Frenchman Street_A Novel of The Sentinels of New Orleans

by Suzanne Johnson

  Once in the hallway, Jean closed the door behind us and a lock clicked. He held out a photo. “I thought you might wish to look at this, Jolie.”

  It was a photo of Rand and a woman and a small boy. My focus zoomed back to the woman. “This is Rand’s mother, so this must be his father and him as a kid.” I studied the Elder Lord Randolph. It was easy to see how I’d mistaken him for Rand—they had the same build, the same face, the same coloring. But his father had cold, hard eyes. I’d seen Rand’s look like that, but not often. Even when he was at his worst I-am-Elf, petulant self, he usually had some warmth and animation about him.

  I disliked Rand part of the time; sometimes, I even hated him. But I kind of understood him, and if we hadn’t been tied together for eternity, sometimes I might even like him in an alien sort of way. I didn’t think I’d like his father one little bit.

  Setting the photo on a hall table, I started on one end of the second-floor and followed Charlie from one room to the next. Jean handily picked the lock of one room.

  “Broke a lot of locks in your day?” I asked.

  “Non,” he said, picking up trinkets I suspected he was pricing to resell in the Beyond. I could see it now: Ancient Elven Artifacts for Sale! “We did not have locks of this kind. I learned this skill from Rene.”

  I didn’t want to know any more. I’d decided long ago that whatever business dealings Rene and Jean had going between the modern world and Old Orleans, the less I knew, the less likely I’d feel obliged to do something about them. Of course, I’d been a sentinel then. Now I was just a loser unemployed wizard, so I should start looking for trinkets of my own.

  Except Charlie was vibrating in almost every room. Clever old Florian. He could pop into Rand’s house anytime he chose, until now. I sent every transport to Greenland.

  We repeated the process on both wings of the first floor and I rerouted another half-dozen transports. Florian had been a busy boy. I wished I could tell how recently the transports had been made—all on the day we’d escaped to Edmee’s house, or as recently as this morning? It would take too long for me to go back to New Orleans and work up a charm to figure it out.

  “Okay.” I turned to catch Jean slipping something into the pouch he wore on his belt that supposedly held gunpowder. It might now hold elven trinkets, but that was between the pirate and the elf. Except…. “Jean, I won’t ask what you have in that pouch, but I probably should remind you that with elves and faeries, what looks like a pretty little bauble might turn into something big and deadly when you least expect it. Just sayin’.”

  I walked back to the corner where the door to the basement nestled and hid a smile when I saw Jean quickly unstuffing his pouch.

  The stairs were broken, and the railing had been pulled off the wall. I couldn’t read the aura of the fae, but Lia had told me stronger faeries could read each other’s auras—it helped the Hunters find their prey in a crowded city like New Orleans. So Florian would have known his sister was down here, or at least that another faery had been down here.

  I set Gruff down at the bottom of the treacherous stairs, and he immediately stiffened and growled. I motioned Jean to be silent and struggled to remember the words Rand had taught me for faeries. Tylwyth teg, Gruff. But tell me. Don’t bark.

  His growls stopped, and he pulled me straight toward the doors leading to the suite where Kirian had been held. The door stood ajar, and I could see movement inside.

  I held a finger up and dug quietly in my bag for a camouflage potion. I guzzled the foul-tasting swill and handed a second vial to Jean, who studied it a moment before drinking. He didn’t react to the taste. I guess he’d had worse in his day.

  I pondered Gruff.

  We’re going to try to blend in the background, I told him. Be a diversion as long as it’s safe, but don’t take any risks.

  If an adolescent corgi could look insulted, he would’ve come close. I am of the Royal Canine Guard. It is our duty to protect.

  Then he poked his nose in the room and started barking.

  Chapter 28

  “Oh, how cute. A big, bad guard dog. I get to kill two of you today.”

  I recognized Florian’s arrogant drawl before I spotted him behind the upended mattress with a knife, ripping it open. Beyond him on the floor was a ball of fur. I recognized Gruff’s uncle the same time he did.

  He stopped barking and let out a long, chilling howl. My stomach roiled. That brave, brave dog.

