Belle Chasse

by Suzanne Johnson

  We turned, ran another block, and I pulled Rene into a souvenir shop at the corner of Toulouse and Royal. In the back, between rows of T-shirts and shelves of shot glasses, was a small transport that had been set up by Christof. “You want to go with me or help your friends in case Zrakovi figured out you were helping me?”

  Rene looked toward the front of the shop, but no way we could be seen from the street. He pulled out his cell and punched the screen a few times. “I’ll text and see where they are.”

  He nodded a couple of times. “They’re good. Zrakovi’s standing in the middle of Chartres, yelling at those stupid dudes. He never saw us, so let’s get outta here, wizard.”

  Slipping the phone in his pocket, he jammed himself into the transport with me. I hugged him and whispered, “Thank you,” and then, “Maison Rouge, Old Barataria.” In seconds, we were knee-deep in salty water, in the middle of a downpour. Only the lights from the house offered any illumination. It was the first rain I’d seen in Barataria, the first time clouds had blocked out the full moon.

  “Bloody hell, woman, get out of the water before you get electrocuted.” Adrian had no sooner shouted the words than a jagged bolt of lightning struck a nearby banana tree with a deafening crack.

  “Holy crap!”

  Rene and I took off for the house, feet slipping on the wet banquette. When we finally reached the verandah, I stopped and looked back at the maelstrom. Whatever New Orleans was about to get, Barataria was getting it ten times worse.

  “Come inside quickly, Jolie. Christof won a battle in the capital of Faery today and Florian is seeking revenge. We have much planning to do.” Jean stood in the open doorway, stepping aside to let Rene and me enter.

  He closed the door behind us and led us into the study. For the first time in my visits to Barataria, the floor-to-ceiling windows were closed and wooden hurricane shutters had been pulled shut and secured to protect the glass panes from the onslaught of wind and rain. It made me claustrophobic. “How long has this been going on?”

  “Started ’bout an hour ago.” Jake stood in the study door, pulling on a heavy black rain slicker with a hood. Behind him, Collette was doing the same. “We’re gonna relieve Adrian on transport watch. I don’t think vampires are cut out for this kind of shit.”

  He was probably right, judging by the misery on a very wet Adrian Hoffman’s face when he sloshed inside a few minutes later. “It’s coming a bloody hurricane out there.”

  “Oui, and it is only now beginning. It will be many hours before the eye crosses the island. I have raised the red flag, which means all on the island must leave to find other shelter.”

  I half smiled when I looked around at Jean, because he was joking, right?

  The pirate had never looked more serious.

  CHAPTER 27

  An hour later, I stood in the wide foyer with two plastic bags full of mostly pink clothing, my messenger bag with the few magic-making supplies I had in Barataria, and Charlie. I still wore the silver dagger on my forearm.

  Around me, with varying containers of personal belongings, bustled Jean, Adrian, Eugenie, Jake, Collette, and Rene. I had drawn off and powered a transport on the floor in the middle of the room—three times. Each time I drew one off, Jean moved furniture and insisted I make it larger.

  “What are you planning to transport, a herd of cows?” I grumbled as he and Jake shoved a large seating group toward the corner of the room, making more space.

  “Just make it larger, Drusilla. Tout de suite. You must leave now.”

  What was this you business?

  I had no idea where he thought I’d go. Transporting into the modern city would be a very bad idea, given the disaster I’d just experienced with Zrakovi. Enforcers worked during hurricanes, I felt certain. This particular wizard was persona non grata in Vampyre, and I’d rather ride out a hurricane here than pop over to Elfheim or Faery.

  Unless I sailed up the byzantine bayous branching off Barataria Bay onto the mainland, which would include a several-mile trek in what felt like a cat five hurricane bearing down on us, I knew of no safe transport to go to. I assumed if a hurricane was heading for Old Barataria, it also was barreling toward Old Orleans.

  “What usually happens when a hurricane hits Old Barataria?” I asked Jean as he barked orders at several of his pirates, all of whom looked scared as hell. Frightened undead pirates didn’t make a reassuring picture.

