“Or provoking one.” Alex leaned over and pulled my pink watch from beneath the rickety bedside table. The room had been furnished in an eclectic hodgepodge of fine antiques and cheap fiberboard junk, all painted black, which somehow worked with the hot-pink walls. “Do you want me to warn Zrakovi or wait and see how it plays out?”
The fact that he had asked, and not stomped out to tell his boss without any regard for what it might mean, almost brought on the tears again. I’d cry when I got back to Barataria. For now, I needed to think like a shark. Or an elf.
“I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t say anything, especially since we don’t know what the proposal is. But be on your guard in case Zrakovi does something crazy. I don’t want you caught in the middle.”
Alex smiled, but it was a sad one. “I’m already there.”
CHAPTER 24
I slept late Christmas morning and woke to find the lamp lit and a pirate sitting on the edge of my bed. Well, his bed, technically. After my startled heart returned to a semi-normal pace, I threw a pillow at Jean. “It’s rude to watch people sleep.”
What bothered me more than Jean slipping into my room was the fact that I’d slept through it. What if he’d been a vampire or an elf or a fireball-wielding faery? Obviously, sex dulled my edge. “I want a lock for this door, please.”
“Ah, Jolie. Would you rob a lonely man of the pleasure of watching you dream? Also, I wished to present my Christmas gift to you without observation from watchful eyes.”
“Um…” I hadn’t gotten him a gift. What a loser. “I’m sorry, Jean. I don’t deserve a gift; I didn’t buy anything for you. For anyone. I’ve been too busy feeling sorry for myself, I guess.” A self-obsessed loser.
“Bah. The giver receives the joy of seeing his gift appreciated. That is enough, and I hope you will appreciate this gift, Drusilla.” He handed me a long, slim, velvet-covered box, such as might hold a bracelet. If he’d gotten me expensive jewelry, I’d feel even worse. Plus, I’d have to worry about whether or not he’d given me stolen goods and from what century they’d been stolen.
I opened the box cautiously, and laughter burbled up from my gut—I couldn’t stop it. “This is perfect!”
I pulled out a slim silver dagger, its blade glinting in the lamplight, its hilt ornately carved with a crane standing among tall reeds. Jean and his birds.
“I had my silversmith make it especially for you, Jolie. The blade is of pure silver, so it will be useful if you need to defend yourself against a werewolf or other creature of the moon, and the hilt is small enough for your hand to wield it without discomfort.”
I held it closer to the light; the craftsmanship was exquisite, even detailed, down to the fish hanging from the crane’s mouth. “What’s the significance of the bird? You seem to like them.”
“They represent the ways of the wild, do they not? They fly free, take what they need, protect their mates and their young, and do not kill for sport. Men could learn much from them.”
True, although except for my crane, Jean did seem to prefer raptors. Plus, birds got put in cages. “Thank you. I hope I don’t need it today.”
“It is my hope that it will never be needed, only admired.” Jean shifted on the bed and propped himself up on an elbow. “What will occur today that might incite its need?”
I told him about the possible meeting with Lennox at noon. “Of course, he might not even show up.”
I paused, not wanting to overstep my guest status; I’d pushed it by arranging a meeting with Lennox before talking to Jean, although I’d sent him a message by way of Jake and he hadn’t objected. “If he does show up, it might be better if Christof is not here, or at least not where Lennox can see him.”
Jean nodded. “To this I agree. Christof’s plight worsens, and I fear for his safety. His allies are scattering to the far reaches of Faery, for those who are caught in the capital are being publicly tortured and killed by Florian’s followers. Their bodies have been displayed on pikes along the main thoroughfare.”
Florian scared the crap out of me, even more than some of the scary elves I’d met. “Is Christof still in The Arch?”
“Oui, but he is making plans to move it to a safer location.”
My horrific trip to Faery was still fresh, and I was pretty sure The Arch was one huge, honking building. “How can he move it?”
Jean smiled. “We shall see, shall we not?”
In other words, none of my business. Maybe The Arch was the magic itself and not the building. But how did one move magic?
