And they could do it while looking like your best friend. I’d changed my mind. Elves were no longer the scariest pretes on the block. Everyone’s fear of the fae seemed well-founded. No wonder there had been no suggestions that we openly fight them.
I gave Rene an abbreviated report and asked if he could take charge of Jean. Before they could leave, there arrived an elven healer, who carried my messenger bag. She was a beautiful, dark-skinned, black-haired, middle-aged woman with the unlikely name of Ginger. She handed me my bag with a smile that faltered when her gaze shifted to Jean.
She lay a hand against his forehead; he was still himself enough to smile at a beautiful woman. “He was touched by a faery?”
“Yes, the High Prince of Summer,” I said. “I don’t think it was for very long.” Otherwise, Jean would be dead.
“Make a gentle tea for him,” she told Rand, then looked at me. “For both of them, and a gentle poultice for your mate’s burns.”
She said the word “gentle” as if it should be a proper noun, but I wasn’t sure anything was gentle enough to touch my arm or foot.
Rene had been on his phone. “I called the Hunters. They’ll monitor the two parades tonight; nothing happened this afternoon.”
“Yeah, Florian was busy trying to kill Jean and me. And Gruff.”
Speaking of which. I looked around for him. “Rand took him upstairs,” Rene said. “Said the little guy had some bruised ribs but was okay.”
Maybe they had a gentle wrap for him.
Rand returned carrying two steaming mugs of something I recognized—an herbal tea scented like apples that contained some kind of magic for clearing the mind. I used to call it “apple stuff.” He’d poured cups of it down me when I’d been so traumatized by Tish’s murder, and down Eugenie in the early days of her pregnancy, when she’d been determined to keep Rand away from the baby she thought of as hers alone.
I was happy to get it and guzzled it without protest. Jean frowned at his mug, but when Rand ordered him to drink it, he complied. I almost laughed, which told me the apple stuff was working.
Within five minutes, Jean was back to normal and filling us in on Florian’s attack. He’d gotten a dagger wound in before Florian scrambled his wiring.
“So we know Florian has multiple burns and a couple of dog bites and a dagger cut,” I said. “And he probably threw a temper tantrum on that ice floe in Greenland before creating a faerie transport. Maybe that will slow him down for a few days.”
This wizard needed a good night’s sleep and a healing potion, at least. “I was going to take Gruff to the Barkus parade tomorrow, but he probably won’t be up to it.”
“Yes, he will.” Rand said. “He was only pretending to be unconscious after the transport because he was ashamed. He thinks he let you down by not protecting you or his uncle.”
Poor little guy. “Not true. He was great. I’d never have been able to manage Florian without him. And his uncle had been killed before we got there.”
Rand nodded, breaking into a genuine smile. “That’s what I told him, although he’ll need to hear it from you as well. What is Barkus?”
Explaining the eccentricity of New Orleans to anyone who hadn’t lived there long was like taking a train through crazytown, which is why I loved it so much. “It’s a Mardi Gras parade for dogs, all wearing costumes,” I said, ignoring Rene’s grin and Rand’s eye rolls. “One dog is crowned King of Barkus, and the Queen of Barkus is a mixed-breed rescue dog, I think. Anyway, I thought Gruff would enjoy dressing up and seeing it. I bought him a guard uniform.”
I thought my words were slurring again, which brought the healer my way. She shone a penlight in my eyes and felt the back of my skull, which felt exactly as it should—like it had been cracked against a stone fireplace. I shivered, suddenly freezing.
“You need to get to bed and let me bandage those burns.” Her tone was warm but brisk. “Someone needs to take her upstairs. Be careful not to bang that foot on anything.”
Rand scooped me up before anyone could respond. “You’ll be more comfortable in my bed—it’s bigger,” he said, edging sideways up the stairwell to protect my foot.
I hadn’t had nearly enough apple stuff for that. “No, I want to be in my own room,” I said. “I’ll yell if I need anything.”
He didn’t argue, but set me gently on the bed, propping my ankle on a pillow so nothing would touch my foot.
“Out. Let me do my job.” Dr. Ginger shooed Rand out of the room. “You want some more tea?”
Tears streamed from the corner of my eyes. My body burned. I couldn’t even identify where the source of pain came from now. “You got anything stronger?”
“I think you have a minor concussion, so no alcohol, but I can give you this.” I heard her rummaging in her bag, heard the sizzle of a lighter, then the unmistakeable sweet smoke of…
I opened my eyes and craned my neck. “Marijuana?”
“It’s good for brain injuries.” She handed me a joint, thick and pungent, so I could take it in my right hand. It was my first joint and only my second exposure to marijuana, which was pathetic. What a rebel. When I was sixteen, I’d found a sandwich bag full of pot in Gerry’s desk, thought spiked brownies sounded tasty, and mixed up a batch of Duncan-Hines’s finest. Unsure about how much pot to add, I poured in the whole bag. The brownies were very crunchy, and then I saw Yoda looking in the window. The rest of the night was a blur.
Now, I pulled on the joint like an old pro—well, maybe one who’d developed a bad cough.
While I smoked myself into a pleasant hazy-daze, Dr. Ginger patched up all my cuts and scrapes, and used tweezers to pull out splinters of wood and glass. At some point, she handed me another joint. I hadn’t seen much of Elfheim. I’d always imagined it filled with deep forests and fertile fields. Now, I imagined fertile fields of pot.
