Frenchman Street_A Novel of The Sentinels of New Orleans

by Suzanne Johnson

  There would be a period of chaos and fear, but eventually, we’d all become feared, hated, and hunted. The Salem Witch Trials would pale in comparison since every yahoo out there seemed to have an AR-15 semi-automatic rifle these days.

  I turned back to the TV. “You agree it’s Florian?”

  “Absolutely,” Rand said.

  “Mon Dieu, he is a madman,” Jean murmured. “Monsieur Randolph, have you heard whether or not Prince Christof is, indeed, dead?”

  “And what are the elves doing about this situation?” I added. Rand might be the only clan chief who’d reached adulthood, but there were other elves who answered to him.

  “I have the head that was delivered here stored in a freezer in Elfheim, waiting to see if any glamour wears off.” Rand looked at me. “I’d hoped you had already used your ‘hair of the dog’ to verify whether or not any of the heads were authentic. I assume you also received one in Barataria?”

  For that, I’d need a cooperative dog. “Alex wasn’t donating by the time the head arrived, but he told me Willem Zrakovi got one as well. Jean turned over the Baratarian version to someone in Old Orleans to see if it could be authenticated; we don’t know yet.” I looked at Jean for confirmation, and he nodded. I couldn’t resist adding, “Ours was delivered by a talking unicorn.”

  Rand gave an equine snort. “Those killer beasts aren’t sentient, you know. They can memorize sounds but they can’t think or verbalize for themselves. They just flash their big, square teeth, spear people with their horns, and repeat what they’ve been told.”

  No wonder that stupid unicorn kept saying the same thing over and over. It was the faery version of a killer parrot.

  “Anyway, the hair-of-the-dog locket only works for a day or two without a new supply of dog hair,” I said. “Would you object if I went to the humane society and adopted a dog? It would come in handy, plus I love dogs and Sebastian doesn’t mind them.”

  This was me, being polite and asking for a dog. If Rand said no, I’d do it anyway.

  “Sure, that’s a good idea, Dru.” Rand smiled at me, the sunny smile that meant something outrageous would soon be coming out of his mouth.

  I waited for it, half listening to the TV, so I didn’t see the real event coming—or, rather, I didn’t see his mouth headed straight for mine. I was so shocked I even kissed him for about a speedy half-second. Then I zapped him on the arm with a shot of my native wizard’s magic.

  I didn’t have a lot of physical powers; my specialties were rituals, spells, charms, and potions. But I had plenty of physical magic built up after living in the Beyond for two months, where it didn’t work. I gave him a hard-enough zing to make him yelp and jump off the bed.

  “Dru, you’ve been here less than an hour and you’ve already broken the first agreement—not to use magic against me.” Rand started his angry, glowing act. “Don’t forget you’re my wife.”

  Behind Rand’s back, Jean had risen to his feet and pulled a knife.

  I couldn’t let things escalate this soon. “I’m sorry, you’re right.” Wife, my ass. “But let’s ease into this bondmate thing, okay? You surprised me.”

  The tension drained from Rand’s shoulders, and Jean resumed his spot in the armchair. Rand and Jean both knew the pirate offered no real threat unless he sneaked up and stabbed the elf without warning. Rand’s mental magic could render Jean powerless with a touch. This close, he could probably influence him with a thought.

  Rand sat on the bed again, and we all watched the news coverage in silence until a familiar face stepped out of the shadows near a middle-aged man I assumed was the fire chief.

  A short pang of hurt jabbed me in the chest at the sight of Alex, studying the fireworks scene alongside NOPD homicide detective Ken Hachette. Unless something had changed in my absence, Ken was the only human in New Orleans other than Eugenie who knew of our existence. He had the police connections to solve prete-related cases while Alex had FBI connections. Their presence meant the wizards were as suspicious of these fireworks shows as Rand and I, especially with people getting hurt.

  “I assume Alex Warin’s return to New Orleans means the shifters and were-creatures are officially behind the wizards?” Rand asked.