  “We do not have hurricanes here, as they are not things I wish to be here.” Jean paced the room like an angry lion, distraught that the world built from his own memories was being manipulated by someone else’s will. “This disastre is Florian’s doing, and I do not know what will happen. Dominique has agreed to stay here, as he is still not well enough to travel, and Jake and Collette have agreed to guard our transport as long as they feel safe doing so. We must go to Old Orleans.”

  “I’m pretty sure it’s tearing through Old Orleans. It’s even impacting the modern world. New Orleans is bracing for a cat two hurricane, which is unheard of this time of year.”

  “Why must you talk of les chats? This is no time for idle chatter, Drusilla.” Jean was getting snippy, and if he wanted this wizard to keep making larger transports without explaining why, he needed to dial it down a notch.

  “It’s the modern way of explaining the size and power of a hurricane,” I explained, turning my head from side to side to watch him pace. I felt like a spectator at Wimbledon. “Category one or two storms—cats one and two—are relatively small and with lower wind speeds than, say, a category five, which is the largest on record.”

  Jean stared at me as if I’d lost my mind with my talk of cats. It didn’t matter. All that mattered was Old Barataria was about to be socked, for the first time, by a very bad hurricane of fae origin. If Florian knew his storms, and I assume he did as the Prince of Summer, he’d move the hurricane’s eye just to the west of Grand Terre, which would put the worst of the wind and storm surge right on top of us.

  “Drusilla, you and Rene must transport immediately.” Jean paused as a very drenched Jake and Collette battled their way through the front door and, with some effort, closed it behind them. The wind had risen, and it screamed around the corners of the house with a low, eerie wail that sounded like the agonized cry of a woman. It sent chills up my spine. I couldn’t get out of here soon enough. Elfheim was even sounding like a viable option.

  “Where you want us?” Rene grabbed my messenger bag and handed it to me, along with Charlie. “DJ, the rest of that stuff’s gonna have to come later.”

  “Use the fae transport nearest Place d’Armes.” Jean turned to me. “Once there, Jolie, Rene will take you to my home in the city so that you may set up a transport that links to this one. Then the rest of us shall join you.”

  I nodded, my mind numb and my body on autopilot, not even questioning that he had a home in Old Orleans, which was news to me.

  All I could think was hurricane. After Katrina, I didn’t think I’d ever hear the word again without replaying the horrific scenes that remained long after the storm, poor construction, and chronic neglect had caused the levees around the city to collapse.

  “C’mon, DJ.” Rene pulled me into the transport, and I knelt to power it. My hands shook so badly it took three tries to touch Charlie to the circle.

  “What’s the destination name?”

  “Pontalba,” Rene said, and I sent us there, closing my eyes at the pressure of leaving, then opening them to the sensation of hot, heavy rain beating against my face. Oh yeah, Old Orleans definitely was having a hurricane.

  We landed in pitch-blackness, and I couldn’t see enough to even get my bearings. No one but us, apparently, was stupid enough to be out strolling in a hurricane.

  “Where are we?” I shouted to Rene, grabbing his arm to avoid being blown away and losing him.

  “Transport’s in the middle of Jackson Square, about where the statue of Andrew Jackson would be in the modern city.” Rene held his mout
h to my ear so I could hear him. “Jean’s place is in the Upper Pontalba, but I can’t tell which way we’re facing.”

  I fumbled in my messenger bag for the pink flashlight and finally found it. Now I understood why Rene didn’t want me bringing the rest of my stuff. This was a nightmare.

  “Let’s walk until we figure out where we are,” I yelled, tucking my left arm firmly in the crook of his right and training the flashlight beam on the ground—or what I assumed was ground beneath the layers of mud and water.

  I wasn’t letting him take a step without me. We’d try to walk straight and would either run into the cathedral or fall in the Mississippi River, where Rene’s chances of survival were a hell of a lot better than mine.

  I lost sense of time as we sloshed in what I hoped was a straight line. Every few yards, one of us would trip over something. Twice, we both tripped at once and ended up on the ground in a couple of inches of standing water. I shone the flashlight in Rene’s face, and couldn’t stop the giggles. He was more drowned rat than dolphin. Shifting the light onto my own face so he could appreciate the moment, I heard him laughing, too.

