Royal Street

by Suzanne Johnson

  Two possibilities remained: either a Royal Street shop selling French antiques or the Napoleon House on Chartres. Both buildings predated the pirate, and Jean Lafitte was definitely a French antique in his own right. But antique shops were usually crowded with merchandise and wouldn’t offer enough space for a comfortable pirate hangout.

  That left the Napoleon House. The restaurant and bar was still closed, and there were big banquet rooms upstairs off a courtyard, well hidden from the street. It was a ballsy place to hide out, being across the street from the big Royal Orleans Hotel and a block from the district police station, but Jean Lafitte was a ballsy kind of guy. He’d like it that the cops were a block away and clueless, and he’d like staying in a place that had been built as a residence-in-exile for Napoleon Bonaparte, even if the emperor had never actually lived there.

  I knew where to find Lafitte.

  CHAPTER 29

  I took inventory of my backpack contents, then slung it over my shoulder and headed downstairs. I clutched the elven staff in my right hand, not because I thought I could use it, but because it made me feel better. Tougher. Ready for another round with an angry Frenchman.

  Stopping at the Gator again, I got some paper from Leyla and left Alex a note. If Jean Lafitte didn’t kill me, Alex would. Either way, it shouldn’t be a boring night.

  A fine mist wet the streets, and I shivered in my lightweight sweater and jeans, walking close to the buildings both for warmth and camouflage. At the corner of St. Louis and Chartres, I stopped in the shadow of the Omni Royal Orleans and studied the Napoleon House. Its front door opened catercorner to the intersection, and the first floor containing the restaurant and bar was dark. I studied the second- and third-floor windows, but drapes or shutters blocked any light that might be there.

  I wondered if the front door was locked. Lafitte’s pirates would need to be able to slip in and out quickly. Looking around to make sure no one was nearby, I crossed the street and gently pulled on the handle. Locked, damn it.

  I walked alongside the building down St. Louis until I reached the next storefront. No way in there.

  Retracing my steps, I walked down Chartres on the other side and found a small wooden door, absent any signage, that was in the right spot to lead into the kitchen area or courtyard. I looked around again, then tried the door. It swung open and I stepped inside quickly, closing it behind me.

  A dim light shone from somewhere in front of me, but it wasn’t bright enough to keep me from tripping or help me get a read on my surroundings. I knelt and stuck the elven staff back in my pack, then slid open the zipper on the front, feeling for my obsidian amulet. I warmed the stone in my hand and willed a tiny burst of energy into it, enough to bring a faint glow.

  I was in a narrow hallway that opened into the courtyard. A door to the right about halfway down looked as if it went into a storeroom. The path ahead of me was clear, so I stuck the amulet back in my pack and crept to the courtyard opening.

  A soft light flickered from an open door upstairs, enough for me to take a better look at the layout of the courtyard. I’d been here a lot as a customer. The bartenders mixed a mean Pimm’s Cup, the kitchen turned out great muffalettas, the sound system played classical music, and the ambience of shabby elegance made it a great place to pass the time.

  I’d never looked at it from a siege standpoint, however. The long, rectangular dining room and bar stretched to my right. Around the courtyard sat tables with chairs propped on top of them, and several big banana trees. To my left rose a staircase of dark wood leading to a gallery-style balcony that stretched around the second floor. The third floor looked empty, but not the second, and a large room normally rented out for banquets and private dinners was the source of the light.

  The banana tree opposite the room made a good hiding place, but didn’t show me how many people were upstairs. Male voices spoke softly in French, a glass tinkled, a laugh echoed off the balcony. The smell from a cigar tickled my nose and mixed with the damp mustiness of the courtyard.

  I chewed my lip, thinking. I hated to prance up the steps and walk into the room without knowing how many people were there, and how well they were armed. I wished I had the time and materials to do some hydromancy, but wishes … horses … beggars.

