Frenchman Street_A Novel of The Sentinels of New Orleans

by Suzanne Johnson

  You mean Swill? Or something like that.

  Swnllyd, he said. Did you meet him? He is a very fine officer.

  Yes, but I don’t think he liked me very much.

  I’ll talk to him. He just doesn’t know you. Can I have something to eat? I am very hungry. He tried to droop his ears, but corgis just weren’t made for ear-drooping.

  I took out the special dog food Rand brought from Elfheim and poured some into a bowl, then refilled his water dish. I took out the special cat food Rand bought from Rouses Supermarket and replenished Sebastian’s food and water.

  What the heck would a dragon eat? I plundered through the cabinets and fridge and saw nothing that looked like dragon food. Hey Gruff, what does The Rand feed to Pentewyn?

  Rats, he said. I think The Rand has a box of them downstairs where he cleans clothing.

  Ew.

  Sure enough, next to the washer and dryer in the corner of the former nursery, I found a standup freezer with some trays of dried herbs, some apples, and a Styrofoam container about the size of two stacked shoeboxes with a return address from a laboratory supply house in Atlanta.

  I pulled it out and set it on a table that had once held a rainbow of flowering plants, and startled when a crow-sized, winged lizard landed on my left shoulder. Guess Pen was pleased. His talons dug a little too sharply into the red and black-checked flannel shirt I’d borrowed from Edmee, and his breath singed my earlobe.

  The box was full of frozen white rats. I didn’t want to touch them, so I pulled the box flaps back and shoved it to the edge of the table. “Eat what you want,” I told him, and didn’t have to ask twice. If he ate the whole box and outgrew the house, I’d deal with it later.

  With the animals cared for, I needed to take a shower and ponder what to do about a certain canine shifter. As I rounded the corner to head back upstairs, however, I noticed two men walking around outside the former storefront of the nursery, trying to peer through the windows.

  Frowning, I walked to one of the windows and peered back, startling the man with darker hair. Even without a warning from Gruff, who was upstairs stuffing his belly, I knew these were faeries. Both had the tell-tale slightly upward tilt to their eyes and the high cheekbones. Both wore their hair long and loose, and both were ripped, like fighters. But for whom did they fight?

  “What do you want?” I yelled through the door. The front of the building was covered with that wrought-iron gate, so I knew they couldn’t break through. The metal would do too much damage to their skin.

  The taller man spoke. “I am Faulkner Hearne, captain of the Fae Hunters. Are you Drusilla Jaco?”

  Okay, maybe they were plants from Florian, but I thought Florian had bigger fish to fry than me and, unlike most of the prete leaders, he enjoyed doing his own dirty deeds. I used Charlie to unlock the door and opened it. “How do I know you’re telling me the truth?”

  “Jean Lafitte asked us to come here and see if we could help with your parade plans,” the man Jean called Faulk said. He was tall for a faery—well over six feet, with chestnut hair that hung to his shoulders. “The faster we can deal with Florian, the faster we can get back to our lives.”

  “And how would you deal with Florian?”

  “It’s war, and we’ll show him the mercy he gave to Christof and Tamara.” The shorter man introduced himself as Romany, first lieutenant of the Fae Hunter guard.

  “I hear you know your way around women,” I said drily, earning a startled look from both of them.

  “Let’s talk about it.” Romany grinned and tried to enter the door. He ran into two problems. First, I hadn’t moved out of the way. Second, Rand’s security wards were up. I had no idea what the password was last time the elf reset it.

  “Hang on. I need to figure out Quince Randolph’s security word for today—he’s out of reach.” I closed the door in their faces. Rand always chose Lord of the Rings references. “Galadriel,” I whispered. Nothing happened. Where was a good hacker when one needed to hack a password? “Boromir. Faromir. Sauron. Eye of Sauron. Bilbo. The One Ring. Frodo.” And on I went. In desperation, I finally tried “Bill the Pony,” and the wards dropped.

  I needed to beat Rand with a pony whip.

  After reopening the door, I whispered “Bill the Pony” and ushered the two Fae Hunters inside before the wards popped back in place.

