Frenchman Street_A Novel of The Sentinels of New Orleans Read online

  Too bad I had to get past Rene and Jean to reach the the brandy decanter. Instead, I calmly unwrapped the remaining half of my po-boy and took a big bite, giving Rene some side-eye while I chewed. By the time I swallowed, my blood pressure had settled. This was Rene, after all. He didn’t have a malicious bone in his body. Well, okay, he had quite a few very malicious bones and was handy with a pistol, but his malice had never been directed at me. Rene Delachaise had risen to the dubious honor of being my closest friend, poor guy.

  So all I said was, “Why?”

  “I saw that shade you were throwing at me, wizard.” Then he laughed. “I was going to give it back to you as a birthday present because I knew you wouldn’t just take money from me. Am I right?” He didn’t wait for me to answer. “Of course I’m right. But now my plans have changed.”

  Jean was being uncharacteristically quiet, but his body language—pirate stance, hands on hips, keen eyes boring holes in whoever was talking at any given moment—showed he was paying attention.

  “And those plans are….?” I couldn’t imagine.

  “I’m going back to New Orleans and get some of my people to build a house. Something small that fits with the neighborhood but has a room in back for you to keep your wizard stuff if it ain’t safe at Randolph’s. I’ll live there, but you and Jean can also come there to make plans.”

  “Rene, that’s….well, that’s brilliant.” And generous. And kind. And, damn it, I might be going to cry again.

  “I keep telling you I’m a brilliant man, babe. You just won’t take my word for it.” Which made me snort with laughter. I was riding an emotional seesaw.

  “Rene’s plan is quite good, I agree.” Jean finally weighed in, resuming his spot in the recliner. “I have no doubts my hotel rooms are being watched. Since your land is across the thoroughfare from the home of your elf and lies next to the home of Le Petit Chien, no one should suspect you of thinking it a desirable place to meet.”

  In other words, my enemies might consider me stupid, but not stupid enough to wage my own war beneath their noses, in a house wedged between Rand’s former nursery (now guard-cat hangar) and Alex’s shotgun cottage.

  The idea really was brilliant, however. I could put a ward on it so only Rene, Jean, and I could enter. As far as doing magic, I’d already thought of a way to contribute to the war effort under Rand’s nose, should it become necessary.

  “Rene, would you consider doing another power share if we needed to?”

  We’d done it once before, when the River Styx leaked into the Mississippi River and underwater magical repairs needed doing before everyone downriver of New Orleans got sick. It had some weird side effects, but they’d proven temporary.

  Rene reached over and grabbed the last two shrimps left on my po-boy. His prodigious appetite, unfortunately, was one of the things I’d assumed during our previous power-share. “Would I have to eat another apple? I keep telling you dolphins don’t do fruit, babe.”

  “Only in an emergency.” If his biggest concern about the blending of our powers was the apple wedge necessary to administer the potion, we’d be fine. It might be hard for me to get away from Rand to help rescue Princess Kirian, or do anything that meant leaving the city. But Rene was smart and fearless; if he had access to my magic, he could be formidable. Whether Charlie would agree to work for him was another matter. I could always make potions and charms for him.

  A ruckus outside the front window shut down any further conversation, and I didn’t even have to turn around and look to know who had arrived. “My new elven lord and master is here.”

  God, was I really going to live with Quince Randolph? I wondered how long I could stand it before insanity set in?

  Jean was halfway to the study door when Rand strode in, two French-gibbering undead pirates at his side. His Elfness was soaked from the waist down, so he apparently hadn’t ridden in on a fire-breathing dragon. He’d told me once there were dragons in Elfheim, and I’d been wondering if he’d bring one to New Orleans. Probably not practical.

  “Dru, can you get rid of these”—he looked at the pirates, who’d turned their frantic French words toward their own lord and master—“dead things?”

  Jean shooed them back outside in his own torrent of French, then turned to Rand. “Bonsoir, Monsieur Randolph. Welcome to my home.”

  Mr. Nice Pirate knew he had to stay on the elf’s good side, and so did Ms. Nice Wizard. “Hello, Rand. Would you like a drying charm to make you more comfortable?”

