I had always said Rand underestimated me. I’d had it all wrong.
Chapter 10
Rand made his first political statement (although I’m not sure what he was saying) by driving to the Interspecies Council meeting in a shiny, pearl-colored Rolls-Royce Phantom that cost almost a million dollars. I know because he told me. It was more than I would make in my entire life even if I got my job back.
His Elfness preened despite my arguments about the starving children he could feed for the price of such a ridiculous car. He didn’t care when I pointed out that he used a transport ninety-nine percent of the time and New Orleans’s streets could destroy any car’s undercarriage in less than a year. Nor did he care when I pointed out that this car’s existence contradicted every statement he’d made about saving the planet from the careless humans and their dependence on fossil fuels.
He hadn’t even bought local. The new elfmobile had been shipped from England after being tricked out with special treatments to repel bullets and fire from all surfaces. Its body had been laced with faery-resistant cold iron.
Rand was quite proud of himself.
A fifty-cent ice pick would still pierce its rubber tires and render it useless, but I wouldn’t be the one to point that out. If he parked it in the wrong neighborhood for more than a half-hour, it would be stripped down to those flat rubber tires and sold for parts, but I wouldn’t point that out, either. He probably wouldn’t care; he claimed Elfheim had limitless reserves of gold, guarded by dragons.
“One would think an elven lord with a target on his back would want to be inconspicuous.” I tried my last argument. “This car is not inconspicuous.” In fact, we were stopping traffic as we drove down St. Charles Avenue toward the interstate.
“An elven lord with a target on his back needs to let the opposition know he is not only unafraid, but blatantly unafraid,” said the man who had triple-warded his house with magic and cold iron.
“No, the elven lord wanted a flashy car,” I said. “No need to deny it; it’s a guy thing.”
“No, it’s a smart thing,” he said, explaining that he planned to have members of the Royal Guard of Elfheim drive the car around the city every couple of days. “It’s conspicuous enough that there will be no doubt it’s mine and not some rich human. It will keep nosy vampires and faeries and wizards busy trying to figure out where I’m going. And it will repel just about any attack they throw at who they think is me.”
Well, okay. My arguments spent, I sank into the plush leather seat and watched, rapt, as the streetlights of New Orleans flashed endless scenarios past my window. I had been so homesick that every neighborhood block spread a healing balm on my heart.
The balm failed to soothe my pain, however, once we turned into the Lakeview neighborhood where I’d been left on my biological father’s doorstep at age six. I’d lived here until I’d passed my Green Congress exams at twenty-one and struck out on my own. Gerry hadn’t revealed himself as my father until he was dying, after he’d betrayed the Elders in a harebrained post-Katrina scheme.
Daddy issues? Yeah, I had a few.
As we turned onto Bellaire Drive, however, my pain shifted to anger. This street stretched the length of the 17th Street Canal, designed to protect the city from Lake Pontchartrain’s overflow—until its protection failed. I’d grown up playing on these uneven streets lined with middle-class, unpretentious brick ranch and split-level homes. I’d run up and down on the levee every day only a couple of blocks from the failure that would eventually drown my city.
As Gerry’s heir, that house Willem Zrakovi had confiscated for council meetings was mine. “They have no right to use my house,” I said through gritted teeth. “Zrakovi, Florian, that stupid vampire Garrett Melnick—they have no right to set foot in there.”
After Katrina, I’d had the flooded house stripped back to the studs. In November, Alex and Jake had worked to make the first floor habitable, but I’d never had a chance to live in it thanks to the chaos my life had become.
I looked at Rand, so angry I felt Charlie growing warm against my thigh. “They have no right.”
He reached over, took my hand, and squeezed. “Be patient, Dru. You have me, and we’re a strong team. I’ll make sure you will get your house back. I promise.”
Yeah, well, that remained to be seen, but it did remind me of something I wanted to discuss with him. “Rand, look me in the eye. Well, wait until the next stop sign, pull over, and then look me in the eye.”
He did as I asked. “What is it?”