  “I’m Drusilla Jaco,” I said, shaking hands with both men. “But I guess you knew that.”

  “The wizard and former sentinel of the city who’s gotten herself sentenced to death and accidentally married to the King of the Elves,” Faulk said. “According to Jean Lafitte.”

  “Don’t ever call Quince Randolph a king or he’ll start thinking he is one,” I said. “Otherwise, that pretty well sums it up.”

  I led them upstairs, where Gruff, emerging from the kitchen at the noise, froze in the hallway and began a series of single, deep barks. I’d never heard his big-boy voice before. “Thank you, Gruff,” I said. “I know they are faeries. Would you mind waiting in the bedroom while I talk with them? The Rand would approve; they are going to help him.”

  Growling and talking in my head in a torrent of Welsh it’s probably better I didn’t understand, he slunk to the bedroom. His ears almost dragged the floor.

  We settled in Rand’s office, and Faulk handed me a business card with The Hunt Club and a French Quarter address. “This is where the Fae Hunters, or at least those who supported Christof, can be found when they’re in town,” he said. “I live there, and so does Romy. The door’s in an alley and is unmarked, but if you knock, one of us will answer. My phone number is on the back.”

  I thanked him and tucked the card in the pocket of Edmee’s jeans, which fit me better than most of the ones Rand had bought me. I really needed something to wear I had bought for myself. It had been months.

  “Before we talk about Florian, don’t you wonder how I knew Romany came so highly recommended as a lover?”

  They looked at each other, and I saw understanding dawn. “You’ve seen Kirian,” Faulk said. “Is she safe? Where is she?”

  “She is safe and well,” I said, and both men visibly relaxed. That, more than anything, convinced me they were not fakers from Florian. “I have spent the past few days with her, in fact. But I think the fewer who know of her location, the safer for everyone. Not just for Kirian but for those who are sheltering her.”

  I could tell from his frown that Faulk wasn’t happy with my answer. He didn’t argue, however.

  “Agreed. I’d like to think that neither I nor my fighters would give away her whereabouts even under torture,” he said. “But if you’re sure she is safe, then I will accept that.”

  I nodded. “Here’s what I have planned for the next ten days.”

  I found a Mardi Gras parade schedule and printed out several copies. I also gave them Rene’s name and cell number. “Jean might have mentioned Rene,” I said. “They do a lot of business together. We’ll walk across the street in a few minutes, and I’ll introduce you to him. He’s building a house on the corner, and it and this house will be the headquarters for coordinating parade security.”

  Both of the hunters had been in New Orleans a while, and they were aware of which parades were the ones that drew the biggest crowds. That would save me a lot of explaining, because I didn’t think Rene was a Mardi Gras fan, and Jean wouldn’t have a clue.

  “I think his big show is most likely to be during the Krewe of Rex parade,” I said. Rex was the “King of Carnival” and the Rex parade was the culmination of Mardi Gras before it descended into drunken chaos among tourists in the Quarter. After the Rex parade, a lot of the locals went home or had private parties. “The float being ridden by whoever is Rex this year—usually a rich, old-money businessman—stops in front of the parade-viewing stands downtown where the mayor and his wife sit. That might be a spot for him to make his move—lots of people, lots of publicity.”

  Faulk nodded. “I agree.”

  Romany
studied the schedule. “He’s going to want to lead up to it, though, not with anything too wild because he doesn’t want to scare the crowds away. Something flashy that will get people talking and wanting to hit all the parades. Like these fireworks shows we’ve had going on. Those are definitely jewels from Faerie.”

  “I’m going to try and plant Jean Lafitte inside the mayor’s office as a Mardi Gras liaison,” I said, shrugging at their laughter. “Smirk if you want to, but Jean is a man who knows how to find out secrets.”

  And knew how to keep his mouth shut.

  Chapter 19

  Rene’s workers must have earned huge bonuses. The center-hall Creole cottage had been turned to face Nashville Avenue instead of Magazine Street, which meant its back wall, void of windows, almost butted up against the side of Alex’s dark-green shotgun house next door. Unless Rene had a mermaid mural painted on the back of his house, Alex’s only view would be painted wooden siding.