I looked at my watch and did a double take. “It’s almost eleven and I’m not dressed. Thank you for the gift, but I must get ready to meet my uncle, tout de suite.”
“Does this mean you wish for me to leave, even after such a special gift?”
I gave him my sweetest smile. “Thank you for the beautiful dagger. Now, leave.”
A half hour later, I sat on the front steps, waiting to see if my uncle cared enough to respond to my request, and if he’d come alone as I asked. He owed me nothing, after all. He might be Gerry’s younger brother, but they’d been far from close. I hadn’t known he existed until a few weeks ago, when he was named to represent the UK and the European Union on the Congress of Elders.
Adrian had been the regularly assigned transport guard, but Jean had decided to take the post himself while Lennox was here, and I knew his brother Dominique, an expert artilleryman in his human life and his undead one as well, was upstairs with a small cannon aimed at the transport.
Jean was willing to let me hold a peace talk at Maison Rouge, but his malleability only went so far. He’d also insisted I move the transport, although I only took it a couple of feet farther into the Gulf. I wasn’t learning to swim at my advanced age just to avoid drowning in my own transport. Wizards plus water equaled disaster. I’d almost drowned earlier in the year, and one round of merman CPR was enough, thank you.
Shortly before noon, I sensed a disturbance in the air and stood up a second or two before Lennox St. Simon appeared in the ankle-deep water; we were at low tide. He wasn’t dressed like an Elder—in his usual dark business suit, in other words. He wore khakis, a blue sweater, and a lightweight black leather jacket. The sight of him sent a pang of sadness through me. For just a moment, with the light of the flambeaux on his face, I realized he looked more like Gerry than I’d originally thought.
“Rather a clever spot for a transport.” He sloshed out of the water and waited at the foot of the banquette for me to reach him. Smart. That told me he was willing to respect this as Jean’s home and not overstep.
I stopped in front of him, willing myself not to cry again. I swear, I must have seasonal affective disorder. Because only a physiological response to a lack of sunlight could bring out the tears this easily. It couldn’t possibly be my screwed-up life.
“Happy Christmas, DJ.” Lennox smiled and before I realized I was moving, I’d wrapped my arms around his neck. He hugged me back, a real hug, then pulled back and smoothed the hair away from my face. Make that my splotchy, almost-in-tears face. “You’ve gotten into a rather bad spot, haven’t you?”
I smiled at his British understatement skills. “Rather. Thank you for coming.”
“Of course. You are my niece. You’re family.”
As simple as that? Not simple at all, but it was a start. “Come on, let’s go inside so you can dry off your shoes.”
I saw Lennox into the entry hall, then went to thank Jean for standing watch. When I returned, Lennox was barefoot and trying to wring water from the bottom of his trouser cuffs.
“Sorry about that. Having a transport in the water seems like a great idea until one actually has to use it.”
He chuckled. “It’s brilliant, actually. Transporting is such unpleasant business anyway that landing in water makes for a bit of a shocker.”
I poured a soda for myself and Lennox chose to try Jean’s brandy. He’d taken a seat on the settee, so I took the power position in
the monster-recliner.
“I’ll admit I was rather surprised when Quince Randolph delivered your letter. I hate to bear bad news, but I believe he read it.”
I laughed. “Of course he did. I didn’t bother sealing it to save him the trouble of having to pry it open. I don’t mind him knowing that I want to improve my situation with the council.” He sure hadn’t done anything to help me.
“Not your situation with the council, DJ, but with Willem Zrakovi. If we’re going to speak, let us speak frankly. What you say to me will go no further, and I hope you will grant me the same discretion.”
How much nicer to ask me for discretion rather than threatening the life of someone I loved to force my silence. I hadn’t yet decided to let him know my involvement with Audrey, however. Partly because I still wasn’t sure who to trust, and partly to keep her from getting in trouble with her father. I might not completely trust her yet, but I did like her.
