Pirate's Alley

by Suzanne Johnson

  The lack of specifics were empathy’s greatest shortcoming. I knew what he was feeling, but not why. It required a lot of interpretation on my part. For better or worse, I was pretty good at it, and my instincts told me he was as worried about upsetting the status quo between us as I was.

  “Would you like to have our talk in the rooms of Eudora Welty or in your accommodations?” Jean asked.

  “Your suite.” There was nowhere in my room to sit other than the bed and an armchair, and he had a nice, neutral living room.

  When we reached his suite, the edge of a white sheet of paper stuck out from beneath his door. Looking across the hall, an identical sheet stuck out of mine.

  I walked over to procure my folded sheet, then followed Jean into his room. The sound of the door closing behind me had an ominous finality to it, as if momentous things would now take place within these walls. I pulled my cell phone from my pocket, noted a missed call from Alex, and turned off the ringer.

  Jean, meanwhile, had unfolded his paper. “The Interspecies Council will meet once again, on the morrow,” he said. “Where is this meeting place?”

  I opened my sheet. I was not a voting member of the council, but as sentinel I’d always be dragged into their meetings because chances were good that anything they had to discuss would somehow involve me. The announcement, handwritten in a florid script, said the meeting would take place at ten a.m. tomorrow morning on the third floor of Hebert Hall on the Tulane campus, which already had closed for the holidays.

  “It’s a building at Tulane University,” I said. “Across from Audubon Park, where the de Boré plantation sat during your day. There’s no reason to hold the meeting at night since the vampires aren’t invited.”

  I knew this because the sheet contained a list of the expected attendees. Both Alex and Jake, as well as a couple of names I didn’t know, would be on security duty. Noticeably absent from the list were Garrett Melnick, any other representative of Vampyre, and Geoffrey and Adrian Hoffman. Noticeably present was Lennox St. Simon, my mystery uncle representing the UK and EU, and, at the head of the list, Willem Zrakovi, Acting First Elder.

  At the bottom of my sheet, scribbled in blue ink, was a postscript:

  DJ—Please be prepared to discuss what you know about Eugenita’s intentions toward the elven child of Quince Randolph, as well as Etienne Boulard’s whereabouts and Jean Lafitte’s involvement in the burning of his club.

  —Wm Zrakovi

  I had an overwhelming urge to run away from home. Except unless I jumped over to the Beyond, the Elders could track me down using my unique magical signature. And the number of places in the Beyond where I didn’t have enemies was dwindling fast.

  “Might I interest you in a brandy, Jolie?”

  It couldn’t hurt. “Please.”

  When Jean handed me the glass of amber liquid that I knew would set my insides on fire but numb the panic building inside me, I handed him my paper. “Read the note at the bottom.”

  He studied it a moment and tossed it on the coffee table.

  I sat in the middle of the sofa facing the large windows, and he sat on the matching sofa opposite me—exactly where Rene and I had sat earlier this evening. It seemed like a week ago.

  “We appear to be at a crossroads, you and I.” Jean’s voice was soft and deep, without a trace of smarminess or sarcasm. His mood was somber but no longer nervous.

  I looked at this undead pirate who was causing me so much inner turmoil. Really looked at him. He bore the scars of the difficult life he’d led in his human years. His skin was tanned and smooth on his face but for the jagged scar across his jawline. But there were stress lines at the edges of his mouth. Deep blue eyes conveyed so much, from arrogance to sincerity, but often distrust as well. His dark hair had been pulled back and tied with a leather cord.

  He was very handsome, without a trace of prettiness. He had a mouth that could be cruel. A mind that was nimble and sharp as razor wire. A sense of values that were his own and no one else’s.

  What did he see when he looked at me? A child, or a woman? A valuable ally? A potential lover? Or a means to an end?

  “Let’s start with the easy part,” I finally said. “Did you order your men to burn Etienne’s club?”