  Painters had already primed the siding and had begun coating the outside of the house a deep shade of aqua. Very waterlike. Very merman.

  I hung around while Rene and some of his mer-cousins and the Fae Hunters talked strategy. We all agreed I’d be a free agent for the parades, mostly hanging around the stands downtown unless I got a message from one of the watchers. Rene wanted me to buy a scooter so I could get from place to place faster, but I rejected that idea. I’d break my neck driving these pitted streets on a scooter.

  As soon as the cousins and Hunters left, I asked, “Rene, have you seen Alex since you began building?”

  My guess was no; the merman had been with me most of the last week.

  “Nope, but I caught him sniffin’ around like a dog this morning, seeing what he could find out,” he said. “I stayed at the café down the street until he went back inside.”

  Guess that meant he was home. “Okay, I have to go and talk to him.”

  Rene raised an eyebrow. “Why? Ain’t that breaking one of Lord Elf’s rules?”

  “Lord Elf gave me orders to go and kill him,” I said, which gave Rene a big laugh.

  “That elf better be careful; I might start to like him.” He paused. “He didn’t mean it, did he?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t think so, but you never know. He’s in jail as a person of interest in the fireworks shenanigans, which is stupid, and Alex has done nothing to help, which is also stupid,” I said. “It puts Rand in danger, which is not good for any of us. Without him, the elves will withdraw back into Elfheim until one of the clan royals gets old enough to run things. We need their numbers.”

  Rene gave me a long, serious look. Our mind-meld had almost worn off. I could only tell he was thinking about Quince Randolph. And me. “You developin’ feelings for the elf, DJ? And how are you feeling about Alex these days?”

  “Who are you—the preternatural Dr. Phil?” Jeez. “Seriously, Rene? You know me better than to think Quince Randolph will ever be anything to me other than something between a nuisance and a quasi-frenemy. And Alex? That’s over. It’s been over since Jake died. I was just too stubborn to admit it.”

  “What about Jean? You know what he wants from you?”

  This was starting to feel like romantic Twenty Questions. “Jean likes to flirt and make me uncomfortable,” I said. “He’s a good friend, and that’s what he’ll always be to me. What’s with the third-degree? You might as well ask me about that Fae Hunter, Romany. Kirian says he knows his way around a woman. I gather she knows that firsthand.”

  Rene finally gave me his old, mischievous smile. “Just makin’ sure nothing had changed. So, if you aren’t going to kill Alex, what are you going to talk to him about? Do you need backup? I have enough firepower in that back bedroom to take out half of Orleans Parish.”

  I so didn’t want to know that.

  “No, better it’s just the two of us, especially since I’m asking about Rand. If you were there, we’d try to be polite, and with Alex and me, it usually gets ugly before it gets better.” I wasn’t sure what I was going to say. I was winging it.

  Rene got up to walk me out. When I opened his front door, it looked directly across Nashville Avenue at Eugenie’s front porch. We both stood and stared at it. “I guess her parents will sell it,” Rene said.

  I’d spent a lot of time in that house, most of it happy. It was hard to imagine anyone else living there…except maybe me. Would it feel like home? Or would it—like Gerry’s place in Lakeview—always be a house filled with ghosts and memories?

  After saying good-bye to Rene, I pondered questions without answers while walking around the corner to Alex’s vintage shotgun cottage. He was sitting on the stoop, and we caught glances when I got halfway there. Then he got up and went inside.

  The door stood open, so I went on in and followed him to the kitchen.

  “Figured you’d show up a week ago, as soon as Randolph was arrested, pleading his case. What took you so long?” Alex took two cups and poured coffee, handing one to me. It was all so familiar, being here, but it was like a familiar song sung off-key. I had no place here anymore.

  “I’ve been out of town and just found out about Rand this morning,” I said. “Can you tell me what the rationale is for leaving him in jail?” I was determined to be mature and calm and reasonable if it killed me.

  “Well, for one thing, he’s an asshole.” Alex took a seat at the old wooden dining table he’d gotten from his parents’ place, and I sat across from him in my usual spot. We’d always had our serious talks at this table, those talks where there was no chance of kissing or making up. “Mostly, though, his driver’s license was lying on the sidewalk near the last fireworks location. No way we could ignore it, and having him in custody makes the NOPD feel as if they’re on top of things.”

