Pirate's Alley

by Suzanne Johnson

  “The question is, why does Zrakovi care about my son? This baby has no bearing on council business.”

  Maybe. Maybe not. “He’s thinking of it as an insurance policy,” I said, sipping the warm, fizzy juice. “If there’s no baby, then Mace doesn’t worry about a new generation of non-air elves taking over. If there’s no baby, that’s one less thing the vampires could use as leverage to sway your support over to them, or force you to betray the Elders. Or the Fae. Zrakovi thinks the baby makes you vulnerable to blackmail.”

  Rand’s glow settled back to normal. He seemed to be calm and thinking. Yay for apple stuff. “Then I shall kill Zrakovi.”

  I mentally pulled out a few hanks of hair, both mine and his. So much for clear thinking. “No, you will not kill Zrakovi. I don’t know who would move into his spot, but it might be someone worse. We just have to outsmart him for tomorrow’s meeting. We’re intelligent people; we can do that.”

  The trick would be to thwart Zrakovi’s plans without him realizing he’d been manipulated.

  “I could touch him somehow, maybe help him off with his coat,” Rand said. “If I could touch him, I could suggest a counter-notion.”

  I nodded. “Like how the baby would actually be valuable in bringing our people together. Your son would strengthen the elven-wizard alliance.”

  He shot a cagey look my way. “Because you and I would be raising it together in an elven-wizard household?”

  “If that helps you get through the day, you can make that mental suggestion to Zrakovi.”

  He smiled, the arrogant oaf. “You’ll come around.”

  Not before the child reached the age of consent, whatever that was in Elfheim. I wasn’t sure where my relationship with Alex was headed, or if we’d even have one after tomorrow, depending on how things went and how suspicious he was feeling. But whether or not I stayed with Alex had no bearing on my relationship with Quince Randolph. We could coexist but we would never, ever, ever cohabit.

  “Okay, that’s Plan A. Can you influence Zrakovi’s thoughts without Mace Banyan realizing it?” Otherwise, there was no point.

  Rand chewed on his lower lip as he thought. “Probably not. His magic is strong, so I’d need some distance from him.”

  I doubted the attic conference room of Hebert Hall was anywhere near the size of the district court building fourth floor. “You might not be able to get that far away from him, so let’s come up with some other options.”

  We sat in silence for a long time, staring at the fire popping and crackling in Rand’s fireplace. The last time I’d been up here, on the second floor of the Plantasy Island nursery, I’d been half crazed and trying to escape the undead Axeman of New Orleans. It had been a dark and bloody business during which Rand’s mother had been killed.

  I stayed so annoyed with him most of the time, I’d been as insensitive and self-absorbed as I accused him of being. “How are you doing?” I asked him. “I’m sure you miss Vervain.”

  His eyes widened in surprise, then crinkled as he gave me the real smile. The sweet one I’d seen when he first felt of Eugenie’s tummy and realized he had a son. “I do miss her.” He stared into the fire. “It’s one of the reasons I decided to stay here in New Orleans despite the weather, instead of going back to Elfheim. The house is full of memories of my father and of her.”

  I knew how that felt. It was why, even though Alex and Jake had worked hard to make Gerry’s house in Lakeview habitable except for the lack of heat, I had trouble staying there. The bones of the house remained the same. The quality of the air. The ghosts of memory were always around.

  “Why don’t you build yourself a new house in Elfheim? One that’s just yours alone? You can make new memories. I mean, it would be a place for your son to build his memories as he’s growing up.” I didn’t know that the kid would live in Elfheim; maybe he would, or maybe not. That was for Rand and Eugenie to work out, with me as referee if necessary. But he’d certainly need a home there.

  The smile again. “That’s a great idea. I’ve been so focused on making sure Eugenie didn’t do anything stupid, I haven’t made plans.”

  I shrugged. “There’s plenty of time for that.”

  Rand gave me a sidelong glance. “You’re being awfully nice, Dru. Are you up to something?”

  I laughed. “Nothing I haven’t shared with you. It’s just that you’re actually listening to me and I’m listening to you. It’s called a conversation. We need to try it more often.”

