Belle Chasse

by Suzanne Johnson

  “You do not sleep enough, Jolie.” Jean barely looked up at me, so focused was he on his hand of cards.

  “You think?”

  “Oui. Or else I would not have said thus.”

  I walked to the front window and opened the shutter enough to peer outside. The wind no longer howled in that scary wail, and the rain had slowed to a sprinkle. The three-inch layer of water topping the ground outside the apartment had drained or soaked in.

  The gas lights that usually illuminated the Place d’Armes, the precursor to Jackson Square, remained dark, however, so there was no way to gauge if the storm had damaged anything.

  “I wonder if the hurricane has ended at Maison Rouge.” It was more a statement than a question, but Christof answered. “Yes, it’s over. Florian is attempting to melt the ice floe in Vampyre, so he was forced to abandon his hurricane.”

  “What about Vampyre?” Adrian wandered into the room. I had no idea whether or not vampires slept either.

  “Have you heard from Terri?” I asked. “There’s been an ice floe disaster in Vampyre.”

  “Bloody hell. You faeries need to get your affairs in order.” Adrian stomped over to the transport and stepped inside, giving Christof the stink-eye, which resulted in at least a ten-degree drop of temperature in the room. “Now I must try to slip into Vampyre and find her. I hate that place.”

  “Wait. Don’t you need a weapon?” I wasn’t giving him my silver dagger but Jean likely had pistols and knives stashed everywhere.

  “I have what I need.” Adrian flashed his fangs at me as he disappeared into the ether. Despite flashes of pleasantness, Adrian Hoffman had been a pissy wizard and, overall, he was a pissy vampire. I was stuck with him, however.

  Much like the faery and the pirate. “Do either of you know what time the trial is going to be today?”

  “My brothers have been gathering information.” Jean played his hand and must have won, gauging by the pile of gold coins he raked toward his already-towering stash. “Pierre learned that the trial will be at noon. Dominique has gone to Maison Rouge to assess the damage and should soon return.”

  I had wondered if the house in Barataria, which existed due to the magic of Jean’s memory, would regenerate itself like he did when he “died.” If maybe the house was immortal as well.

  Guess I’d find out soon because the shiver of transport magic hit me, and I stepped out of the way as Dominique appeared. He really hadn’t had time to recover from his vampire death of a week ago, as evidenced by his furrowed brow and quick collapse onto the sofa. The scowl, I assumed, was for my benefit.

  Jean left the card game and stood over his brother. “Donnez-moi un rapport de dommages sur la maison, s’il vous plaît.”

  Dominique rattled his response in rapid French. I understood “doors,” “windows,” and not much more. Whatever damage had been done, I’d have to hear secondhand. He also handed Jean some papers.

  Christof joined them. “Pourriez-vous ajouter de l’électricité à la maison quand vous le réparer?”

  Great, even the faery spoke French.

  They all turned to look at me.

  I did my impersonation of Dominique’s scowl. “I have no idea what you’re saying.”

  “Language lessons would be most helpful to you, Jolie.”

  “Probably. For now, a translation would help.” Like I had time for French 101.

  “Christof asks if we might add electrificitationality to Maison Rouge as we make repairs.”

  Huh. Electrificitationality. “You mean electricity?”

  Jean shrugged and looked at Christof, who nodded.

  “No.” A few places in Old Orleans had electricity, although they were powered by some kind of magic, or they had … “Well, make that a yes.”

  Jean threw up his hands. “Is it yes or is it no, Drusilla?”

  “Maybe. Talk to Rene when he wakes up and see if he can figure out a way to use a generator. I’m not sure. Your house isn’t wired for electricity, but wiring might be something Adrian could create with magic and then use a generator to power it.”

  The slack jaws and narrowed eyes on the faces of both Jean and Christof told me they didn’t have a clue what I was talking about. “Rene can explain it, or Adrian.” I was too damned tired, plus I had no idea if it would work or if Adrian could use enough of his Blue Congress magic in the Beyond to do it.

  Actually, now that I thought about it, Charlie would likely be able to power electrical machines and appliances, but I had no intention of offering that as an alternative barring an emergency. I had no intention of standing inside Maison Rouge twenty-four/seven holding my elven staff to a power cord.