  Finally, I formed a plan. It wasn’t a good plan, more of the kitchen-sink variety: full frontal assault, mixed with a little seduction and, if needed, begging and pleading. Tears might be called for, assuming one of Lafitte’s goons didn’t shoot me on sight.

  I checked my knife and staff, then took a bit of ground buckthorn and periwinkle leaves and placed them into a bottle of purified water from my pack. I gulped down about half of the translation potion, grimacing at the bitter taste.

  Lafitte spoke fluent English but if he started chattering in French or Spanish, I wanted to understand what he was saying. The buckthorn brew should bridge any language barriers for a few hours. I hoped I wouldn’t be here that long.

  I pulled the elven staff out of my bag, took a deep breath, and marched up the stairs, making no attempt to be quiet. Since I had decided subterfuge wasn’t going to work, I’d go the opposite route and see how far fake bravado got me. My boots clicked on the wooden steps and, as I expected, the aged floor of the gallery creaked when I walked across it. I couldn’t have slipped up on them.

  A short, red-haired man stepped out of the open doorway ahead and stared at me, green eyes opened wide in shock. He cursed in French; I heard it in English. Only bad thing about those translation potions was an annoying disconnect between ear and mouth, like watching a TV show where the sound wasn’t in sync with the picture. He lowered a bayonet toward me but it was almost an afterthought. Guess I didn’t look that scary.

  “Captain Lafitte?” I figured that would transcend any language barriers.

  The sentry raised his bayonet like a drawbridge and edged his black boots back to let me pass. He looked scared, but I couldn’t feel his fear. My grounding and mojo bag were holding.

  I stepped into the room, taking a quick look around at the drawn curtains that kept the dim candlelight hidden from the street, and at the two men sitting on either side of Lafitte. All gaped at me in shock over their brandy snifters. A wooden box of cigars sat on the table.

  So we had Lafitte and three other pirates versus one little wizard. No problem.

  Lafitte recovered first. His expression was careful, noncommittal. “You are always a surprise to me, Mademoiselle Jaco. Are you so foolish as to have come here alone?”

  He leaned back in his chair, stretching his long legs and crossing them at the ankles. He wore a simple white shirt open halfway to his waist, and a blue jacket hung on the back of his chair. His dark hair was pulled back and tied at the neck with a blue ribbon. Very pirate couture.

  I decided to start with the humble tactic, and tried to match his formal speech patterns. I’m all about respect. “You’re looking well, Captain. I must apologize for the way things last ended with us. I don’t choose to solve my problems with violence.” Well, not with a shotgun anyway.

  He pulled the shirt front aside a bit to reveal a pink scar. He was virtually healed. Even the scar would be gone in a few days. “I do not hold you responsible for this, although your friend … well, let us say it will be best if he is not with you this evening.”

  I nodded, glad I’d bypassed Alex. I wanted diplomacy to have failed decisively before the shooting began.

  Lafitte rose and sauntered around the table toward me, graceful as a lion. I considered screaming and running past the sentry and back into the courtyard, but stood my ground out of nothing more than sheer stubbornness. I had sought him out, after all. I was a warrior. Warriors don’t scream and run.

  I could feel the power rolling off him as he came to a stop in front of me. It wasn’t an empathic thing, just an aura powerful people had, intensity and confidence and arrogance so strong you could almost touch it.

  He put a big hand on my shoulder, squeezing slightly
, and pulled me, stumbling, farther into the room. “Sit with us, Drusilla.” Sounded like the pirate and I had advanced to a first-name basis.

  Like a gentleman, Lafitte introduced me to his companions, beginning with the bayonet-wielding redhead, Bouret, who’d reassumed his position at the door. I assumed he was a junior pirate flunky since he didn’t rate a seat with the big boys.

  The two men at the table stood as we approached: Pierre Lafitte, shorter, darker-skinned and heavier than his brother, and Dominique You, who looked like every clichéd movie pirate I’d ever seen, complete with a hook nose, a powerful build, and a look of amusement that made me shiver. Also thought by many to be a Lafitte half-brother, You had been Jean’s most trusted soldier in his first life. Apparently in his undead life as well.