  He settled back on the sofa with his brandy and regarded me, lips pursed. “Do you wish the truth, Drusilla? Once I have told you, the burden of what to do with that truth falls to you. You may yet postpone your time for taking a stand, and I might yet postpone my time to decide whether or not to place my fate in your hands.”

  “I know that.” Oh, how I knew that. My gut told me now was the time, though, while the crisis was relatively minor, while I still could think and not just react. “I can’t make an honest decision about what stand I should take—or if I should take one—unless I know the full truth. And the time for honest decisions is here, I think.”

  Everything—Eugenie, Alex, Jean, Rand, the council, the political tensions—seemed to be hurtling toward various cliffs, with me standing at a series of crossroads between them and their destinations. I felt it in my gut; if I didn’t choose which cliff I was going off, and with whom I’d take the plunge, I’d be torn to shreds as they each tried to take a piece of me.

  If I were Alex, my answer would be simple. I’d go in whatever direction the Elders were headed. I’d side with the wizards, right or wrong, because that was what was expected of me. At one time, even as recently as a few months ago, I’d have thought my choice was that simple, too.

  But I’d seen too much since Katrina’s aftermath had thrown our world into chaos. The wizards’ political machinations and paranoia were as much to blame as anything for the current interspecies tensions.

  A sudden realization hit me upside the head like a two-by-four, and put into perspective why I was struggling so hard to take a stand: The people I really cared about, the ones I loved each in his or her own way, were unanimous in one aspect. None of them were wizards. That revelation almost took my breath away, but I had to set it aside for now.

  “Tell me the truth,” I said to Jean, digging in my heels at the crossroads, preparing to make the first of what my heart told me would be a line of hard decisions.

  Jean stared at the floor, thinking, his aura bathed in indecision. I was asking him to trust me without any assurance that I wouldn’t do something to hurt him. I knew when he’d made up his mind; a hum shimmered across my skin like a stone sending a ripple over a lake, and his mind calmed.

  He looked up at me. “Very well, Drusilla. Here is the truth, as you asked. Although you are not fully elven, you hold much of their magic. Thus, I escorted you into the snow, believing you would eventually succumb to what the elves call their survival state.” The emotions coming off Jean ramped up, but he remained outwardly calm. As long as that level of calm was there, he was being honest. “I knew you would not be harmed as long as I returned you to the hotel immediately, and I had Rene waiting to watch over you. Your life will never be placed in mortal danger by Jean Lafitte.”

  “How did you know I’d hibernate?” One could use pretty words like survival state, but if it oinks you might as well call it a pig. “Why did you want me to hibernate?”

  “Certainty eluded me, of course, but I had observed you on the night of the council meeting,” Jean said. “While others were chilled, your countenance was very much like that of your elf—quite pale. I was concerned for your health, and Christof explained this odd elven trait, as he has dealt with elves for many lifetimes.”

  Freaking elves.

  “As for why, well, it was what my friend Christof called a policy of insurance, lest you attempt to interfere with the plans I had made.”

  Plans that involved arson, no doubt. “What happened after you left me with Rene?”

  “I met Christof as planned, and we proceeded to make ourselves seen at the…” Jean paused and frowned. “Bar du Carrousel. Throughout the week, I had arranged for some of my men to visit L’Amour Sauvage and d
isrupt Etienne’s business while spending very little gold. He is an arrogant man, with no fear of the authorities, and I knew he would not remain in Vampyre for long if his financial affairs were in distress.”

  The old hit-’em-in-the-pocketbook tactic. It would be an effective strategy to use on Jean as well, although I thought it best not to point that out. The pirate liked his gold.

  “Disrupting Etienne’s business is not a crime unless your men attracted the attention of humans,” I said. For better or worse, a bunch of disheveled French-speaking guys dressed like pirates would attract no attention at all in New Orleans.

  “Arson is a crime, however,” I added. “Humans inside the bar could have been killed. The fire could have spread to other buildings in the Quarter. The firefighters could have been killed.”

  “Yet they were not.” Jean’s gaze on me was steady, as was his emotional temperature. “My men were instructed to ensure that everyone, human and vampire, including Etienne himself, was shepherded safely from the building.”