  “What was the damage to the house?” I hoped it had been minor.

  While Christof accompanied Dominique to a room upstairs, perhaps to discuss electrificitationality, Jean settled into his recliner. “Windows and doors have been damaged, and there is a tear in the roof, but the house stands and has already been re-fortified. It will not be difficult to repair it and we will be able to return as soon as we wish.”

  “Where did your men go during the storm?” I’d half expected several dozen undead pirates to join us, but none had shown up.

  “To the north shore of Barataria Bay, where there is greater shelter,” Jean said. “They already have returned to repair the house and their village.”

  I looked at my watch. “It’s still seven hours until this farce of a trial. I think I’ll try to sleep.”

  “Before you do, Jolie, you might want to read these. I saw they were written to you, so did not continue to read.” Jean handed me the papers Dominique had brought.

  The first one I opened was short, and typed:

  Ms. Jaco:

  My disappointment in you continues unabated, as I have been made aware that, no doubt at your selfish insistence and the use of your feminine wiles, Alexander Warin has betrayed the trust of myself and the Interspecies Council. He will be tried for treason at noon on December 27 and, if found guilty by majority vote, will face the death penalty. I hope your Christmas Eve liaison was worth it.

  —Wm Zrakovi, First Elder

  My guilt swelled on instinct, but anger rapidly replaced it as I handed the note to Jean. Feminine wiles, my ass.

  I unfolded the second sheet of paper, this one handwritten and scribbled hastily, judging by the uneven lines and messy scrawl:

  DJ:

  I’m trying to clear Alex, but Zrakovi has constructed an airtight case. He will try to use the death penalty to trap you, but I don’t believe it is a bluff, nor does Alex. I talked to Alex this morning and we both agree—both you and Jake Warin must stay away from New Orleans. Alex might be beyond your ability to help, and neither of us wants to see the two of you killed as well. I know Alex has been dating my daughter, and am not sure what to make of those Christmas Eve photos, but that is unimportant now. I will continue to work on Alex’s behalf, as long as I am able.

  Yours,

  Lennox

  I handed this one to Jean as well, turned, and walked back to my bedroom, where I closed the door and collapsed on the bed. I should be crying, wailing like a hurricane wind, flailing arms and legs, praying with fervor. I could do nothing but lie on my back, stare at the ceiling, and hate.

  * * *

  I stuck Charlie in the scrying chamber pot, which had been filled with fresh holy water, and was glad to see Alex looking no worse than the night before. The big white forelegs of Boeuf Gras stood in the distance behind him. So far, Alex hadn’t been moved, which was a relief. He sat propped against the invisible wall of the cylinder, his arms resting calmly across his bent knees.

  To a casual observer, he probably looked relaxed. I knew better. That was his tense, ready-to-attack stillness. He was looking for a chance to make his move. If they were stupid enough to lift the cylinder, he’d shift into Gandalf, his pony-size dog form, and make a run for it.

  In front of his containment circle sat a row of six chairs. Lennox sat in one
, deep in conversation with Elder Sato. Rand sat next to Sato and, next to him, drawing a curse from my peanut gallery, sat Florian. Fred Flintstone was conspicuously absent, as was Toussaint Delachaise. The were-and-shifter representative was on trial.

  Zrakovi walked into our view and took a seat at the end, next to Lennox. I thought I’d felt hatred before in my life, but I hadn’t. Not compared to this.

  We had our crowd of onlookers in Old Orleans. I’d been joined by Audrey, Jake, Collette, Rene, Jean, and Christof. Adrian was still off in Vampyre and Dominique had returned to Maison Rouge to oversee the repair work.

  Without the full moon to help, the sound from the scrying pot came through like a bad radio signal. I pushed more of my will into Charlie, and it cleared up enough to hear.

  “… to view the evidence against Alexander Basile Warin on the charges of treason against the wizarding leadership and against this council,” Zrakovi was saying.

  Rene leaned closer and whispered, “Basile? Seriously?”

  I nodded. His middle name was a sore point with Alex so we rarely mentioned it.