  He sighed. “Yeah, after we figure out Plans B and C.”

  CHAPTER 21

  I looked at my bloodshot eyes in the mirror of Rand’s bathroom. We’d strategized until almost dawn, and had come up with a Plan B so beautiful in its simplicity that it had supplanted Plan A. No point in tipping off Mace Banyan and risk Rand getting caught doing secret mental manipulation on the man who’d probably become the permanent First Elder.

  The downside? With this plan, Zrakovi would know he’d been played. The plan was to make Rand the player, not me, and the elf had promised to keep me out of it. If he didn’t, I was so angry over Eugenie’s intended treatment that I was almost beyond caring.

  Almost.

  Every one of the seventy-two hours since I’d enjoyed even a semi-restful sleep showed in the dark circles under my eyes. If I were a faery, I’d be able to put on a new face in an instant and wouldn’t hesitate. Handy skill, that one. Plus, as Jean would be quick to point out, I’d been wearing the same black sweater as when I went off to investigate the burning of L’Amour Sauvage what seemed like a month ago.

  Rand stood in the bathroom door behind me, looking perfectly rested and perfectly perfect, damn him.

  I turned to him. “You got anything I could wear that doesn’t, well, look like I borrowed it from you?” No way I could rock the whole tall Russian snow prince thing.

  “Some of Vervain’s clothes are still in the closet of the spare bedroom. She brought them with her when she fled Elfheim.” I appreciated him not saying when she fled Elfheim because we’d bonded and she knew Mace Banyan would punish her for it.

  Rand pulled a ring of keys from his pocket and I followed him into the hallway, where he unlocked the door to the middle bedroom. “I rarely go in here since … since it happened.”

  Oh man, I hated to wear a dead elven clan chief’s clothes, especially those belonging to the woman who’d given birth to Rand. “Never mind, this will be fine. Black is versatile.” I discreetly pulled the neck of the sweater away from my body and sniffed. Other than a bit of brandy, magical elven apple stuff, and smoke, it smelled fresh from the dryer.

  “Don’t be silly. I don’t mind if you wear her clothes. I’d actually forgotten they were here.”

  I followed him into the room. The last time I’d been here, only a month ago although it seemed like years, the room had been filled with antique furniture and pretty earth-tone accents—all with a heavy coating of blood. Some mine, some Rand’s, some the Axeman’s, but a lot of it Vervain’s. Now the room lay empty but for a set of gold drapes that hung over the window. A splash of brown stained the bottom of one side. Dried blood.

  I swallowed hard to get the images out of my head; I could see why Rand didn’t come in here. “Why do you keep it locked?”

  He’d opened the closet door and had returned to stand in the hallway just outside the room. “It’s stupid, I guess, but it helps me pretend it’s not here. Would you lock it back when you leave?” Without waiting for an answer, he hung a right toward what I assumed was his bedroom and disappeared.

  Rand better be careful or I might start liking him. I doubted he could go twenty-four hours without pissing me off or making a mess I had to fix, however, so I wouldn’t worry about it.

  I stared in the closet at the filmy, gauzy, tie-dyed, earth mother smattering of clothes hanging inside. Rand apparently came by his crunchy-granola hippie persona honestly. There wasn’t a pair of pants or top to be seen, but only dresses. Hadn’t the woman gotten tired of shavi
ng her legs? Didn’t she want to have an occasional stubbly-leg and socks day?

  One dress after another, I pulled out and rejected. One looked like Jerry Garcia’s grandmother should be wearing it to a costume party. Another was so sheer and low cut, I wouldn’t be caught hibernating in it—although it might create a diversion at the council meeting. Another would out-bling Her Royal Highness Sabine, which she’d probably resent. The only dog I had available to sic on her, Alex, would likely not be speaking to me after this morning.

  I finally settled on an ankle-length dress with a burgundy and gold print skirt below an empire waist of gold brocade. The bodice of black velvet was trimmed at the neck and cuffs with burgundy lace. Vervain had been an inch or two shorter than me, so with my sturdy black slouch boots with the silver buckles and a flash of bare leg showing between the boots and the dress, I looked like I should be taking the stage at an Alien Sex Fiend concert. I needed more black eyeliner to complete my undead goth look. At least I’d managed to shave my legs in recent memory.