  “Still, the fire could have spread. You jeopardized the lives of the firefighters and the people who work and live in the adjacent buildings.” He’d committed a crime that had involved humans, although the nagging little voice in the back of my mind pointed out that he’d risked our discovery less than the debacle at the parish courthouse.

  Jean narrowed his eyes. “Do you judge me, Jolie? Etienne had called himself my friend for almost two centuries, only to betray and manipulate me in the way he knew would be most hurtful.”

  I nodded slowly. I did understand. Jean had once told me he didn’t like being controlled during his human life, and he wouldn’t tolerate it in his immortal life. Etienne had put him under the control of a necromancer who’d taken away his free will, and had played him for a fool.

  I didn’t condone arson, but I understood the urge for revenge. And I understood that for a man like Jean, who would be dealing with other pretes for eternity or damned near close to it, he had to appear strong, decisive, invulnerable. He’d exercised restraint by sparing Etienne’s life and settling for annoyance.

  Yet he’d still broken the law. Arson, definitely. Exposure to humans, possibly. Treason? Or at least treason as the Elders would define it.

  I took a deep breath. “Exactly what is Christof’s dog in this hunt?”

  Jean frowned. “Pardon, Jolie, but Christof does not possess un chien. The fae do not like them.”

  Good to know; I filed that away for future reference. If I had a home to take it to, I’d visit the Humane Society today and adopt a mutt as a bit of faery protection. Although I guess Alex would work. “I meant, why is Christof involved in this at all?”

  Jean laughed, and affection for the faery filtered through his emotional aura. They really were friends and not simply political allies, which relieved me. “He has no interest in the vampires beyond the council business, so he was not involved, as you say, but for my companionship.”

  Yeah, as an alibi. Or maybe he was smuggling items into Faery. “Do you have any type of business arrangements with Christof?”

  “Bah, women and their questioning nature.” Jean paused, answering my question by avoidance. Another tidbit to file away. “Again I must ask, Drusilla. Do you wish to know the truth in this matter?”

  No, I wanted to move somewhere warm, where I’d never see another prete and would never be in danger of hibernating. “Just tell me.”

  “Sabine, the monarch of Faery, is quite old and is childless.”

  I knew that. “Right, and Christof and the other guy both want to be the grand poobah of all Faery.”

  Jean stared at me a moment and I waited for him to figure out grand poobah. Finally, he grunted and nodded. “Mais oui. He and his brother Florian, the Summer Prince, are the eldest of Sabine’s family—nephews, perhaps several times removed. Pardon, I am unsure. They both wish to be this poobah.”

  I twirled my finger in the universal symbol for get on with it.

  “Florian is a foolish and careless bouffon, and would be quite unfit for the monarchy, but he curries favor among the others of Faery.”

  I was beginning to see the picture. “So Christof wants allies on the council who will support him in taking the monarchy if and when Sabine bites it.”

  Again the confusion. I hadn’t realized how often he had to stop and try to interpret my slang. “When Sabine dies,” I clarified.

  “Ah. Oui, just so. I wished to make life uncomfortable for the elves without incurring their wrath, and Christof suggested a brutal winter. It seemed quite clever and hurts no one. The humans who study such things are quite excited. In return, I have promised him the support of the historical beings when he is in need of it, and have promised to attempt to convince others to support him as well.”

  Uh-huh. “Others like me?”

  He shrugged. “You, and the wizards and even the elves. Christof is much more serious of mind than his brother. The support of the council should be his whether I speak on his behalf or not. The problems created by Florian at the last meeting should prove this.”

  Yeah, Florian hadn’t quite seemed the soul of maturity.

  We sat in silence for a while before Jean finally spoke again. “Now that you know the truth, Drusilla, there remains the question: What will you do?”

  I took a deep breath. I had no idea. Plus we had one more thing to discuss.

  Us.

