Frenchman Street_A Novel of The Sentinels of New Orleans

by Suzanne Johnson

  He was color-coordinated and drop-dead gorgeous. I hated that I found him attractive, no matter what a jackass he was.

  “Well, I could lie and tell you I’d arranged it all yesterday, but I started renovations and shopping after the last Interspecies Council meeting, when you escaped with Lafitte.” He paused. “I’m telling you this because we must always be honest with each other.”

  Gruff looked at Rand and sneezed, sending my elven antennae toward the ceiling. I scratched behind his soft, furry ears. His coloring coordinated with Rand’s outfit. Just because Rand said he was only a dog didn’t mean he was only a dog. In fact, it probably meant the opposite.

  I snuggled the puppy close to me and refocused my attention on Rand and his supposed vow of honesty. “Tell me about the meeting—when is it, and where? What is on the agenda? What do you need me to do? Oh, and before that, where is Jean?”

  “The pirate left at dawn, mumbling something about a buffet of breakfast and Eudora Welty. He said you’d understand.” Rand shrugged. “I offered him a guard from Elfheim, but he said he’d be fine in his hotel room. Honestly, Dru, I don’t know how you stood being cooped up with him for the last two months.”

  It would be easier than being cooped up here.

  I could decipher what Jean meant, however. As a high-tipping, long-term guest of the Hotel Monteleone and its Eudora Welty Suite, the pirate was going to pig out at the lavish breakfast buffet and then wander around in search of gossip. I wasn’t too worried about him. He was always heavily armed and had that little immortality thing working in his favor. Unless someone really dangerous was with him—me, for example—I doubted any other prete would waste time pursuing him.

  “Speaking of food, I picked up breakfast for us,” Rand said. “It’s in my office. Let’s talk about the meeting while we eat, and then you can shower and change. Gruffydd’s leash is on a hook on the closet door.

  I must have given the closet a dirty look. Rand might not be able to read my mind anymore, but he could tell exactly what I was thinking. “Be sensible, Dru,” he said. “You need clothes that don’t look as if they came out of a baby girl’s nursery. I picked out things I thought you’d like. If you want to throw them out and buy your own, go for it. If it’ll make you feel better to pay me something for these, that’s fine, too. They’re a gift as far as I’m concerned.”

  “What if I want to wear this pink sweater and jeans to the meeting tonight?”

  His face scrunched up as if he’d eaten bad sushi. “If you insist.”

  Really, though, even I wasn’t that stubborn. I wouldn’t show up for my surprise appearance before Willem Zrakovi, not to mention Alex, looking penniless in pink. “I’ll pay you for them as soon as I get the money from my property sale. Probably tomorrow.”

  As near as I could remember, today was Sunday, February 1. We had about a week until Mardi Gras parade season kicked off in earnest, and just over three weeks until Fat Tuesday, Florian’s coming-out day. It was also my twenty-ninth birthday.

  I’d been born on Mardi Gras; I hoped I didn’t die on it as well.

  We walked down the hallway that ended in Rand’s bedroom. To the left was a small room he’d turned into an office or study since the last time I’d been here. There was a rolltop desk I’d like to plunder through, a computer that also might be worth a cyber-search, another flat-screen TV, a small loveseat and armchair of dark teal leather, and an oversized ottoman that matched. It currently held a tray with pastries and breakfast sandwiches I recognized from the bakery down the street, plus two covered cardboard cups.

  In order to reach the food, I had no choice but to sit beside Rand on the loveseat. “Thanks for getting this. I’m starving.” That half of Rene’s po-boy had worn off before I’d met my first dragon.

  “You’re welcome.” Rand uncovered the cup nearest him, and the aroma of some type of herbal tea made my stomach growl. “After tonight, you should be able to take Gruffydd out for walks and go to the bakery whenever you want.”

  “Do you object if I drive?” I hated having to asking permission for anything, but I also wanted to play nice as long as I could and not do anything to endanger Rand. “When I get the money for my land, I’d like to buy a car so I can go to my house in Lakeview and get some books and things out of the attic.”

  “Just don’t blow it up—the car or the house.”

  I had taken a bite from my fresh bagel spread with honey-almond cream cheese, but turned to spear him with a glare. He was grinning. The elf had made a joke.