  Like I had been privy to any political discussions while stuck on the beach talking to unicorns and dead pirates. “I guess so. I only know he and Zrakovi struck some kind of deal and that Alex will represent the shifters and weres on the Interspecies Council. I only found that out earlier tonight.” He might have told me tonight, but Alex had been thinking about this for a while. He wasn’t the rash-decision type, plus either he or Zrakovi had to make initial contact to set up their meeting. No telling what else he’d been hiding from me.

  I considered telling Rand that Alex had used me as part of his pardon deal but decided against it. Rand would be angry since he thought only he had the right to make unauthorized deals on my behalf. Besides, as Rand had acknowledged, the wizards and elves had to work together if they wanted to keep our world hidden and foil Florian’s plans. Rand hated Alex enough without adding more fuel to that flame.

  “Your friend the merman is an aquatic shifter,” Rand said. “Are you sure Rene Delachaise isn’t in agreement with the other shifters and weres?”

  “No way. The water clans, including shifters like the mers, don’t take sides when they can avoid it. They’re Switzerland.” Well, except they loved fighting among themselves. “They especially hate wizards. Do you remember what happened to the water folk during the Wizards’ War of 1976?”

  Rand gave me his most imperious expression. “Why would I care what happened during a war among wizards? I am Elf.”

  I forced my words out between teeth that wouldn’t fully unclench. I hated his I am Elf crap. “The water shifters, like the wizards and weres, are very mainstreamed among humans. They refused to take sides. So the wizards supporting the Elders rounded them up and locked them in internment camps. Took their lands and rights and freedom until the war ended. No way will they be siding with wizards.”

  That all happened before my time, of course, but Rene once told me his father, Toussaint, had lost everything to the wizards and had to fight through years of red tape to reclaim his land in St. Bernard Parish. Rene’s mother had died from the stress.

  It was a miracle Rene and I could even be in a room together, much less become such close friends.

  “Good to know,” Rand said. “The elves have no bad history with the water species, so they could be potential allies.”

  The elves had little history with any species because they’d locked their snooty selves in Elfheim for centuries before Hurricane Katrina tore down the levees between New Orleans and the Beyond, but now wasn’t the time to split hairs.

  “Have all the fireworks shows taken place this late at night?” I turned back to the TV again. The mayor, a thin, energetic man of Cajun descent who’d been elected during the chaos of my November flight from wizard justice, was talking to a reporter and looking properly calm and concerned.

  “No, they’re not usually this late. No one has seen anything,” Rand said.

  Hmph. “Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe they just don’t remember.”

  Rand grabbed the remote and turned off the TV, forcing me to look at him instead of the news. “What do you mean?”

  Jean leaned back to watch the show. He probably suspected the same thing as I.

  I told Rand about the paralyzed vampires who’d paid us a visit to distract us from the unicorn’s arrival and the new faerie transport on Barataria. “I believe the vampires are backing the fae. Which means their numbers would be greater than the wizards and elves and shifters combined. And vampires can tamper with memories. Cops could catch them setting off the fireworks and not remember a thing.”

  “Damn it.” Rand wasn’t nearly as pretty when his eyebrows bunched together. “Still, I’d never convince the elven councils to work with the wizards. Wizards can’t be trusted to keep their word.”

  H
ad Quince Randolph looked in a mirror lately? Apparently not.

  “Look, I can’t argue with you about wizards and their trustworthiness, but I can tell you that neither the elves nor the wizards want the preternatural species outed to the humans. You said that yourself. We’ll have to work together eventually, or one day soon we’ll all find ourselves saying ‘yes sir’ and ‘no sir’ to King Florian.”

  “That won’t happen. Ever. If the worst occurs, the elves will go back to Elfheim and seal the borders.” Rand stood up. “We’ll talk about this later. For now, you need to get some rest. Tonight is a big meeting for what’s left of the Interspecies Council, and we’ll need to plan strategy tomorrow. And I have to transport to Elfheim for a while to see how one of our dragons ended up on Magazine Street.”

  I climbed off the bed as well. “While you’re thinking about strategy, consider this. Garrett Melnick, Regent of Vampyre, is coming to this meeting. Anything that’s said will go right back to Florian if I’m right.”