  His pretty right eyebrow arched. “What’s the catch?”

  I laughed and went to retrieve another drying charm. “Just squeeze it,” I said, placing it in his palm. “Nothing bad will happen. You’ll just be dry.”

  He smiled when the drying happened, then looked at the inert rubber ball I’d used to hold the charm, then stared at me with an assessing look I knew too well. It was the expression people got when they’d underestimated my usefulness to them and were thinking about how I could best be exploited. I’d seen it on Alex’s face, on Zrakovi’s, and even on Jean’s.

  And none of them, even Zrakovi the murderous power-mad wizard, were half as scary as Quince Randolph. He was smart, scheming, arrogant, charming, brutal, could do serious mental magic and could make things spontaneously combust. He was also earth’s prettiest elf, standing there in his jeans and a pale aqua sweater that accented his blue-green eyes. He was built like a swimmer, with a lean body, long limbs, broad shoulders, and slim hips. His shoulder-length, wavy, honey-blond hair was almost identical to my own. It was a fire-clan thing.

  “Can we talk in private?” He also seemed to be on his best behavior for a change. Normally, Rand demanded rather than asked.

  “Sure.” I nodded to Jean and Rene, neither of whom looked happy to be dismissed. But I’d learned a long time ago that Rand and I got along best when we could talk without interference, however well-meaning that interference might be.

  “You want a brandy or whiskey or some wine?” I asked, knowing he didn’t drink. “That’s about all we have left here.”

  He smiled. “No, it’s probably best we negotiate sober, don’t you think?”

  The elf had a point.

  I joined him on the sofa—not too close, but not wedged on the far end, either. “I read your document and agree to its terms.”

  Both eyebrows shot upward this time. “Even the part about Alex? And living with me?”

  If he only knew…but he wouldn’t be hearing it from me. “Even that.”

  He whistled. “You must be desperate to get out of here.”

  “Well, let’s see. The First Elder of the wizards is trying to kill me. Florian is trying to kill me. I can’t go back to New Orleans without being executed. I have no job. My house burned down. I blew up my own freaking car.” My voice had risen as I held my verbal pity-party. “So, yeah, you could say I’m desperate.”

  I closed my eyes and inhaled. An outburst had not been in my plans. He didn’t need to know the depths of my desperation; he’d take advantage of it.

  Rand reached over and took my hand, weaving his long fingers between my short ones. “I was glad to hear from you, Dru, although I have to tell you, in all honesty, pink is not a good color for you. I’ve missed you.”

  I squinted at him. “Has Sebastian missed me too?” If he said yes, I’d know he was lying.

  He laughed. “Not at all. And I don’t think he likes mermen much.”

  Yeah, well, he liked me even less. He’d never scratched me, but I’d never thumped him on the nose, either.

  “I should tell you up front that Betony Stoneman is dead, so you better understand the political landscape. I am now Lord of Elfheim.”

  Betony had been chief of the elven Earth Clan and, pun intended, was dumb as dirt. He’d also shot me on my way out of New Orleans, which had resulted in bullet-removal by Jean Lafitte, a dagger, a fire, a bottle of brandy, and no anesthesia. I couldn’t find much sympathy. I intentionally ignored the Lord of Elf
heim business. “What happened to him?”

  Rand shrugged. “Some underground accident. Eaten by a cave monster, I think. Anyway, the next in line to the Earth Clan chief is underage, so she has signed her voting rights to me.”

  The air and water clans also were headed by children, with Rand holding their voting rights. I wasn’t prepared to outright accuse Rand of having Betony killed, as I suspected he’d had the Cessna fall on top of the air clan chief, but it made things awfully convenient for him. The water clan chief had been executed by the Synod.

  “So you hold all the power of Elfheim,” I said.

  He tried to look modest and failed. “That’s the sum of it.”

  On the positive side, at least there wouldn’t be squabbling among the elves like there were among the fae unless Rand began arguing with himself. Then the negative side settled into my consciousness.

  “You’ve got a huge target on your back, Rand.”

  He nodded. “I needed you to know that before we sign any agreements. My position presents issues for both of us.”