“I want you to swear on the life of your unborn son that you will not betray me to the fae or the vampires—or the weres or the wizards. I need an ally who knows what’s going on, and I want us to be able to talk over ideas without worrying about who you’re going to tell or what you’re going to do behind my back to take advantage of something I’ve told you. I want total transparency.”
“Transparency?” He looked in my eyes but didn’t try any mind games this time. “I swear to be transparent with you if you pledge the same to me. It has to work both ways. We’ve both told our share of lies.”
Yeah, but one of us had told real whoppers, and it wasn’t me.
“I agree.” I’d had time to think about it while braiding my hair. I wouldn’t take overt action against the wizards, but whether they admitted it or not, both elves and wizards wanted the same thing—a seat at the council’s decision-making table and the secrecy of the preternatural world from humans. They were basically fighting over who got more seats at the council table and, if Florian revealed our identity, that wouldn’t matter.
Time for a transparency test. “Is Gruff a dog?”
He paused, and I saw the inner struggle reflected in his drawn brows and downturned mouth. Transparency wouldn’t come easily to either of us.
Finally, he shook his head. “No. Gruffydd can communicate mentally with his companions. Note that I said companions, plural. So I can communicate with him, but so can you.”
“You jerk.” I already loved that dog even if, deep down, I’d known he was a plant. “If I communicate with him mentally, can you overhear?”
“Not as long as you address him directly, no.”
Well, at least I had confirmation he was no ordinary dog.
“You can call me a jerk, Dru, but unless it involved Eugenie or my baby, you’ve barely spoken to me in two months.” His voice was heated. “I’ve had no direct communication from Zrakovi—only a couple of notes. For all I knew, you were working with him and laying a trap when you asked for my help.”
“Come on, Rand. That’s not my style.” I might set him on fire or bludgeon him over the head with the staff, but plots and intrigue weren’t in my skill set.
He nodded and resumed the drive along Bellaire, headed toward Lake Pontchartrain. “No, you’re right. Finesse isn’t your strong suit. Why did you ask about transparency? We’re almost at the house.”
“It’s not about the meeting, but about afterward.” I’d ignore the jab about finesse, mostly because it was true. I had the finesse of a battering ram. “Adrian Hoffman is being held prisoner in Vampyre, along with his girlfriend, Terri. They’re being tortured for the fun of it; Adrian doesn’t know anything of value to tell them. Anyway, Rene and I are going to Vampyre late tonight to free them.”
Rand frowned. “You already told me that. I don’t like it, but I know you can handle yourself against the vampires. I can scry and come in to help if you need me, but I’d rather not openly go against them if I can avoid it. The longer I can maintain some neutrality with them, the better I can find out if they’re really backing Florian.”
“It will be easier if Rene and I do a power-share before we transport, to help him free Adrian underwater. It’ll make my magic weaker, but my physical magic doesn’t work in the Beyond anyway, and I’ll have the staff.”
He gave me a startled look and almost ran the elfmobile up on a curb, jerking it back on the road at the last second. “I don’t like the sound of that.”
“We’ve done it in the past, but it was before you and I were bonded.” I looked out the window when he slowed down in front of my house, a simple, two-story brick-and-siding rectangle whose only real charm was that I’d grown up in it. Even before it drowned after the hurricane, Lakeview lacked any architectural charm. “We can talk more about what that means after the meeting. Are you sure there’s nothing I need to know before we walk in there?”
It was five minutes after the meeting was due to start, but no cars sat in the driveway. Everyone else had either arrived by transport or, like us, were fashionably late.
Rand pulled into the middle of the drive, ensuring no other vehicle could park near him. Entitled elf…or maybe just a male with a new car.
“No, we’re going to play it by ear. Stay alert. Be careful what we say around Melnick in case he’s Florian’s spy. There’s a transport to Rivendell in the backseat if we need it.”
Holy crap. I twisted to see an interlocking circle and triangle illuminated by the streetlight. It had been stitched into the leather in gold thread.
We walked side-by-side to the front door, which was locked. “I don’t want to knock. Can you unlock it?” Rand asked. “Okay, transparency. Would you mind unlocking it? I know you can use your magic to unlock doors because Gruffydd said you let two men into my house this morning. I assume it was Lafitte and the merman.”