  I wanted to go and comfort Gruff, but Florian had to come first. Gruff! Do your duty. You are a Royal Canine Guard of Elfheim.

  He went silent, mid-howl, and looked at me.

  “You! You bitch. I should have known.” Florian had followed the corgi’s gaze, and if Jean hadn’t shoved me to the floor, I’d have been toasted by the fireball the prince had thrown my way. Behind me, I smelled singed carpet and hoped Rand had fireproofed his house.

  True invisibility isn’t possible. Unlike some fictional wizards, real wizards couldn’t wrap themselves in a cape and disappear. The best we could manage was a good camouflage potion. We changed colors to match our surroundings, like two-legged chameleons. It was working, because Florian stalked around the room squinting, trying to find me again and figure out if I was alone.

  “Where are you, witch?” I winced. Witches were magical wannabes. “Where is my sister? What did you and your bastard elven mate do with her?” And on and on he went, ranting and calling me names. Too bad I hadn’t brought a silencing charm.

  Oh, for the ability to mentally communicate with Jean. Gruff would have to do.

  Gruff, move around the room—stay along the outside walls opposite where I am. Keep him distracted, but if he looks ready to throw something, change direction and duck under a piece of furniture. It took Florian a couple of seconds to form and throw his fireballs, which seemed to be his current weapon of choice. That delay would give Gruff time to react.

  While Gruff started moving and distracting, I got Jean’s attention, pointed at the dog, and nodded. He also needed to provide distraction. He grinned and began a slow stalk around the room, occasionally reaching behind him to knock something off a piece of furniture or a framed work of art off the wall.

  Meanwhile, I slipped a vial of iron filings from my pocket—nice, cold iron especially for faeries—and slowly made a wide circle of the room, dropping filings in a steady line.

  Twice, Florian spotted me and threw a fireball. The second one was close enough to set my sweater on fire, causing me to drop and roll. But by God I kept my finger on the top of my vial of iron. Gruff ran in and bit Florian’s ankle.

  “You stinking vermin!” Florian kicked Gruff hard, earning a shrill cry that ripped into my heart, and I took a shot at Florian with the staff. The fire wrapped around his lower leg, and the Fairie Prince of Summer went down, flinging fireballs at me as fast as he could create them.

  Rain began pouring from the ceiling, and a lightning bolt crashed just to my left. I got up and completed my circle of the room with diversion from Jean. Gruff hadn’t moved, but I pulled his body close to the wall, away from the circle.

  Finally, I pulled a small knife out of my pocket, pricked my thumb, loosed a few drops of blood on the iron filings, and set Charlie against it. Containment, I told him.

  The power of my circle of power knocked me on my ass, but I had the satisfaction of watching Florian throw a fireball straight at me and hit the containment circle. The big fireball burst into dozens of tiny clones that ricocheted around the circle, sending Florian into a frantic dance to avoid burning himself up.

  “You okay, Jean?” I asked.

  “Oui, Jolie.” He knelt and picked up the world’s bravest corgi. I couldn’t look at Gruff without crying, and there was no time for tears. “He is alive, Drusilla. Might I have the honor of shooting Prince Florian as justice for my friend Christof?”

  I wasn’t a killer. But when I thought about Eugenie, about baby Michael, about Christof and Tamara, and about beautiful litt
le Gruff, I thought I could be.

  Walking over to Jean, I took Gruff in my arms.

  Can you hear me, baby? Gruff, can you hear me?

  He flicked one ear. I hurt, Dru. And I couldn’t save my uncle. Please forgive me. I failed you and The Rand.

  I turned and looked at Florian. He had assumed a pirate stance, with his feet apart and his hands on his hips, glaring at us.

  A bullet would go straight through the containment and kill him. It would be over.

  “Shoot him,” I told Jean. “Aim true.”

  “Oui, Drusilla.” Jean took his time, pulled out a modern handgun, released the safety, aimed straight for Florian’s head, and pulled the trigger.

  The bullet broke the containment a half-second after Florian disappeared.