  I considered this. If Rand were killed, supposedly I’d lose my will to live and would eventually just wither and die….if I were a full-blooded elf. Neither of us knew what would happen to me if he died, and vice-versa.

  “You mean because of this till-death-we-both-depart thing?” I shrugged. “Guess we need to protect you.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Focus on the big picture, Dru. You’re too self-centered.”

  Excuse me, Your Elfness?

  I hated to be caught being stupid, though, so I gave it some thought. “Well, here’s a question I don’t know the answer to,” I said slowly. “Who assumes the power in Elfheim if something happens to you?” Saying if you’re murdered sounded too crass.

  “My bondmate,” he said.

  We stared at each other, Rand and I. He was probably waiting to see how I responded to this news, and I gave him an appropriately horrified look. My voice croaked like the giant toads in the marshes of Barataria. “What?”

  I took a frantic trip through my scant knowledge of the elven world. Rand’s mother had taken over as chief of the fire clan after his father died, and Rand moved to that position and its seat on the Synod ruling council when she died. Mace Banyan, Rand’s predecessor as head of the Elven Synod, or ruling body, had died unmated, which is how Rand had amassed so much power.

  “I can’t….that can’t happen.”

  “The elves will not accept you as their leader even if you were willing to do it, and let’s face it, you’re far too ignorant of our ways to take on that job.”

  He was right; I was very, very ignorant. “So I’ll be killed.”

  “Whoever gets to you first will be head of the Synod and take all the power. I’m telling you this because if you want to change your mind and stay in Barataria or Old Orleans, it’s not too late.” Rand took my hand. “I can’t let you out of our bond; it’s irrevocable. But I don’t have to make you a target.”

  I ground my teeth. Rand hadn’t had to tell me all this, and he’d never been particularly thoughtful unless there was something in it for him. “How does it impact you whether I do or don’t sign this agreement?”

  He smiled. “Now you’re thinking like an elf.”

  That deserved a big, hard slap, but I needed to hear the answer. “Thanks. And?”

  He nodded. “And everyone’s waiting to see what happens with the fae, right? If Christof wins, there will likely be no war. If Florian wins—”

  “And Florian is already claiming victory,” I said, thinking of nasty unicorns and a head that might or might not belong to the only possibility Faerie had of a sane ruler. Well, semi-sane. Christof had his quirks.

  “If Florian wins,” Rand repeated, “Elfheim and the wizards should join forces against him, but your First Elder Zrakovi is only a slight step up from Florian at this point. So, if things look badly for the elves, it will be easier for me to withdraw Elfheim from the human world altogether if I return home to rule with my mate, along with my child and his mother. If you’re in Old Orleans, you’ll be safer. It will be easier for us to escape.”

  Living in Elfheim with Rand? Or live in a prete world ruled by Florian and the whims of Faerie? It would take me a while, but I would figure out another plan.

  “I can be more useful if I’m in New Orleans,” I said. “I assume that’s your other scenario.”

  “Yes,” Rand said. “If we team up, I have a better chance of staying alive and you get to live in your hometown again and be a part of bringing Florian down. It’s a win-win.”

  If I wasn’t going to sit on the sidelines for Alex, I sure wasn’t doing it for the elf. “I agree. What’s our next step? Let’s get this done.”

  Rand nodded. “As soon as we both sign the agreement, you’ll officially be under my protection until we both agree to break the contract, as will Jean Lafitte. Do you need Rene to be included?”

  I considered it but shook my head. “Just Jean, at least for now. As one of the water species, Rene is a neutral party.”

  Like hell he was, but Rand didn’t need to know that. And I didn’t want Rene unable to talk to Alex if he wished, or to feel obligated to help the elves if he didn’t want to. He needed to be a free agent to help his father, the head of the water species for the region.

  “Very well,” Rand said. “Do you have the document?”

  I pulled it from beneath my brandy glass on the table and held it up. “Do we need to sign in blood?”

  “Yes—well, sign in ink and stamp a thumbprint in blood beside it.”

  My question had been a joke. I hated elves. I really, really did.

