a flying drone straight into hell.

  He had balls—I had to give him that much. But balls that big needed a massive zap with an elven staff.

  I swear both Jean and Rene looked alarmed when I charged back into the study. “Back off with the deer-in-headlights looks,” I said. “I’m fine. You don’t have to comfort me.”

  That sent a frown of confusion across Jean’s face, or so my empathic senses told me. He’d just have to figure out what deer and headlights had to do with giving comfort. I hunted down my abandoned glass of brandy and swallowed what was left, then poured myself another glassful. “And if you feel you must, you can both say I told you so.”

  I must have sounded pretty aggressive since neither of them said anything at all for several seconds.

  Finally, Jean cleared his throat. “Très bien. Drusilla, Rene has informed me of your willingness to approach your elf on our behalf, and I must admit it is the best hope either you or I have of re-entering the city with any measure of safety. Although I cannot tolerate the man and his abundant arrogance.”

  Rand would likely say the same thing of Jean, who had his own abundance of arrogance.

  I guzzled the entire glass of brandy and sat down a little harder than I’d intended. The room did a couple of lazy spins before coming to a halt.