  All of the men wore knives, but I didn’t see any guns other than the one attached to Bouret’s bayonet. They hadn’t expected a fight tonight. Fewer guns was a good thing.

  Pierre Lafitte moved toward the windows, and Jean shoved me into the chair at the table, a little more forcefully than was necessary, I thought. Guess they weren’t going to invite me for cigars and brandy.

  I settled the backpack and elven staff against my chair, within easy reach of my right hand. Jean resumed his seat and eyed me expectantly, both amusement and lust washing over me, but not anger. That meant the seduction card might still be on the table, and if not, well, they could laugh at me all they wanted. I could be really amusing when I had to be.

  “You know, Captain Lafitte, I expected you to be down at your old blacksmith shop. It’s a bar now, but the building’s still intact.” Nervous babble. But it seemed too abrupt to just come right out and ask him to quit stalking me—oh, and if he’d heard anything about Gerry or Baron Samedi.

  His laugh was sharp. “Surely you did not come here to discuss history or architecture, Drusilla.” He smiled. “And surely you can call me Jean at this, how do you say, advanced stage of our relationship.”

  We had a relationship? I forced myself to look away from his glittering eyes and focused on his mouth. This was not a relationship I wanted to have. Well, it might be fun for a while but it didn’t have a future. One of us was already technically dead and I didn’t think I’d be well-remembered enough to warrant a magical afterlife outside the Beyond.

  “I came here to ask you to forgive me for what happened earlier, and to offer you another partnership—a real one this time.”

  A slow smile spread across his face and he leaned back in his seat, gesturing for me to continue.

  Dominique leaned forward in the chair opposite me, arms propped on the table, and gave me a steely look that made me think he might really, really enjoy a good round of torture. I could read nothing but aggression from him. No point wasting my womanly wiles on him.

  I shuddered and looked back at Jean, glad I could observe their emotions without feeling them myself—so far.

  Jean reached out to stroke my arm.

  I slapped his hand away. “Business first.” I’d keep the seduction option closed as long as I could.

  He narrowed his eyes and chuckled. “And what do you think you can offer me now, Drusilla, other than a little playtime? You need my assistance much more than I need yours, especially since crossing into the city from the Beyond is so simple now.”

  Well, yeah, he had a point, but still.

  He leaned back and raised his eyebrows, mouth quirked up at one corner. “But I will listen to your business offer. It should at least be entertaining.”

  I could do entertaining. “I’m the New Orleans sentinel now. I can get you concessions from the Elders to trade antiques for modern goods between the modern world and the Beyond, as you’ve wanted. As long as no ordinary people are made aware of it and no one is injured, of course. What I’m saying is that up to a certain point, I can look the other way while you do business—if you help me.” I wasn’t sure how well I could fulfill that promise should he go for it, but I’d sweat the details later.

  He sighed and leaned forward over the table, pulling the red elastic band from my hair, loosening my ponytail and letting my hair fall around my shoulders. I thought I was going to have to slap his hand away again but he only stroked my hair once before settling back in his chair, looking at the elastic with interest and then sticking it in his pocket. Thief.

  “And in exchange for this generosity on your part, Jolie, what would you want from me?”

  “Forgiveness for my former actions,” I said. “And information. When we first met, I got the impression you knew about the elves and the vampires, so I assume you make it your business to know what’s going on in the Beyond.”

  He crossed his arms over his chest. “I find it only sensible to know the things that go on around me, oui.”

  “Then what I want is to learn what the Baron Samedi is doing, and if Gerald St. Simon is helping him.”

  He exchanged glances with Dominique. “Why do you think I have been looking for you, Drusilla?”

  Uh, revenge. Or maybe not. My uncertainty must have shown, because Jean and Dominique laughed.

  “I am not looking for revenge, although you certainly deserve it. No, Samedi sent me here to capture you and bring you to him, in exchange for much the same offer you have made—free rein to do business once the borders are under new control. So the question for me is, whose offer should I take? Why should I work with you instead of him?”