  I found a pen on the table, set the paper on my knee, and signed it on one of the blank lines at the bottom. Then I pulled a small knife out of my pocket—the blade I used for spell-casting—and pricked my thumb. After spreading a bit of blood around, I stamped my thumbprint next to my name.

  “Your turn.”

  Rand took the paper and pen, then I cleaned off my knife with a few drops of brandy and gave it to him. He returned the pen and knife while blowing on his bloody thumbprint. I started to clean the knife, but the words elven dna popped into my mind, so I simply closed it and put it back in my pocket. It could always come in handy for blackmail, if nothing else. Plus I had two grimoires of illegal black magic hidden in the attic of my father’s house; blood was like gold in making a black spell.

  “Okay, then, let’s go.” Rand stood and held out a hand for me. I glanced at it and stood up on my own. If he thought we’d go prancing back to New Orleans hand-in-hand, he already had misguided bondmate expectations.

  “I need to get my stuff.”

  “What stuff? You need the staff, Mahout”—he pointed to Charlie, who had been observing our conversation from the recliner. Apparently, he had taken up residence there when Jean left. “What else do you need that I can’t get for you in New Orleans? I can get you back into your father’s house for anything you might want from there—or from Eugenie’s house. Anything that’s at Alex’s will have to stay there.”

  I had a whole wardrobe of deplorable pink clothing here that Rene had bought for me in a manly fit of pique at having to shop for a woman. Pink was his revenge because Rand was right—it was not my color. Plus, I’d have money, thanks to Rene buying my property, so I wouldn’t have to ask Rand for an underwear allowance. My silver dagger, a gift from Jean, was hiding inside the cuff of my boot, under my jeans. I had a few things at Eugenie’s, but had left nothing at Alex’s except some bloody pieces of clothing he’d probably thrown away. That said a lot.

  “You’re right. There’s nothing I need except some premade charms and potions I have stashed here.” I walked to the cabinet in the corner, opening the door to the entry hall along the way. I knew Rene and Jean had been eavesdropping, but they had the good grace to be standing at least a couple of feet from the door when I opened it. “We’re leaving now, guys. Get anything you need to take with you.”
/>   I grabbed the messenger bag I kept in the corner next to the potions cabinet, and filled it with everything I’d made, plus as many raw supplies as would fit around my laptop and cell phone, which had been dead in this land without electricity for more than six weeks. I’d just have to steal some more holy water in New Orleans.

  “Why do you need that?” Rand took on his bossy tone. Reminded me of Alex. “You have agreed not to use magic.”

  I slung the bag’s strap over my head crossbody-style and picked up the staff. “No, I agreed not to use magic against you or any other elf without your permission. I didn’t agree to not use it against other wizards, against faeries, or against unicorns, shifters, vampires, or any other species who might do you harm.”

  Rand did that eyebrow thing again. “You aren’t even going to tell Alex you’re leaving? I assume he’s upstairs since I didn’t see him outside”

  “I agreed not to talk to him,” I reminded the elf. “Your rule, remember? He’ll figure it out.”

  Especially when he saw me at the Interspecies Council as Rand’s bondmate.

  Jean and Rene had remained in the entry hall, probably plotting and scheming. Now we’d find out how cooperative Rand was going to be. “Rand, since Jean would be under attack if he is seen at his hotel in New Orleans before you notify the Interspecies Council of our arrangement, may he stay at your house—our house—until after the meeting?”

  Rand and Jean eyed each other with mutual distaste. “Yes.” Rand’s mouth formed a flat line from ear to ear. “But I don’t guess I need to remind you I only have two bedrooms.”

  Rene coughed to hide a laugh.

  “I do not mind sharing a bed with Drusilla,” Jean said with a smile.

  Rand began that glowing thing he did before something around him burst into flames. “We’ll figure it out later,” I said, taking the elf’s hand. My feigned sign of affection would take his mind off incinerating the pirate.

  “You won’t be visiting him at his hotel, Dru. People will be watching, and you’ll be at risk.”

  I gave him a big smile and squeezed his hand. “No problem.” Rene was building our secret meeting house right under his elven nose and I could protect it from anything, even him.