  We struggled to our feet and kept going until, seemingly out of nowhere, a stone wall loomed in front of us and we both ran into it. We’d hit the cathedral—literally—and automatically turned to the right. Now the heavy, slanting rain, driven by strong gusts of wind, slapped our faces. Every inch was hard won.

  We finally reached the edge of the stretch of apartments on the side of Jackson Square where, in modern times, one would find the row of apartments called the Lower Pontalba, America’s oldest apartment buildings. I held on to the back of Rene’s jacket and let him lead me about halfway down the row, where he stopped, pulled a key from his jacket, and, after fumbling a moment, opened a door.

  We fell more than walked inside, and Rene had to fight to get the door closed behind us. I shone the flashlight around the room, looking for lanterns or even a light switch. “Does he have electricity here?”

  “Our pirate don’t do electricity, babe. Wait.” He reached for the flashlight and took it to a far corner, where he struck a match and lit a lantern. Obviously, he’d been here before, since he walked straight to another lantern in the opposite corner.

  An elegant parlor came to life around me, and I had no trouble recognizing Jean’s taste. The walls held framed maps of the Gulf of Mexico and ships, and heavy, dark mahogany furnishings filled the room. The walls were a simple cream-colored plaster, and the elegant fireplace had been painted the same color.

  While Rene lit other lanterns and went to secure all the shutters downstairs and upstairs, I began lugging furniture out of the way to clear space for a transport approximately the size of the one I’d ended up with at Maison Rouge. While I marked it off, trying to keep from dripping water on my drawing chalk and breaking my own circle and triangle, I studied my surroundings.

  I’d never been inside any of the Pontalba apartments, which framed the east and west sides of Jackson Square. The waiting list to buy one was about fifteen years, last I heard. They weren’t so different from the mid-century houses around town, with high ceilings, elaborate millwork, and shiny wide-plank floors.

  Once the transport was drawn and powered, I yelled to Rene, who was banging around somewhere upstairs. “I’m going back to Maison Rouge.”

  He yelled something back that I couldn’t understand because everything was drowned out by the howling, crying wind. Using Charlie to add extra oomph to the transport, I closed my eyes and in a few seconds stood again in Maison Rouge.

  One of the hurricane shutters over the tall window next to the front door had blown off. The window had shattered, and the horizontal rain blew straight into the entry hall, which was more of a parlor than a hall.

  Jean stood on the bottom step, surveying the destruction of his magical kingdom with a set jaw and fire in his eyes. He sprang into action as soon as he saw me. “We must get everyone from the back,” he shouted. “Is the storm also in Old Orleans?”

  I nodded. I couldn’t outshout the sound of the storm, near-deafening with the open window.

  Following Jean into the back hallway, I helped Eugenie, Adrian, and Terri collect their stuff and hustled them to the transport. Adrian looked annoyed, but both Terri and Eugenie were pale and wide-eyed. I shoved the last three bags of clothing and a bulging purse into the transport, while Jean added four or five very heavy trunks, which I assumed to be weapons and ammunition.

  We hauled out stuff for Jake and Collette as well. “Why are you staying?” I shouted; the acoustics were better in the back bedroom in which they’d been sheltering.

  “In case that damned elf tries to come in here at four. Don’t want him to drown and cause a war to start,” Jake said. “It’s only another hour and we can make it that long. If he don’t show up, we’ll leave. If he does show up, we’ll leave and bring him with us.”

  Great. Riding out a hurricane with Quince Randolph was high on my bucket list. Or not.

  I hugged them both, hoping Rand had the good sense to stay away. It was too chaotic to focus here, but as soon as I got back to Jean’s apartment, I’d try communicating with him telepathically. If I was able to warn him off, I could come back for Jake and Collette.

  I joined Eugenie in the transport and motioned for Jean to join us. “I have one more thing, Jolie. Take Mademoiselle Eugenie and I will follow shortly.”