  That stopped him in his elven tracks. “Your appearance will cause quite a stir as well. We can probably use it to deflect them. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”

  He stared at Jean, then at me. “Dru, this room is yours. Captain Lafitte can sleep on the sofa in my office across the hall from my bedroom since it’s for only one night. As soon as we’re certain he’s safe, he’ll be able to return to his hotel.”

  Rand’s own bedroom was at the end of the hall, so I let out a mental sigh of relief. He wasn’t going to push the duties-of-a-bondmate issue, at least not tonight.

  “Do you think there’s a chance anyone will try to get in here tonight? My energy signature might have popped up on the Elders’ radar,” I said, having visions of Willem Zrakovi climbing in the bedroom window. Not that he’d ever do his own dirty work. “They’ve been monitoring it closely for months.”

  “Maybe, but this house is heavily warded, so you should be safe as long as you stay inside. I’m sorry I exposed your presence here by asking you to set up that transport.”

  Actually, it had been my idea, but if taking credit made him feel better he could have it. “Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere.”

  As soon as they left, I got my messenger bag out of the hallway, brought it in, and closed the bedroom door. Thank God for electronics. I’d been without a cell phone or Internet for two months, so I pulled out my laptop and phone and plugged in the chargers. They were so dead I’d be lucky if they were usable by the time of the council meeting.

  One flick of a remote-control button, and the news was back on. Not because I wanted to see Alex, but because I wanted to hear the mayor’s explanation of these fireworks shows or the fliers or the diamonds and rubies and emeralds and gold nuggets.

  He didn’t have one. None of the jewels appeared to be traceable. They did appear to be authentic, and quite valuable.

  In the meantime, I’d hide my magical supplies in the closet. Last time I was here, when Rand’s mother had been staying in this room, the closet had been filled with her hippie-boho clothing.

  This time, I expected it to be empty, but I was wrong. Women’s clothing organized by type—shirts, tops, skirts, pants—hung across the rod. Shoes of all designs filled tidy side-storage areas. I pulled out a few items, and everything was brand new. Price tags dangled from sleeves and waistbands, and none of the stuff was cheap.

  A dawning horror sent chills up my arms, and I began jerking items across the rod, looking at sizes. Everything not only looked like something I’d buy for myself, without a thread of pink in sight, but they all were my size. Even the shoes.

  I eyed the chest of drawers beneath the TV and walked toward it with dread. Hooking one index finger into the bronze loop that served as a drawer pull, I tugged it open, then used the same index finger to lift one strap of a lacy, next-to-nothing black bra. I didn’t even want to know how that elf knew my bra size.

  Quince Randolph had foreseen my need for his help, probably two months ago, and had gotten the room ready for me, down to the colors of the linens. He’d realized I wouldn’t consummate our so-called marriage right away, so he’d prepared a room for me. But he had plans. He had kissed me, and words he’d spoken to me months ago when we’d first entered this unholy bonding business came dancing back into my head.

  “You’ll want me,” he’d told me then, just before I’d threatened to char him with Charlie and had thrown him out of my house. “One of the side-effects of our bonding will be an increased attraction to me. We’ll be lovers, and we’ll be good together.”

  I stuffed the bra back in the drawer and shoved it closed. I wanted to leave, but he’d forgotten one little factor when he insisted I’d want him. Make that two little factors. One, I didn’t trust him, and two, I wasn’t a full-blooded elf. Not even close. Whatever hormonal shenanigans might work on mated elves wouldn’t work on me.

  I was surly, stubborn, and made a mean potion. Which meant I was, in my most bitter, sarcastic heart, a wizard.

  Leaving wasn’t an option, however. I had to be realistic. My only other choices would be to set out in New Orleans on my own, stay in hiding, and be killed by some hired assassin. Or I could take Alex’s deal in the hopes of being allowed back in New Orleans after the war ended, probably with my magic stripped away from me.