  I pondered that for a minute. “What did his license look like?”

  Alex shrugged. “Like any other Louisiana driver’s license. It ran through the system without any flags.”

  Oh, good grief. “That’s funny, because Rand has a California driver’s license. It hasn’t expired, and he hasn’t changed it since he came here from San Diego. I’ve seen it. So it’s somebody with enough technology know-how to rig the records—or who has the magic to do it. Somebody’s setting him up. You know that, right?”

  The driver’s license thing shook him. “Who would be most likely to set him up?”

  I’d given that some thought. “My guess would be the fae or the wizards. And if it’s the wizards, they’re being really short-sighted.”

  Alex set his cup down, and I could tell from his expression that I had his attention. And we were having a real conversation instead of a petty squabble. Let’s hear it for maturity.

  “Short-sighted in what way? I know Willem Zrakovi hates the guy, but that’s no reason to set him up for a crime. Unless he just wants to get him out of the way.”

  It was a good sign he’d even entertain the idea that Zrakovi could have done it. I considered how much to tell him, though, knowing whatever I said would slither up the food chain to Zrakovi himself. Alex was too loyal for his own good.

  “Maybe he’s trying to force Rand into making a partnership between the wizards and Elfheim, even if it’s a temporary détente to stop Florian,” I said, trying to read something in his closed-off expression. “I keep saying it: the elves and wizards basically want the same thing. We want the humans kept in the dark about our existence, and we don’t want Florian on the throne of Faerie. If Florian succeeds, it won’t matter who has how many seats on the Interspecies Council; there won’t be one.”

  Alex shook his head. “You’re forgetting Christof and his followers. We have no proof that he’s dead.”

  I sighed. “Yes, unfortunately we do. I spoke with the captain of the Fae Hunters this morning and he confirmed that he found Christof’s body in the ruins of the Winter Palace. He and Jean Lafitte personally took him into the place where the royal ancestors of the Winter Court are entombed.”

  Alex turned a few shades
paler. “So Florian has won.”

  For better or worse, I had a lot more knowledge of the goings-on in Faerie than Alex or any of the wizards. I’d even had the unhappy experience of visiting a couple of times. “Florian hasn’t won yet. There is a younger sister, Kirian. She shares Christof’s beliefs and has the magic needed to rule Faerie. The Fae Hunter captain is sure Faerie will accept her as their queen—if we can take care of Florian.”

  “Where is she? How do you know all this? Is that where you’ve been? In Faerie?”

  Sorry, Alex. He was on a need-to-know basis, and he didn’t need to know those answers. “I’m not at liberty to say where she is, but no. I’ve spent the last week in Elfheim, but never mind about that. The important thing for you to know, and for Zrakovi to understand, is that Rand is a sitting duck in that jail cell.”

  Alex shook his head. “I don’t see what it would benefit anyone to kill him. He doesn’t have any opposition in Elfheim, and everyone else is happy to have him indisposed.”

  I would be mature. I would not shake Alex like an oversized rag doll. I would not shoot him with my elven staff and melt his chocolate-brown eyes off his face.

  “Okay, here’s a scenario for you,” I said. “Pretend I’m Florian. How easy would it be for me to glamour myself to look like…oh, let’s say you, Alex? Pretty damn easy. Then, looking like you, I go to visit Rand and kill him. Who goes to jail for murder? Not Florian. Nobody saw Florian. They saw you.”

  Alex’s eyebrows met atop a vertical wrinkle between his eyes. “I thought they could only change faces, not change to look like specific people.”

  “I spent two days locked up in a room at the Hotel Monteleone with Prince Christof while he was a dead ringer for Justin Bieber,” I said without breaking a smile. Because, God help me, it was true. He’d eaten two gallons of ice cream in a single sitting, but I didn’t add that part.

  “Shit.” Alex ran a hand through his hair, giving him a tousled look that didn’t strike me as sexy as it once had. “And Florian knows Randolph’s never going to support him, not after outing him or one of his flunkies at the last council meeting.”