  Oh well, it was far short of my new standard for humiliation—hibernating on Royal Street in broad daylight—so I’d make the best of it.

  I locked the door behind me when I went back into the hallway. I stuck my head in the sitting room, but didn’t see Rand, so I knocked at the door to his bedroom. A muffled “c’mon in” sounded from inside.

  This room, I’d never visited, and I had to admit I was curious. Rand was in the bathroom, so I took an opportunity to snoop.

  The bedroom of the Tân clan chief was surprisingly normal, without a stitch of tie-dye in sight. A four-poster king-size bed with heavy posts of what looked like birch matched a heavy chest of drawers. There were lots and lots of textiles—hanging on the walls, layered on the floors, and covering the furniture, all in pale, pale tones of blue and white with an occasional dash of copper or gold. Russian snow prince colors, same as those Rand wore.

  The only things of real interest hung from the ceiling near the head of the bed and adjacent wall.

  Over the bed dangled something that looked like an ornate dream catcher, only instead of leather or rope, it was woven of copper wire, and the feathers hanging from it were encrusted with blue gemstones. In the center of the dream catcher circle, an orange stone was suspended. It appeared to have a live flame flickering inside it.

  On the wall beside the bed hung a large shield of tooled leather. It looked ancient. The background was the same rich blue as the dream catcher gemstones, but layered on top of it, in worn leather, was a dragon the size of a breadbox, his wings outstretched, an orange leather flame erupting from his open mouth. Tiny white claws of carved bone, or so it appeared, stretched from his fore and hind feet.

  “That’s my clan’s ceremonial shield.” Rand’s voice came from behind me, and I jumped, startled. When I turned, he took in my outfit and laughed. “I can’t wait to see the reaction you’ll get from your shifter, but I like it. Funky suits you.”

  I suspected funky didn’t suit me at all, but I was stuck with it for now. “What’s the significance of the dragon?” I asked, turning back to the shield.

  “It’s our symbol, I guess you’d call it. There aren’t as many dragons in Elfheim as there used to be, but those that still live in the hills answer to the Tân.”

  I turned to stare at him. “You mean there are dragons? Real dragons?” Why didn’t I know there were dragons?

  “Of course.” He said it as if I were an idiot for asking.

  I pointed to the suspended copper structure. “What about the dream catcher? The fire in the stone looks alive.”

  “It is.” He touched a finger to one of the jeweled feathers, and the fire inside the center stone leapt outside the confines of its metal setting. “It strengthens my dreamwalking skills as I sleep. It was my mother’s. The dream catcher and the shield are the only things of my parents I brought here.”

  There was so much about the elves I didn’t know or understand. Before he’d become besotted by Terri the vampire and let himself be manipulated into getting fangs, courtesy of his own father, Adrian Hoffman had been giving me lessons in elven history. I wished I’d taken them more seriously.

  Speaking of which. “Have you heard anything about Adrian?” As annoying as I found the man, I couldn’t help but feel sorry for him. He’d betrayed me, but he’d been played big-time by his father and Garrett Melnick. And now he was forced to hide out with them or be arrested by the Elders for whom he once worked.

  “No, and I can’t believe you’d care.” Rand gave a dismissive wave. “Good riddance. Hope he enjoys life as a vampire.”

  Now there was the Rand I knew and despised.

  “Do you have a transport that goes somewhere besides Elfheim, or do I need to make one?”

  He leaned against the bedroom door. “Could you redo the transport in the greenhouse so it can go anywhere? It still goes only to Elfheim.”

  “I think so. Is that the one you call Rivendell?”

  He smiled. “It is.”

  “Okay, let’s check it out.” If he’d transported into it from Eugenie’s, he should be able to transport out with a quick reset.

  We went down the narrow stairwell that opened into the front part of the Plantasy Island retail area. The cash register sat on a wooden counter, and every inch of wall space sported some type of outdoor doodad: garden gnomes in colorful outfits, flags, faux-classical statuary, ceramic birdbaths. “Don’t you get tired of all this cuteness?”