  “Okay, okay, I deserve that.” I swallowed my bagel. “My track record with vehicles isn’t so good.”

  “Or houses,” he said, laughing.

  “C’mon, let’s be fair—the undead serial killer burned down my house.”

  We could have been friends, Rand and I, if he hadn’t felt the need to lie and kill and do whatever else he thought was necessary to gain political advantage. Like turn me into a bondmate without bothering to mention that for the elves it meant marriage with no option of divorce, not to mention that it had given him entrée to the wizarding Elders at a time when he had no power.

  That ship had sailed, though. “We know the elves and wizards have already broken truce and declared war, pending the outcome of the conflict in Faerie. So what is the point of this Interspecies Council meeting? I thought the council was disbanded after Zrakovi was injured.”

  Rand finished his breakfast sandwich and slid back on the loveseat so he could stretch his long legs in front of him. “When we declared war, I thought the fae would back either the elves or the wizards, which would make for a very short war because there are so damned many of the fae,” he said. “The wizards probably thought the same thing. I never thought it would take two months for Florian and Christof to fight it out, or that Faerie as a whole would be so divided. It seemed prudent to reconvene the council, re-evaluate, and see where the vampires stand.”

  “Hmph.” I pinched off a bite of bagel and slipped it to Gruff, who was sitting patiently at my feet watching every bite travel from plate to mouth. The puppy knew a pushover when he saw one. “Well, I’m pretty sure the vamps are backing Florian. By the way, can we take Gruff to see Christoff’s head?”

  “He’s seen it, or I saw it using a clip of his fur,” Rand said. “It belonged to a dark-haired male faery, but it was not Christof. We knew all three heads couldn’t be legit.”

  “My guess is that if one is real, it’s the one sent to Barataria.” I gave Gruff my last bite and curled up in the far corner of the loveseat, facing Rand. “Florian knows Jean and Christof have been friends a long time, so he’d want to cause maximum pain. And there’s something else.”

  I wasn’t going to reveal Jean’s source, but I did want Rand fully informed at the meeting tonight so he could, in turn, inform the wizards. I’d be keeping my mouth shut for a change, or that was my plan.

  “What?” Rand asked.

  “Jean has it from a reliable source that Florian probably hasn’t killed Christof, but has him locked up somewhere,” I said. “The Winter Palace is in ruins, but there are lots of places in Faerie to stash a prisoner. This source believes Florian won’t dare kill his brother as long as Christof still has supporters challenging Florian’s kingship.”

  “Damned pirate.” Rand got up and walked to the office window. It overlooked Magazine Street, which was already busy with traffic despite it being a Sunday with steady rain. “Why didn’t he tell me himself?”

  Yes, what a surprise—not. Jean trusted Rand less than I did. “He knew I’d tell you,” I lied.

  So much for our pledges of honesty.

  Chapter 8

  Rand headed for Elfheim after breakfast, leaving Gruff and me to fend for ourselves. He had given me today’s security ward password—Bombadil—along with firm instructions not to leave the house unless it was an emergency.

  That included following him to Elfheim to visit Eugenie, whom I hadn’t seen in almost three weeks. She’d been tired a
nd grouchy, which I’d written up to living isolated in Elfheim with only Brunhilda the Midwife for company.

  I left Gruff watching TV and slipped into the bedroom to call Rene. When I pulled up my frequent contacts list, there was Alex’s number.

  He wasn’t first on the list, but third. Rene was first. Jean Lafitte’s hotel room at the Monteleone was second. Alex was third and Rand fourth. My contact list pecking order said a lot about the state of my and Alex’s relationship even before he’d walked away. Or I’d thrown him out. One could look at it either way.

  “Hey babe. You back in the land of cell phones? My cousin slipped an envelope under the front door with your money, along with a newspaper. Was there really a dinosaur on your doorstep last night?”

  “No, it was a dragon that made the mistake of crossing the border into Faerie on a late-afternoon fly-about and they shooed him over the veil into New Orleans.” Or at least that was the story Rand had gotten from Melanwahr. “What are you doing today? Rand has ordered me to stay put until after the meeting tonight.”

  “Can you look out the front?”