  “Damn it, there was a transport inside that circle.” What an idiot. I should have shot the sonofabitch instead of just burning his leg. Miss Smarty, with her big containment circle, thinking she had plenty of time. This was war, and I had to be willing to kill when I had the chance. I seemed to have a disconnect between saying and doing.

  I went to the circle and held Charlie to it. “Did he go to Faerie?” I asked. I thought maybe since it had just been used, the staff would be able to tell. No such luck. I might as well be holding a tree branch. “Let’s re-route it, then.” If anyone tried to use it again, they’d be visiting Greenland. I could only hope it was Florian.

  I handed Gruff back to Jean. “Would you find Anatto and have him locate the healer for the Royal Canines? He needs to know Gruff’s uncle is down here as well.”

  Jean left me alone, and I stomped out the remaining fires that had sprung up around the room. Most had been doused, along with Jean and me, by Florian’s rainstorm. I reset three other transports in the basement, then headed back up the stairs.

  As I rounded the alcove into barn-sized living area of the manor house, the wall beside me exploded, sending wood chips and glass from the adjacent window slicing through my skin.

  I dropped to the ground and fired the staff at Florian, who stood amid the rubble of the once-grand room, Anatto lying at his feet, unmoving. “You forgot the transport outside the front door, you half-breed.”

  No, I just hadn’t gotten to the external transports yet. I nodded slowly to Jean, who stood behind Florian with his pistol drawn, but Florian caught the motion and spun, sending fire toward the pirate, who’d perfected his own drop and roll.

  I aimed another shot of the staff at Florian but caught him on the arm—his flame-throwing arm. Apparently, he was ambidextrous, because his next fireball caught my right foot, melting the rubber soles of my boots. I had to shake the boot off, and while Jean took over, hobbled to quickly re-route the transport outside the door.

  When I re-entered, I’d barely registered Jean on the ground before a freight train hit me from the left, knocking me into the stone fireplace. The room grayed, but not enough to keep me from panicking. Florian was dragging me by my uninjured leg, straight into the transport. How ironic if I sent myself to Greenland, where I’d quickly go into hibernation—or elven survival mode, as they called it—before I died. It was exactly the death William Zrakovi had wanted for me.

  I kicked Florian with my burned foot, and the pain made the world gray again. I managed to trip him, though, and he fell outside the transport and released my leg. I crawled out and spotted Charlie on the marble step below me.

  I quickly dipped a finger on one of my puncture wounds, drew a circle of blood, and summoned the staff to me, talking to keep Florian distracted. I couldn’t afford to think of Jean yet. “Why don’t you just kill me, Florian? I don’t know anything that could help you.”

  “Don’t insult my intelligence. I could fund my war effort with the secret bounty your First Elder still has on your head. And then there’s your loving husband. Even if he isn’t stupid enough to come after you, you’ll eventually tell me where my sister is—after we’ve had a little private time.”

  As he talked, he stepped over the edge of the transport. I had Charlie in hand now. All I had to do was wait. “Even if I knew, I’d never tell you anything.”

  “You have no idea what a faerie royal of the high court can do, little witch. I can touch you, and within a minute you’ll spill everything you know and beg me to let you die.”

  He was absolutely right. I did not know the full scope of faerie magic. I’d mostly seen the elemental magic of The Arch, but there was also the physical magic of The Academy. I had no clue what that encompassed.

  “Perhaps I should give you a sample.” He began walking toward me, but I already had Charlie hidden slightly behind me and trained on him. I shot a heavy rope of fire that circled him from neck to waist, and he burst into flame.

  I moved Charlie again, and the Faerie Prince of Summer was screaming in rage and pain as he transported to an ice floe somewhere off the coast of Ittoqqortoormiit, Greenland.

  Chapter 29

  Jean limped up holding Gruff, but something was off about him. His dark-blue eyes were glazed, and he had trouble standing still. When I reached out and took Gruff from him, afraid he’d drop the puppy and injure him more, Jean’s hands shook.

  I limped back into the house, looking around until I found a long-enough length of wood—the piano’s missing leg—to use as a cane. Everytime anything touched my burned foot, I had to bite back a scream.