  What followed was the biggest pile of horse manure I’d ever seen or heard. Morning in the mule pen for the French Quarter carriage tours wouldn’t be this deep in shit.

  Alex Warin had conspired to help me escape the week before Christmas, which Zrakovi, in his forgiving nature, had chosen to let pass.

  Alex Warin had hidden the fact that his cousin Jacob had infected the New Orleans sentinel with the loup-garou virus and, again, Zrakovi had overlooked it.

  Alex Warin had known that the sentinel, his lover, bonded with Elven Synod representative Quince Randolph to avoid turning loup-garou, and had hidden that from his superiors. Yet again, in an attempt to be as fair as possible and out of respect for Mr. Randolph, Zrakovi had elected to settle for a reprimand.

  Once the sentinel had been charged with treason herself and had escaped, Alex Warin had continued to visit with her in the Beyond, quite possibly revealing council secrets.

  “With photographic evidence of this betrayal, it is with profound sadness that I must admit to this august group of my peers that I allowed someone into our ranks who was undeserving of our trust. In an attempt to right that mistake, I have, as you see, taken Mr. Warin into custody. That he is guilty of treason, I feel certain. But I wish to put it to a vote of this council in order to be fair.”

  My heart pounded in erratic, staccato bursts as Zrakovi gave a dramatic pause and looked down the row at his fellow council members. Alex hadn’t moved a muscle, including the blank expression on his face.

  “I will begin the voting, and I vote that Mr. Warin is guilty as charged. Elder Sato?”

  I prayed that Sato would recognize this madness for what it was, but he and Zrakovi had been colleagues a long time. “Guilty.”

  Zrakovi jotted on a pad. “That is two votes guilty, zero votes innocent. Elder St. Simon?”

  Lennox stood up. “This is a complete farce, and we all know it. Alexander Warin is innocent.”

  Zrakovi stared him down. “Understandable, given your blood relation with your niece. That is two votes guilty, one vote innocent. Mr. Randolph?”

  Rand also stood. “Drusilla Jaco is my mate, and therefore Mr. Warin and I have had our share of difficulties. Nevertheless, I agree with Elder St. Simon. Of these charges, Alexander Warin is innocent.”

  Zrakovi’s eyes widened. He might not have expected it, but I wasn’t surprised. Without the other members there, Rand’s vote didn’t matter. Zrakovi didn’t need it.

  “Very well. That is two votes guilty, two votes innocent. Prince Florian, that places the deciding vote on your shoulders.”

  Christof began softly cursing in some language I didn’t think any of our roomful of multilingual people had ever heard.

  Florian stood and stepped forward. “Given that Mr. Warin’s paramour is a proven ally of my brother, who is no friend to this council, I must regretfully vote guilty.”

  This paramour would like to regretfully fry his ass with her elven staff.

  “Very well. Alexander Warin, will you please stand?”

  Alex stared at him without speaking, and didn’t move a muscle.

  “Defiant to the end, then. So be it. On behalf of the Interspecies Council, I declare you guilty of treason. The punishment is death. You are allowed to choose whether you prefer to die by a lethal shot of physical magic or a gunshot to the head. Which do you choose?”

  Alex smiled, or at least his mouth did. His eyes were dark brown pools of fury.

  “Very well, I choose death by firearm.” Zrakovi took two steps toward Alex. “It’s more painful, and it can be slower. It will take place at six p.m. tonight, in approximately six hours.”

  Behind me, both Audrey and Collette gasped, and I heard whispers. Zrakovi was so damned predictable. He could pull out a gun and shoot Alex now, but he wanted to make sure I had plenty of time to get there and attempt a rescue. Alex wasn’t his target; he was the means to an end.

  There was no response from Alex. I’d never loved him more, or been more exasperated with him. Although he would accomplish nothing by pleading for mercy or for another chance; Zrakovi had this outcome in the bank. And six hours? What could we get planned in six freaking hours? Just enough to form a half-assed plan with a high risk of failure, which is what Zrakovi was relying on.

  One by one, the council members wandered away, leaving only Lennox behind. He walked over to the containment circle and knelt next to it, talking so low that even with Charlie at full strength, I couldn’t hear what he was saying.