“Of course.” I paused, pondering where to begin this delicate dance of words. “Rand—Quince Randolph—and my friend Eugenie Dupre have reached an agreement on visitation during her pregnancy, so he’s backed off his demands to have her live in Elfheim.” I paused to mentally gather my argument. “That means his threat to the alliance of the elves and wizards no longer applies.”
Lennox took a sip of the brandy and studied the glass with appreciation in his aura, which up until now had been completely flat and calm. “Very nice brandy. Is it French?”
I laughed. “Yes, and very old.” I’d poured it from Jean’s private stash. “Anyway, I had hoped that you’d be willing to set up a meeting between Elder Zrakovi and myself, so that I could try to convince him how useful I would be to the wizards—even to him—if I were reinstated, or at least allowed to return to New Orleans without being sent to Ittoqqortoormiit.
“Because of a condition I inherited when Rand and I formed our bond, I can’t live long in very cold weather. It’s essentially a death sentence.”
Lennox frowned and set his glass on the side table that filled the corner between our seats. “Is Zrakovi aware of this?”
I reminded myself to be fair. Lennox might be my uncle, but he was still an Elder and Zrakovi was his political superior.
“I don’t have proof that he took it into consideration when he pronounced my sentence. I don’t have proof that he realized it was the same as a death sentence for me. But he does know about my condition.” I spared him the story of going into hibernation in the middle of Royal Street in broad daylight a couple of weeks ago.
“This is most disturbing.” Lennox leaned forward and propped his elbows on his knees. “I wonder if our First Elder is not even more unbalanced than I’d feared.”
I’d been wondering the same thing. “The point is, I really could be an asset to the wizards. I am not their enemy. Not your enemy, and not Zrakovi’s.”
At least I was trying like hell not to be.
Lennox pursed his lips with a very Gerry-like frown. “I quite agree that you are an invaluable asset to the wizards, especially as alliances grow thinner. To my knowledge, you are the only wizard capable of doing both wizards’ and elven magic. You are Green Congress, correct?”
“I was Green Congress.” Now I was unemployed and unlicensed. It didn’t mean my magic had been stripped from me, only that I couldn’t legally use it outside my own home. If I had a home. “And I am a wizard, first and foremost. Sometimes I think Elder Zrakovi forgets that.”
Lennon retrieved his brandy glass and traced a finger around the rim, staring at the rich brown liquid. “Willem Zrakovi advanced to First Elder under very trying conditions, but he has proven himself a weak leader under pressure. DJ, you managed to expose his every weakness within a few days of his assuming the First Elder position—his arrogance, lack of imagination, fear of looking weak, inability to negotiate effectively. Bloody hell, you couldn’t have undermined the man more brilliantly if you’d been trying.”
My uncle didn’t know about my empathic abilities, or at least I didn’t think so. Outside my circle of friends, Zrakovi was the only one, other than Adrian, who knew the extent of my elven abilities, and he tended to dismiss them as insignificant. I once considered the empathy a hindrance, but I’d been wrong. It was priceless.
Because of that particular skill, I knew that Lennox was proud of what I’d done to Zrakovi, knowledge that both relieved and horrified me. Relieved because he wasn’t likely to turn me in or reveal this conversation; horrified because he was so delighted that he might want to use me against Zrakovi to pursue his own ambitions.
“I didn’t intend to weaken his position as First Elder.” I really wanted Lennox to understand that. “Willem Zrakovi has been my boss for years. As head of the North American wizarding communities, he has always been fair and reasonable.” I had honestly liked the man. I had defended him. I’d wanted him to become First Elder.
“Sadly, DJ, the stress of trying to lead during such an unsettled and crucial time has made him desperate and rash. He is in over his head, and his decisions have weakened the wizards’ power structure. The Elders were once feared and respected by the other ruling groups. Now, they are at best equals, at worst a joke.”
Which meant things on the Interspecies Council were worse than I realized. “So do you think it would be a mistake to meet with Zrakovi? Or would he even agree to meet with me?”
Lennox finished off his brandy and set his glass aside. “I can try to arrange it, although I’m doubtful such a meeting would do any good. Things can’t get much worse, however, so we’ll try it. Let’s figure out how and where you can arrange it so that you don’t end up dead or incarcerated on an iceberg.”