  “Yeah, but humans love it.” Rand straightened a couple of oversize verdigris-painted metal frogs. “And when people come in to buy this junk, it gives me a chance to talk to them about plants and how to take care of them.”

  We walked through the wide door behind the counter, and the chill of the greenhouse went straight through my hippie dress. I’d been carrying my lambskin jacket, but pulled it on. Who the hell cared if it matched? It still beat the orange and purple nightmare I’d been wearing.

  Rand fingered the soft leather. “You should’ve gone with imitation. It’s more environmentally responsible and nothing had to die to make it.”

  Nice way to make me feel like a selfish lamb-murderess. “You do remember your promise to be considerate and sensitive to people’s feelings today, right?”

  “Of course.”

  Good grief. Things could go south so very easily.

  “Is the transport still in the gazebo?” I eyed the confection of white-painted gingerbread trim with wariness. Rand had kidnapped me in this freaking transport, after which his Synod—including his mother—had inflicted mental torture on me I could only liken to rape. It had been physical and visceral and painful. Rand hadn’t known that was going to happen, but I still blamed him for taking me against my will. And I’d never, ever forgive Mace Banyan, who engineered it.

  “I’m sorry.” Rand touched the delicate bloom of an orchid. “About the part I played in what happened to you.”

  “It’s done.” I knelt and touched a hand to the transport etched lightly into the floor of the gazebo. The magic still tingled but had weakened. “Could you bring my bag from the front counter?”

  Once Rand retrieved the bag, I took out my portable potions kit and blended a bit of anise and clove in a solution of holy water, injecting just enough of my native physical magic to activate it. I spread it over the existing transport, waited a few moments, then touched my hand to the transport again. All traces of its magic had disappeared. Convenient thing, that deactivation potion.

  Next, I recoated the transport symbols with iron shavings, touched the corners with dots of mercury, and used Charlie to inject a bigger dose of magic into the redrawn transport.

  “This one should last awhile and take you to any other transport, as long as it’s open.” I looked up at him. “I deactivated the one at Eugenie’s house so don’t get any bright ideas.”

  He quirked up the edge of his mouth in an approximation of a smile, but didn’t say anything. I’d have felt better with an Of co
urse I won’t try to see the woman who’s carrying my child, Dru, but I probably wouldn’t have believed him anyway.

  I checked my cell phone. “Council meeting starts in half an hour. You ready to give the greatest elven performance of the ages?”

  “I will dazzle them all with my earnest and heartfelt words,” he said. “Although I still think it would be easier and faster to just kill Zrakovi.”

  It was going to be a long, long day.

  CHAPTER 22

  Within seconds, Rand and I arrived at the third floor attic space of F. Edward Hebert Hall, located near the front side of the Tulane University campus. Home to the history department, the late nineteenth-century yellow-brick building smelled of books, polished wood, and rarefied academic types.

  I hadn’t been here since my undergraduate days, when I’d dragged myself across the quad with my fellow chemistry majors, all unsuspecting humans, to do our prerequisite time in humanities hell. I’d developed an interest in history I hadn’t expected, especially Louisiana history.

  The transport had been drawn in a heavy chalk line outside an elevator that looked odd. I had to study it a moment to realize it had no up or down buttons. The handiwork of the Blue Congress team, I was sure. No prowling PhDs would be wandering up to the third floor of Hebert Hall today.

  “Well, isn’t this interesting?” The soft Mississippi drawl of Jake Warin came from behind me as soon as we arrived in the attic hallway, where he leaned against the wall in a discreet alcove just made for a security lookout. “You’re keeping strange company these days, sunshine.”

  I glanced at Rand, who shrugged and walked down the hall without a word.

  “It’s a long story,” I told Jake.

  “Anything I need to be concerned about? Or should I say, is it anything my boss should be concerned about? And that’s a pretty cool outfit, by the way. It suits you.”

  “Right.” He didn’t sound sarcastic, so maybe my inner goth girl had some appeal. What I found more interesting was that he didn’t ask if my appearance with Rand was anything his cousin Alex should be concerned about. He did jobs for Alex on behalf of the Elders, but his real boss was Jean Lafitte.