  Alex shook his head and responded, also too low to hear, until he finally raised his voice.

  “DJ, I know you’re probably watching this—Lennox said Zrakovi made sure you knew. Do not come here. I know you want to grab that staff of yours and come charging in here to save me, but all you’ll do is get yourself killed and I can’t deal with that.”

  He dropped his chin to his chest for a moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was rough. “My beautiful DJ. I can handle this, but only if I know you’re okay. Please do this for me. Rene, Jake, you stay away, too, and keep her safe.” He raised his head, defiance in the set of his chin but I saw the tears in his eyes. His voice gave away nothing. “On our friendship, I ask this of you.”

  Lennox spoke a few more words to him and Alex nodded. Then my uncle walked away, Alex curled back into a fetal position, and I could no longer see his face.

  Wiping away the tears I couldn’t help spilling down my cheeks, I pulled Charlie from the water, stood up, and faced the others.

  “I don’t care what he wants. Who’s going with me?”

  CHAPTER 34

  We gave ourselves an hour to plan, which included Rene and Collette going out for supplies. We would spring Alex as soon as we could get there. Obviously, it was a trap, and there would be guards. The earlier we arrived, the more time we had to create chaos if we couldn’t get him out quickly.

  First, I needed materials to make more of the aura-camouflaging swill. We all needed to drink some—they could easily be on the lookout for Rene or Jake, who’d accompany me in.

  Although he wasn’t happy about it, Jean finally agreed to help us plan but not to participate in the “extraction,” as Jake called it. He’d snapped into U.S. Marine mode.

  “I need you to be at Maison Rouge and have your men ready to fight, should it be necessary.” I grasped Jean’s hand. “We need a safe place to go.”

  He nodded, but his compressed lips told me he didn’t like it. “Monsieur Warin may come to Maison Rouge today, but unless he is willing to pledge fealty to Jean Lafitte, I’m afraid he will not be allowed to remain after the morrow. My apologies, Jolie, but this is as it must be.”

  I closed my eyes, trying to decide whether to laugh, cry, or beat Jean over the head with my staff. He and Alex hated each other. It went way beyond any feelings they had toward me. And there was a lot at stake. As much as I wanted him to throw aside his f
eelings, and his common sense, to accommodate me, I respected his decision.

  I squeezed his hand. He was giving me what he could. “Thank you.”

  “I shall be happy to assist you as well,” Christof said. “I have not met Mr. Warin, but I liked the way he handled himself at the last council meeting I attended.” Yeah, because Alex had helped Eugenie and me escape after Christof had put so much snow on the roof of the museum that it caved in.

  “Thank you, Christof, but if you don’t mind, would you also wait at Maison Rouge? We might need you there if your brother follows us.” In truth, I didn’t want to officially be seen as an open ally of either faery prince, not yet anyway. The less I was seen with him, the better.

  “Certainly, whatever you wish.” He gave me a formal nod. “Jean, with your assistance, perhaps I should transport The Arch back to the island.”

  I’d hoped the traveling magic show might stay here in Old Orleans so we’d have less of a target aimed at Old Barataria, but I had more important plans to make than the location of Tinkerbell’s laboratory.

  While Jean and Christof clomped in and out with Jean’s trunks and Christof’s mountain of magic, Jake, Collette, Audrey, and I talked out our options. They were pretty simple. Find out which among the long row of warehouses Alex was in. Get rid of his guards. Break the containment circle. Drag Alex out of there, even if it required knocking him unconscious. Get him to Maison Rouge. Then worry about the rest.

  I hesitated about including Audrey, partly because of her inexperience and partly because I didn’t want to see her hurt, which would also hurt Lennox. I’d come to respect my uncle. She saw the reluctance in my face.

  “I’m in on this, DJ.” She held up her right hand and wiggled her index finger to show off the amethyst ring. “You need access to physical magic, even if it’s mine, plus no one will be expecting me. Rene, Jake, and Collette have plenty of muscle, but you need magic, too.”

  Damn it, she was right. I needed her. With a limited time to premake potions, she would be valuable backup. Even if her physical magic was unfocused and scattershot, it would cause chaos. This time, as much as he loved order, chaos could be Alex Warin’s friend.