  Neither were choices I’d make—the first was stupid, and the second wasn’t any way I wanted to live. I had to accept that Rand was my most powerful semi-ally at the moment, even if he was up to his ass in alligators. I was too outnumbered to protect myself. Rene and Jean had the heart and will to help protect me, but they didn’t have the skill sets. Not against elves or faeries or other wizards.

  I walked to the bedroom door and locked it, then curled up on the bed in the pink sweater and jeans Rene had bought me.

  Chapter 7

  A clap of thunder woke me after what seemed like five minutes of sleep. I cracked open one eyelid and held my pink watch in front of my nose. I’d actually slept a restless two hours between worrying about Florian and dragons. It was eight in the morning, and the world smelled like reality. Wet trees, rain hitting the window, a ship’s horn on the river less than a quarter-mile away, air so thick and muggy even in winter that it would choke a mosquito.

  God, I’d missed New Orleans.

  I was back in my hometown and, for a few more hours, I was safe. This house was so heavily warded, I doubted even the Elders’ detection equipment could pick up my unique magical signature. And while Rand was right that he was in danger, I didn’t think the wizards would come after him—at least not while there was still a chance of a renewed alliance. The fae were another matter.

  I cracked open the other eye, yawned, stretched—and froze in mid-pose. The world’s cutest dog lay on the bed next to me, watching me with warm brown eyes. His enormous, alert ears twitched. He was a corgi, with a pudgy, long body, stubby legs, and rich fawn and white fur. Not a baby, but young.

  I reached out and let him sniff my hand. “Where did you come from?”

  “His name is Gruffydd.”

  I twisted in alarm to see Rand sitting in the armchair next to the door. Had that son-of-an-elf been watching me sleep?

  “I locked the door.” I sat up and pulled the puppy into my lap. I couldn’t help myself. I already wanted him even if he did come from the elf. “Why are you in here?”

  “It’s my house.” He held up a key, and I made a mental note to change the deadbolt; he’d had it installed for his mom when she was here, for all the good it had done. “Gruffydd is a Welsh Pembroke Corgi, from my clan’s royal stock, about nine months old. I thought you might bond more easily with a young dog. He likes you.”

  I’d have to agree with that since my entire face had been treated to a full puppy-licking. I didn’t know much about corgis, except that the Queen of England once had a palace full of them. I’d have to do some research now that I once again had access to Google.

  It worried me that he’d come from Rand, though. “Can Gruf
fydd, um, communicate with you? Mentally or otherwise? Does he turn into something else?” Like a dragon or an elf?

  “Of course not, Dru. He’s a dog.”

  Was it just me, or had Gruff—as he would now be known to me—sent a little shade in Rand’s direction? Maybe I had imagined it; the puppy was wrestling with my hand now, growling and play-biting.

  “What words does he know? You might need to write them down until I can teach him English commands.” I assumed he’d only know the elves’ strangled-sounding language.

  “He knows the basics of English, like sit and stay. Tylwyth teg means faery,” Rand said. “That’s an important one for you to remember, although we both can use his fur in our lockets. Dewin means wizard, two barks. Fampir is vampire, three barks.”

  He held up a chain with a pawprint locket dangling from it that looked alarmingly like the one Alex had given to me. “So if you want him to let you know if he sees a faery, say tylwyth teg before you go out, and he will bark once if he sees one.”

  “What’s the word for elves?” I tried to keep the sarcasm out of my tone, but don’t think I succeeded. Being warned that an elf was entering my bedroom would be helpful.

  “Why would he need to warn you about elves?”

  “It might be the ghosts of Mace Banyan and Betony Stoneman.” Two recently deceased elven clan chiefs whose demise could be traced to my bondmate, I suspected.

  “You’re being silly, Dru.”

  Better silly than sucked in by a pretty, deadly elf.

  “Also, Rand, you busy boy, you’ve been shopping for women’s clothing. Funny how it all seems to be in my size. Exactly when did you prepare this room and buy me a new wardrobe?”

  Not that Jean Lafitte hadn’t once done the same thing.

  Rand wanted to smile so badly I bet his face ached, but he controlled it except for a glint in those bright blue-green eyes, today set off by a winter-white sweater, pants, and boots. Cashmere and silk-wool and leather.