  “I think so.” I walked downstairs and peered through the ironwork blockade after picking up the newspaper and the envelope with my name on the front. Catty-cornered from Rand’s house was the lot where my house had stood. It had been leveled, and even with the light rain, there was a scurry of activity.

  “What are you doing? Who are all those people?”

  “Blocking off the foundation,” he said. “It ain’t shrimpin’ season, so my guys are happy to have jobs.”

  Rene had his own commercial fishing operation that seemed pretty successful. I wasn’t sure how much of his money came from his family, from his business, or from his side-deals with Jean Lafitte, but the merman wasn’t hurting for cash.

  “Isn’t it too wet?” The lot resembled a WWE mud-wrestling pit.

  “Won’t be after the meeting tonight when we got a wizard who can do a magic trick to dry out the ground.” He paused. “Can you do that?”

  I laughed. “Yeah, I can figure something out. You’re moving fast.”

  His voice softened. I didn’t know who was around, but he didn’t want them to hear. “Okay if I come over there? Too many ears around here today.”

  “Sure.” I ended the call, bent over, and shot a little magic in the lock. I realized I’d left Charlie upstairs. That was stupid. I couldn’t afford to get lax on my own personal security.

  A whine at the top of the stairs drew my attention. Gruff looked down at me. “Come on down,” I told him. Although I’d be careful what I said in front of him.

  Rene arrived, stomped the wet, black dirt off his boots, and came in as soon as I’d opened the door. “The metal gates are warded, so wait a sec.” I whispered “Bombadil” to open the iron door, then used my magic to relock the deadbolt. Despite the cold, wet weather, Rene was in jeans and a t-shirt that read: New Orleans—It Ain’t the Heat, It’s the Stupidity. Only a local could get away with it.

  “Elf ain’t takin’ no chances with security, is he?” Rene looked over the setup and the closed entrance to the nursery.

  “No, and I don’t blame him. He’s the only clan royalty in Elfheim over the age of twelve; he made sure they had no other option but him.” No point in telling Rene about me being Queen of the Elves if anything happened to Rand; he and Jean had both been eavesdropping.

  Rene stopped, crossed his arms over his chest, and stared at the dog, who stared back at him. Neither of them gave off Mr. Rogers vibes. “What’s that?” he finally asked.

  “A corgi. You know, for companionship and dog hair to see through faery glamour.”

  “The elf gave him to you? ’Cause you ain’t had time to run out to the humane society.”

  Gruff and I looked at each other. “Rand says he’s a regular dog—well, of royal bloodline.”

  “Hmph.”

  I walked toward the stairs, but Rene didn’t follow. “The pirate’s on his way,” he said. “Might as well wait to let him in. I called him, but he was halfway here already.”

  No mule-drawn carriages had come into view yet, so I hope that meant he was taking a taxi.

  “What’s it about? The fireworks?”

  Rene shook his head. “About....” He stopped and looked at Gruff again. “I ain’t too sure about this, DJ.”

  I usually trusted Rene’s instincts. Except for that fatal fling with the psycho nymph last year who’d ended up killing his twin brother and throwing me half-conscious into the Mississippi River, he’d always read situations well.

  “Do you speak French?” I asked him. He and Jean could talk, and I could make do…if Rene translated on paper so the dog wouldn’t hear us.

  He grinned at me, a flash of even white teeth in his olive complexion. “What d’you think?”

  I considered it, then shook my head. Rene wouldn’t care enough to learn another language just to appease Jean Lafitte, who understood plenty of English if he wanted to. “I think you speak English and Yat.”

  “Got dat right. Why you askin’?”

  I turned to Gruff. “Est-ce que tu parles français?”

  He cocked his head at me, so I asked him to “speak” using the word Rand had written down for me: “Siaradwch.”

  He yipped, and I pulled out a mini wedge of cheese from my pocket as a reward.

  “Parle!” I commanded.

  Another cocked head.

  “He ain’t got the French thing down,” Rene said. “Too bad we don’t either. Try it in English.

  I turned back to the dog. “Gruff, speak.”

  Yip. Of course Rand said he knew sit and stay; he hadn’t mentioned speak.