I needed to have a talk with that chatty little corgi now that I knew he could answer.
“I don’t need magic. It’s my freaking house. I have a key.” Zrakovi would be too arrogant to think about changing a lock, and I doubt Alex would’ve done it.
I’d stuck the key in my skirt pocket in case we got here first by some miracle or on the chance I got to return after the meeting to retrieve my hidden magical stash from the attic. I slid it into the lock and turned it with a barely audible click, then nodded at Rand.
He walked in first, and I followed, which gave me a chance for a quick look while still partially hidden behind his broad shoulders. The sofa and armchairs, hearth, and a bench scrounged from somewhere had been formed into a square, with my coffee table in the middle. We came in facing the hearth, which meant the first person to spot me as I stepped up next to Rand was the low man on the Interspecies totem pole—Garrett Melnick, the Regent of Vampyre. Like Alex, Melnick had been a dead man walking until his recent pardon. Pun intended.
He stood and stared. “What is she doing here? Mr. Zrakovi, I demand answers. She should be dead.”
Melnick didn’t know me well; his claim to fame in my life was being the only vampire to ever try feeding from me. According to him, I tasted foul. He’d spit out my blood like it was bad tomato soup.
His reaction surprised me, but he wasn’t nearly as shocked as Willem Zrakovi.
“You brought that traitor here?” Zrakovi was on his feet with an index finger pointed at me for a deadly shot of magic before I could say uh-oh. Lucky for me, the First Elder didn’t like to do his own dirty work, so he hesitated long enough for Rand to step in front of me, unlike Alex, who hadn’t moved a muscle except to clench his jaw.
“I didn’t expect even you to be this stupid,” Zrakovi said, leaning to see me behind Rand. “How dare you come here?”
I opened my mouth to remind him exactly who this house belonged to, but Rand show an elbow back, catching me in the ribs.
“Mr. Warin, handcuff her immediately.” Zrakovi’s voice came out low and angry. “Mr. Randolph, please move out of the way so Mr. Warin can execute her here while we all have the pleasure of watching her die.”
Why, oh why, had I not killed that malicious bureaucrat when I had the chance two months ago? Oh, right. Because I’m not a killer. And what had I done that was so egregious? I’d embarrassed him in front of his colleagues. I’d defied his orders. Okay, I might have called him stupid.
Zrakovi might not be a killer, but Alexander Warin was. He’d worked for years as one of the Elders’ most gifted enforcers.
Alex got to his feet with the speed of a garden slug, and I almost felt sorry for him. Should he follow direct orders from his precious leader, or should he refuse to kill me and jeopardize his own life? Three months ago, Alex would have chosen me over Zrakovi. Now that he’d experienced his own period in exile, I wasn’t sure what he’d do.
Standing in front of me, however, Rand provided a physical barrier none of them would dare cross, and we all knew it. Even the biggest badass didn’t want to mess with elven mind magic, not at this close range.
“Sit down, all of you,” he said. “From this point forward, Drusilla Jaco will be accepted into this and any future meetings, and will be allowed to move about freely in New Orleans and the Beyond as befits the bondmate of the Elven Synod leader and Lord of Elfheim.”
“Bondmate.” Zrakovi practically spat the word. “We all know your union is a farce.”
“Yes, bondmate. We are now sharing a home.” Rand’s I-Am-Elf gaze swept the room, and I refused to look at Alex, instead studying a scratch they’d made on my new floor by dragging furniture around.
“And let this be heard by everyone here and passed along to anyone who answers to you.” Rand was on a roll with this Lord of Elfheim stuff. “If harm comes to Drusilla Jaco or to our ally Jean Lafitte, then the full force of Elfheim will align itself against all other preternaturals.” He looked at Alex and Zrakovi. “That means the elves will actively oppose the wizards and the mammalian shifters, as well as the vampires. An alliance with Faerie is still on the table. Should you wish to deny my terms and make that choice, this meeting is over.”
The room was so quiet a water droplet echoed when it dripped from the faucet in the adjacent kitchen. With the vampires’ loyalty questionable, the wizards couldn’t afford to have Elfheim join forces with Faerie. And Rand had laid the power on thick; I could feel it crawling over my skin when I stepped forward to stand beside him again. Elves usually kept their auras to themselves.