  CHAPTER 18

  I tried to figure out how to broach the subject of Jean’s and my relationship, and like any master procrastinator, decided there was no need to have this conversation now at all. I could play duck-and-run with Zrakovi a good long time and feign ignorance at the council meeting.

  That last thought almost stopped my heart. If I were planning to lie to the Interspecies Council and my new First Elder—even by a lie of omission—I had chosen sides already, hadn’t I? And if I lied to the council, that meant I had to lie to Alex. I wasn’t sure what it said about me that lying to the Elders didn’t bother me. Lying to Alex bothered me a lot.

  God, shoot me now.

  “Will you tell your Elders that I burned Etienne’s business establishment, Drusilla?” Jean asked. “Moreover, will you tell your lover?” He put a little spin of disdain on that last word.

  Alex, my heart whispered. Alex was the reason this conversation couldn’t be postponed, whether I wanted to have it now or not. If I were going to lie to Alex about something this big, I needed to have a damn good reason, and I needed that reason to be perfectly clear in my mind. Maybe getting things between Jean and me in the open would bring clarity to my muddied, swamp-bogged thoughts.

  I didn’t love Jean Lafitte—not in a romantic way, no matter how attractive I found him. A little lust was good for the soul, I always said.

  I did, however, admire Jean, and I liked him. I liked him a lot. I enjoyed spending time with him. I saw him as a kindred spirit in some warped kind of way; he played by his own rules and had a peace of mind with it that I envied. I wanted him to be happy. I wanted him to be safe.

  Which meant I wanted to protect him, as stupid as that sounded considering I was mortal and he was not.

  I wasn’t sure how to begin this talk, except with the truth. “Jean, if I am going to lie for you, I need to be convinced that you aren’t playing me—using me, I mean. I need to know whether I’m a political asset, or a friend, or maybe both—a friend who could come in handy during a political showdown.” That was my best guess.

  I paused. “I know I’m young.” Hell, even Zrakovi was a pup compared to Jean. “I know I can be too trusting. I know I let myself act on impulse too often, and you’ve done a lot to help me after we got off to such a rocky start.”

  Jean smiled at that understatement. “Because you deceived me and attempted to harm me, Jolie?”

  I smiled back. “You got your hits in.” Literally.

  I couldn’t believe I was opening up to Jean like this, but he had trusted me with the truth so far, and I was asking
for more. I had to give a little in return. “I’m grateful for all the times you’ve helped me and I’ve come to care for you a lot, but I need to know why you help me. All the reasons. Why did you sacrifice yourself to keep me safe last month?”

  Jean was giving me what I thought of as his too-shrewd look, so I took another deep breath. “Alex and I have been working hard to build our relationship and make it last. I want it to work. If I am going to lie to him, I need to know what I am to you.”

  There, I said it. My heart pounded so loudly he could probably hear it, and I opened my senses to his, trying to gauge his reaction. I needed to monitor his stress levels and aura to determine his truthfulness. Without my empathic shielding, I was like a lie detector with legs.

  Jean was thinking, but not in a scheming way, which would have come across as tension. He was just … thinking.

  “These questions I will answer, Drusilla, but there are other matters that I would like you to consider also.”

  I nodded. “That’s fair.”

  “You say that you and Monsieur Warin are working hard to build a relationship—those were the words you spoke. Do you mean that it requires work in order for the two of you to live in peace? That it is a chore, a difficulty?”

  “No, but, well, yeah.” I mean, weren’t all relationships like that? Not that I had a lot of role models, but wasn’t that what adults did? They worked through problems in order to strengthen their bonds. Neither Alex nor I were people who opened our hearts easily, so we’d worked hard to get to this point.

  Jean got up and poured himself another brandy. He held the decanter up with his brows raised in question.

  “No more, thanks.” Not yet anyway.

  “One more thing I would say before I reveal my own heart.” Jean reclaimed his seat on the opposite sofa. “From the words you say, I believe that it is your Alexander to whom you are concerned about telling lies, rather than your Elders. Perhaps you had not realized this thing.”