  Shrugging, I whispered “Pontalba” and off we went—trunks, bags, pregnant woman, and all.

  While I’d been gone, Rene had lit a fire, had the lanterns all lit, and had changed into dry clothes. I stepped out of the transport and got halfway across the room before realizing Eugenie hadn’t followed me. She sat on the floor in the transport, surrounded by piles of stuff, looking kind of green. Her arms were wrapped around her middle.

  I ran back to her and knelt. “Are you okay? Are you in pain?”

  She nodded and smiled. “Just started cramping a little. It’s been a stressful day.”

  No kidding. “Can you stand up? We need to get you to a bedroom.”

  “I’ll take her, babe.” Rene edged past me, leaned over, and picked up Eugenie as if she weighed no more than one of the bags of clothes. “There are three bedrooms in the back and more upstairs. I’m gonna put her on the second floor. You and Jean are our best defenses so you’re down here. Jake and Collette can go on the third floor.”

  “What about the other first-floor room?” I asked as he headed down the hallway with Eugenie. “Put Eugenie in there.”

  Rene laughed. “No can do; it’s reserved. Get as much of the stuff out of that transport as you can. I’ll get the rest out in a sec.”

  “Why? Reserved for who?” Jean could ride back with his trunks o’ guns. It wouldn’t hurt them to make an extra trip.

  My only response was his footsteps on the stairway.

  “Fine. Whatever.” I sloshed my way in and out of the transport with bags, redrawing and repowering the transport every time I accidentally dripped on or skidded across the interlocking marks.

  I couldn’t budge the trunks, but by the time I hauled out the last suitcase—which had to be either Jake’s or Collette’s, Rene was back and lifting them out. To be fair, even he huffed and grunted.

  “Who’s the room reserved for?” I squeezed the bottom of my pink sweater and wrung out a cup of water onto the floor, then began digging in my bags for dry clothes.

  “Christof and his stuff.” Rene found a bag of Oreos in somebody’s bag and tossed one in his mouth, talking around it. “He took The Arch to Barataria and now he’s bringing it here. Gotta find a place for it that won’t put a target on the rest of us, though.”

  I stared at Rene. He held out the bag of cookies and I took three. It was that kind of day. “I thought The Arch was a building.”

  He shook his head. “No, it’s a bunch of machines and computers. Hell if I know how that works except Florian moved The Academy so Christof moved The Arch. As a result, Faery’s
lost most of its magic except what them Hybrids have and those two crazy bastards’ve got their crazy magic flying everywhere.”

  “What else has happened?”

  Rene flopped in an oversize ivory leather recliner that had been jammed into a corner next to a delicate-legged round mahogany table—I hadn’t noticed it before. Apparently, the king of Barataria had become a big fan of man-cave décor. “I dunno. I heard something about a big snowstorm in Vampyre that has the fangs spitting mad, and I assume that was Christof’s doing.”

  Great, because we wanted to piss off the vampires even more.

  I was just about to say so when a shiver of magic tickled its way across my shoulders and I focused my wrath on the transport instead. Sure enough, along with a grim-faced Jean stood a bedraggled Christof and a mountain of equipment the size of three or four industrial refrigerators.

  The Arch, I presumed.

  CHAPTER 28

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I marched up to Christof and propped my hands on my hips. He looked tired, with smudges of what looked like ash on his maroon sweater and navy pants. I had no idea what the others saw, but mentally thanked Alex for being so damned smart.

  “You’re bringing all this stuff here where Eugenie is, putting her—putting all of us—in the crosshairs of your crazy brother? Are you insane or just totally self-absorbed?”

  Christof crossed his arms, narrowed his eyes, and glared at me. The temperature of the room dropped at least thirty degrees, and I began shivering in my soaked clothing.

  “Jolie, perhaps you should don something that is not so wet, and then we must talk.” Jean wrapped an arm around my shoulders and propelled me down the hallway and into the bedroom on the left.

  If he thought he was going to talk me out of being pissed off at crazy fae princes, he was sadly mistaken.

  He followed me into the bedroom. “Do you wish me to tarry in the hall while you tend to your toilette?”