“You can’t mean that, Mr. Randolph.” If voices could kill, Zrakovi’s would have me broken and bloody in half a second, but his words told me Rand had won, at least for now. “Surely you don’t think this woman, a traitor to her own people, is worth the peace of the preternatural world.”
“Is that a chance you’re willing to take, Mr. Zrakovi? How about you, Mr. Warin?” Grasping my hand, Rand walked us to the empty spot that had been left for him on the bench next to my uncle, Lennox St. Simon, who served as the Elder for the UK and European Union. Lennox hadn’t spoken, but he’d moved to the edge of the bench, whether to intercede on my behalf or not, I couldn’t say.
I sandwiched myself between the only two people in the room who might protect me and gave Zrakovi the best arrogant-elf look I could muster. Lennox might not openly side with me against Zrakovi, but I was pretty sure he’d shove me under a piece of furniture should a sudden bullet or a shot of magic come my way.
The weight of Alex’s gaze finally pulled my attention away from my stare-down with the Elder, but my pity for him had morphed into regret and anger. I regretted putting him in a difficult position, but how dare he look hurt? He should have foreseen this. Turning to Rand had been my only option. Did Alex really think I’d sit on a moonlit beach in Barataria while people with only selfish intentions fought a war no one other than Florian could win?
Rand and Zrakovi had to find common ground, but not if they refused to talk to each other. I couldn’t do a thing about Zrakovi’s hatred of me, but I might be able to make Rand listen to reason. That was my goal—for the wizards and elves to share leadership of the ruling council in equal measure, with or without the fae.
If Zrakovi got a swift kick in the balls along the way, good. Whatever Rand ended up wanting in return, I’d have to deal with it.
Rand’s voice sounded in my head. I think it’s gone well so far, don’t you?
I gave him a quick smile, trying to forget all the nasty things he’d done to me and others in the past, especially to Eugenie. We’ll see.
Zrakovi rustled through some papers in his lap. “I’d like to go on record as opposing Mr. Randolph’s granting of asylum to former sentinel Jaco. Unfortunately, Elder Sato was not able to be here today, although I’m sure he would be horrified.” He looked around the room. “Is there other formal opposition? Mr. Warin?”
“I oppose on behalf of the shifters and weres,” Alex said, glaring at me. The dog had found his big-boy voice at last.
Zrakovi nodded. “Mr. St. Simon?”
Lennox patted my knee. “I have no objection to DJ returning to the city, so I abstain from a formal objection.”
I smiled at this man I barely knew, but who looked back at me with my father’s eyes.
Zrakovi did not smile. “Mr. Melnick?”
Garrett Melnick, who had an oversized mane of dark curly hair that made him look like a member of a 1980s heavy metal band with fangs, cocked his head and studied me. “Despite my initial shock at her appearance, I have no objections, either,” he said.
What’s he up to? I asked Rand. The vampire sure had changed his tune in the last few minutes.
I don’t know. Keep an eye on him. Do you want me to confront him about Adrian Hoffman?
No. I don’t want him to figure out I got the info from Jean. The pirate’s our best source of gossip. Jean liked to talk, but he was also a good listener and still a better eavesdropper than Rand.
Something was off-kilter about Melnick, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I continued to watch him as Zrakovi began talking again.
“Very well, moving on.” Zrakovi’s mouth drew into a pucker as if he’d sucked on the world’s sourest lemon. “I received what appeared to be the severed head of the Faerie Prince of Winter, Christof, just over twenty-four hours ago, along with a statement from Prince Florian indicating he would claim the throne of Faerie and reveal all of our presence to the humans on Mardi Gras Day, three weeks from this coming Tuesday.” He slid snakelike eyes toward Rand.
“I received the same message, as well as a severed head, as did those residing in Old Barataria, in the Beyond,” Rand said. “I’ve verified that the head delivered to me didn’t belong to Prince Christof; I assume you have done the same with yours. I’m in the process of checking the authenticity of the Baratarian delivery.”
Frenchman Street_A Novel of The Sentinels of New Orleans Page 10