  “He ain’t no dog, babe. Cute, though.” Rene leaned down and scratched behind Gruff’s ears. “At least he don’t treat me like a can of tuna he plans to eat for dinner.”

  Gruff also knew how to bark at a knock on the front door, and I turned to see a soggy pirate peering through the glass.

  “Bonjour, Jolie. What a pleasure to see you again this morning.” He kissed me on the cheek and shook hands with Rene. What a relief to be around people who actually liked each other.

  “Jean, this is my dog, Gruff. Rand gave him to me as a companion and source of dog fur.”

  One dark eyebrow rose as Jean and the corgi examined each other. Both wore dubious expressions.

  I really, really wanted Gruff to be a dog, but I had to consider his origins.

  “Any chance he’s a shifter?” I whispered to Rene.

  “No, and you might as well not whisper. Any canine could hear you, shifter or not. I don’t get anything weird from him, but I don’t get anything off the elf, either.”

  Great. “Let’s go upstairs.” I made sure the door was locked back and the wards secure, then followed them up with Gruff at my heels. “Gruff, you want some more cheese?”

  He yipped at the sight of another wedge from my pocket. I lured him into the small kitchen next to Rand’s office, tossed it and a big pillow on the floor, and closed the door as soon as he was inside.

  I counted to myself: one, two, three….A loud, pitiful howl erupted from the kitchen. My guilt rose to meet it.

  “Rand insists he’s just a dog, but I can’t be sure since he came straight from Elfheim,” I said, leading them into my room and shutting the door. “Until I am, let’s be careful what we say around him.”

  Luckily, he was howling so loudly he couldn’t do a decent job of eavesdropping. And if Rand asked me why I’d locked the dog in the kitchen while I had a rendezvous with two men in my bedroom, well, he could think whatever he wanted.

  “Okay, what’s up?” I turned to Jean. He’d donned his best pirate gear—loose white linen shirt, black trousers tucked into high boots, and a suede coat that came from Daniel Boone’s era. He’d traded a pirogue for it, as I recalled. “Did you learn anything else about Christof?”

  He extracted an elastic band from his pocket and pulled his hair back in a ponytail. I wondered what he
’d think of a man bun. “Non, but the Fae Hunters’ lieutenant is traveling through the veil into Faerie on this day to learn what he can both of Christof and the younger sister, Kirian.”

  “What were you coming to see me about?” Jean wouldn’t waste a cab ride this far uptown without news.

  “About your acquaintance, Monsieur Adrian Hoffman,” Jean said. “He has met with difficulties, I fear.”

  Rene made a rude noise that conveyed his opinion of the matter. Now a vampire, Adrian had been a talented Blue Congress wizard before he was turned. He also had been the son of the former First Elder of the wizards, who’d sold him out to the vampires like a cheap party trinket. Adrian and I had our share of bad history, but I’d gained some respect for him over the past few months.

  He’d gone missing from Barataria about the same time as the Faerie King of Winter, and we all assumed he was shacked up with his vampire girlfriend, Terri.

  I frowned. “Do you think he is with Christof?”

  “Non, he made the unfortunate choice to enter the Realm of Vampyre in order to rescue his amoureuse, who was taken from Old Orleans,” Jean said. “Now they are both prisoners, as Monsieur Hoffman has few skills, either as a vampire or a fighter.”

  That was the God’s honest truth. Adrian was a really bad vampire, but then he’d only been turned two or three months. Terri had been turned for decades, and while she’d made a fine hostess at the L’Amour Sauvage vampire bar in the French Quarter before Jean Lafitte burned it down, she was no fighter, either.

  Damn it. We had enough problems with Florian, but I couldn’t leave Adrian if he was in trouble; he’d helped me escape New Orleans in December after I’d been shot—he’d gotten all of us out. “I need to scry him. If he’s still alive, I have to try to get him out.”

  “I don’t like that jackass enough to risk my life for him,” Rene muttered, frowning. “But I’ll go in as your backup. And we can see what Garrett Melnick’s up to. And Etienne Boulard.”

  Anger filled Jean’s eyes at the mention of his old friend. He and Etienne, an early nineteenth-century plantation owner-turned-vampire, had been the pirate’s buddy for almost two centuries before betraying him back in November. I suspected he’d done business dealings with both Jean and Rene before.