  Jean followed me back inside, slid down the wall until he sat on the floor, and closed his eyes. I had no idea what Florian had done to him.

  Rand! Need help!

  He hadn’t shut me out, but he took his own sweet time in answering. The afternoon parade’s almost over. Where are you?

  In Elfheim. Jean and I are injured. Gruff is injured. Anatto is dead, and the house is unguarded. I don’t know where to find the canine healer.

  Can you all transport here? I’ll get someone to help you. Hang on.

  Like we had any options. Within a couple of minutes, yet another tall elven soldier, this one with strawberry-blond hair, arrived with three other shorter, darker women in tow. They looked most like the late Betony, chief of the earth clan.

  “I’m Salak,” the taller guard said. “Lord Randolph asked me to escort all of you back to humanside.”

  Of course, I had re-routed all of the transports to freaking Greenland, planning to create a new one of my own that Florian wouldn’t know about. “Do you know the transport symbol?” I asked him, trying to keep my throbbing foot suspended in the air while I reached in my pocket for some packets of salt.

  “I can draw it,” he said.

  “Use this.” I handed him the salt. “Make sure there aren’t any breaks in the line. I can power it. Make it big enough to take all of us at once.”

  Salak proved a meticulous transport-maker, although he could have been faster. Meanwhile, I pondered his name. Every elf I’d met had the give name of a plant or fruit or flower or spice. Despite their strange, Welsh-based language, they all spoke English perfectly, without a trace of an accent. The faeries seemed to have no naming patterns, except they had no surnames as far as I knew. They all had features I associated with Slavic nations, however, and had a trace of an accent.

  This was all the trivia I could devise to divert my mind from my injuries for about five seconds before raw data began pouring into my consciousness. My foot felt as if it were still on fire. I had a burn on my left arm that hurt like hell. I had maybe a dozen cuts and puncture wounds from flying debris. The back of my head had a lump on it where it had crashed into the stone fireplace.

  “Lady Randolph, the transport is finished.” Salak stood in front of me, looking down. “Do I have your permission to pick you up?”

  “Please,” I said. He was awfully polite for an elf, but then again, elves could be brutal. It might be a killing offense to touch the mate of the Lord of Elfheim without permission.

  He picked me up, still holding Gruff, and went to stand inside the transport. “Jean,” I called. “Can you come and st
and beside us?”

  He turned his head to look at me, blinked a couple of times, and got to his feet. “Of course, DJ.”

  My heart began an erratic thumping. Jean Lafitte had never called me DJ. I was always Drusilla or Jolie. What had Florian done to him? He stood dutifully beside Salat, then I had the elf lower me enough to touch Charlie to the transport and whisper “Rivendell.” Within seconds, we were in the dragon barn. Rand and Rene both stood outside it, waiting.

  “Salat, you overstep.” Rand’s voice vibrated with anger as he took me out of the guard’s arms.

  “I needed help,” I said. My words slurred. “He only did as I asked.”

  Rand gave a curt nod. “My apologies. Return to assume command of the manor house. Use as many fighters as you need.”

  “And break that transport as soon as you get there,” I told him. “Drag a foot through the outline.”

  He nodded and disappeared.

  Rand deposited me in one of the chairs, looked at my foot first, then the arm where my sweater had been burned off, then at the other cuts and jags. “The foot is the worst; do you have any magical salve for burns?”

  I nodded. “In my bag…which is back at the manor house. It’s lying somewhere near the fireplace, I think.”

  “I’ll have someone bring it.” He looked at Jean. “I’ve never heard him that quiet. What happened to him? What happened to both of you?”

  “Florian,” I said. I’d been thinking about Jean’s state of mind and what might account for it. It was almost as if he’d been attacked by elves. “Do faeries have any kind of mental magic? Is that what Academy magic is?”

  Rand looked back at Jean with more interest. “Not in the way you mean, but Academy magic is what others call science and physics. They can control electrical and chemical reactions, so if Florian touched the pirate, he could electrocute him, or at least send enough electrical impulses to addle him. That would be my guess, based on his behavior. They can also change body chemistry to mimic different diseases.”