  My mouth felt dry and I stuck my hands underneath my legs to keep them from shaking. Samedi wanted me? And had approached Jean?

  I stiffened as Pierre came to stand behind my chair and reached over me for his glass of brandy. He leaned too close, but I didn’t flinch. Big girls don’t flinch.

  “She would be much more enjoyable to bargain with than Samedi,” Pierre told Jean, stroking a hand up my arm. Okay, now I flinched. He didn’t match Jean’s oozing power but he had a stronger dose of creepy.

  “I agree that she could be most enjoyable.” Jean said. “Of course, we can take her without taking her bargain, oui? As she once told me herself, she is but a woman.”

  Misogynistic brute. Jean and I stared at each other, both of us more calculating than angry. More a chess match than a duel. I’d done my research. The pirate had a ruthless side, but he also had his own warped moral code. Loyalty had been paramount to him. His men who broke the rules didn’t have to worry about being caught by the authorities. They had to worry about Jean hanging them from the nearest cypress tree.

  “You should work with me instead of Samedi because I’ll keep my word. I won’t lie to you or turn against you. I’ll be a loyal partner.”

  Jean’s left eyebrow rose a fraction as Dominique and Pierre barked out harsh laughter.

  I shrugged. “Well, okay, the thing in Delacroix was a lie, technically. But I’m not lying now.” I felt my bargaining position sink lower by the minute. I didn’t have a moral high horse to ride.

  I tried again. “Tell me what you want in exchange for information. If it is mine to give, I will.”

  He stood and walked to the outer window, pulling the shade aside a fraction to look out on the street. “I would want these things. Free passage to come and go into New Orleans as I choose, without interference from your Elders or your enforcers.” He dropped the shade back in place and paced the room. “I want your assistance with my business dealings, as you offered before. Also, I want a house in the city where I can live when I am here.” He walked behind my chair and leaned over, whispering, “Perhaps one near yours.”

  He wanted to be neighbors? Well, that would be fun.

  “There might be more, but I would have to give it some thought. Can you offer me these things?” Jean half-sat on the table next to me so I had to crane my neck to see his face. Talk about a power position.

  I thought about it, about how I could finesse it with the Elders. About whether I could live up to my part of the agreement without the Elders knowing it. About what the pirate would do to me if I didn’t follow through
.

  “How do I know the information you give me is worth the price?” I asked, mentally calculating if I could hold down a second job at McDonald’s to pay rent on a pirate den in my neighborhood.

  He bent down, smelling of tobacco and cinnamon, and smiled. “It will be a gamble, no?”

  I took a deep breath and nodded. “I agree.”

  “Trés bon.”

  Jean walked back to his seat. “I will tell you this first, Jolie. I had already decided not to take the Baron up on his offer to procure you for him.”

  Procure was an awfully nice way of saying kidnap. “What does the Baron want with me?”

  Jean eyed me thoughtfully. “Perhaps I should not make a bargain with you, Drusilla. If you do not survive the Baron’s attempts to gain power, our arrangement will not be worth much and I will have angered him for nothing.”

  “Then it behooves you to help me survive it,” I snapped. He was either going to tell me what I needed to know, or he wasn’t. Alex could show up at any time.

  “The Baron wants to make a partnership with you to replace the one he made with your mentor. If you do not agree, he plans to kill you in order to gain your power. He will probably do so regardless.”

  Mentor. Jean knew about Gerry. I swallowed down the rising panic and tried to understand.

  “What kind of bargain does he have with Gerry?”

  Jean shrugged. “Your mentor wants the Baron to grow in power so he can force your Elders to change their laws. In order to help him do so, he has established ways for us to come and go at will from the Beyond through these … what do you call them?”

  He gestured over his shoulder and I leaned around to see the interlocking circle and triangle drawn on the shiny wood floor. My heart sank.

  “An open transport,” I whispered. Gerry was out of his mind.

  “Oui, a transport.”