An hour later, I walked with Lennox back toward the transport, plans in place. He’d rolled up his pants cuffs and carried his shoes and socks, prepared this time for a wade in the surf.
As for the proposed meeting, I was as prepared as I could be. Lennox carried a carefully worded letter to Zrakovi, which he said he’d hire a runner to slip under the door of the First Elder’s rental condo on St. Charles Avenue. We’d agreed to request a public meeting place in modern New Orleans, a concession Lennox thought I’d have to make—Zrakovi would never meet in the Beyond, where he was unable to use his magic.
We talked about security and exit strategies if things went badly, which Lennox felt was fairly certain.
That didn’t fill me with a lot of confidence.
We paused at the end of the banquette. I’d been thinking about how to find out if he knew about Rand’s proposal without admitting I knew it existed. I liked my uncle, so far. Did I trust him? Not by a long shot.
“How are relations between the elves and wizards?” I asked, fishing for info. “They should improve now that Rand and Eugenie have reached a truce.” Fish fish fish.
Lennox didn’t take the bait, or at least he didn’t seem to recognize the bait. “Unfortunately, I don’t think the child even factors into negotiations at this stage; it was merely a diversion.” Lennox put on his leather jacket, which looked odd with his bare feet but would probably feel good when he returned to New Orleans and a thirty-degree drop in temperature. “Relations seem to be deteriorating. It’s clear that Randolph and his fellow elven council member, Betony Stoneman, have no respect for the First Elder and, therefore, for the wizards.”
I knew Rand didn’t respect Zrakovi, and whatever Rand thought, so agreed Fred Flintstone. “So all of the posturing last month, all of the threats that eventually sent Jake Warin and me on the run—all of that drama was for nothing? All that drama and there’s still no peace in sight?”
It wasn’t for nothing, however. Eugenie and her baby were safe, and that had been my first priority.
Lennox put his hands on my shoulders and waited until I looked up into those blue-gray eyes that were so much like my father’s. “Prepare yourself, DJ, because I don’t see any clear way to avoid a war between the wizards and elves, which will put you and your allies here right in the middle. T
he only thing keeping the peace currently is the civil war in Faery. No one knows where their loyalties might fall but I’ve seen no signs that Zrakovi is trying to curry favor with either Florian or Christof, and I can’t circumvent him.”
I shook my head, watching as my uncle waded into the transport. “I hate to think all our fates could lie with the whackadoodles from Faery.”
Lennox gave a solemn nod as he began to dematerialize. “My sentiments precisely.”
CHAPTER 25
After six days in the dark cocoon of Old Barataria, modern New Orleans seemed abnormally bright, noisy, and crowded. It was not a typical winter day in my hometown, which would have been about fifty degrees, overcast, and damp. Instead, it was about seventy-five degrees and the southerly wind was dry and warm. It whipped my hair into Medusa snakes as I peeked around the northeastern corner of St. Louis Cathedral.
If it hadn’t been the day after Christmas, and well out of season, I’d swear it was the kind of dry wind that preceded a tropical storm.
I’d downed a double helping of the illegal potion to mask my energy signature and slipped into town using another secret fae transport, this one landing me in a French Quarter alley off Iberville. With the help of a wizard-for-hire, Jean had told me, Christof had created secret transports all over the Beyond and the human world like a warren of mole tunnels.
The beauty? Wizards’ magic would render them unusable. They were open transports but only worked if you knew the words to say and where to find them. If a wizard tried to power one, it would shut down temporarily. Only Christof and a few close allies knew about them, and for better or worse, I’d made it onto the need-to-know list. Jean had even given me a sketched-out map.
I had arrived early and walked the length of the Quarter to see if Zrakovi had set up a trap for me at the wizards’ open St. Louis Cathedral transport. I’d gotten word via a note from Lennox that Zrakovi had agreed to meet me but to “be cautious.” Which meant my uncle suspected a trap. What a surprise.
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