She pinched my chin between two fingers and turned my head to face her. She had four eyes. Maybe six.
“There’s no way I can keep this from hurting, but I have the salve from your kit. I’m going to put it on your foot first. Scream if you need to.”
“I’m-a-kay,” I said, smiling.
Less than a minute later, I had screamed my lungs raw, tears and snot mingled on my face, and Rand stood in the doorway wearing an expression of horror, or maybe terror. Dr. Ginger, busy pouring alcohol or vinegar on my foot before she lit a match to it—or at least that’s how it felt—looked at him in annoyance. “Help her, you ass.”
I expected him to complain about being called an ass before she came in and did some kind of mind magic on me, convincing my brain that the burns didn’t hurt. Instead, he disappeared.
Then there was a warm cloth cleaning my face, gentle hands massaging my shoulders, and when Dr. Torture moved her ministrations to my arm, a soft voice whispering stuff in my ear that I was going to be okay.
Unconsciousness took pity on me at some point, and when I opened my eyes, the throb in my foot had lessened and my arm had something cool wrapped around it.
“Don’t you ever scare me like that again, babe.” Rene lay beside me. He propped up on one elbow and peered down at me. He only had two eyes, almost black in the dim light of what looked like dawn. “How you feelin’?”
“Better.”
“You should. You smell like a pot farm.”
The giggles took hold and it took me a couple of minutes to get them under control. Rene just grinned at me.
I tried to piece together the night before and realized it had been Rene and not Rand who’d been my lifeline. “Rand called you?”
It was too…thoughtful.
“He said you needed someone you trusted with you and he didn’t think he was the right one.” At my dubious expression, he grinned. “I know, right?” Then his voice softened. “Did he do the right thing?”
“He did the perfect thing. Thank y—”
Rene’s mouth covered mine in a soft kiss. He pulled back, studying my face as if to gauge my reaction.
I wasn’t sure how to react. I wasn’t completely surprised; there had been that slip in Vampyre, after all. And Rene and I made sense in a way Alex and I never had. We were a lot alike. Maybe too much alike. And he was my best friend. I couldn’t let anything happen to ruin that. Losing Alex had left me hurt and angry; losing Rene would destroy me.
And maybe that was my answer. Or maybe I was still stoned out of my gourd.
“I thought you hated wizards,” I said.
“I do.” He kissed me again and rested his forehead against mine. “Man, I hate it when I break my own damn rules.”
Chapter 30
Sunday dawned bright and clear, without the bone-chilling wind that usually accompanied a clear February day in New Orleans.
Rene slipped out sometime while I slept. He planned to pick me up and take Gruff and me to the Barkus parade since Dr. Ginger had ordered me to keep walking to a minimum. I used a healing potion without screaming in pain, which was a good sign, and stuck another in my pocket to use after lunch.
Rand sat at the kitchen table, getting parade central ready for the Krewe of Carrollton parade at noon, followed by the Krewe of King Arthur. The Mystic Krewe of Barkus, which was a walking parade through the French Quarter, would start at two. At least with daytime parades, there was no worry about the vampires joining in the fun, although their absence so far made me highly suspicious.
“How are you this morning?” Rand asked, then answered his own question. “Better, obviously. You’re walking. You scared me last night.”
He had truly surprised me by calling Rene to help me instead of making himself the hero. Selflessness was never a trait I would assign to Quince Randolph.
“I’m sorry I scared you. I honestly didn’t think Florian would still be skulking around your house. I’m afraid it’s an even bigger mess than before.”
“You aren’t the one that damaged it,” he said. “Did I do the right thing by calling the merman? I wanted to be the one who…I wanted to do what was best for you.”
I leaned over and gave him a quick hug, which surprised both of us. “You did exactly the right thing, although why Rene? I’d have expected you to call Alex, or even Jean Lafitte.”
Rand resumed attaching new elastic bands to the DragonCams—they had to be replaced after each flight because the dragons’ scales eroded the elastic and the non-elastic collars he’d tried at first popped off or broke when the dragons changed sizes.
I’d thought he wasn’t going to answer my question, but he finally said, “I’ve seen the way the merman looks at you when you don’t know he’s looking. Lafitte doesn’t look at you that way, and sorry, but neither did Alex. I knew if you got into any trouble during the night, he’d tell me instead of trying to handle it himself. He’d do what was best for you.”
I slumped into a chair with a cup of coffee and a muffin that looked entirely too healthy. “He looks at me how?” Somehow, I couldn’t see Rene looking at anything with a lovestruck expression except maybe a big haul of shrimp on his boat, the Dieu de la Mer, or a giant seafood platter from Deanie’s in Bucktown.
Rand set down the camera, leaned back in his chair, and crossed his arms over his chest. Here it came—the I-am-Elf-and-I-Know-All speech. “I haven’t been digging in his head if that’s what you think. I promised you I wouldn’t, and I won’t. It’s sort of a thoughtful look, you know, like he’s really thinking about you in some serious way.”
I’d seen that look from Rene recently, too, and it was disconcerting.
“How do you feel about that?” I asked him. Rand and Alex had a mutual dislike that I always attributed to Rand’s delusional ideas about our bond. But he didn’t speak as if he wanted to eviscerate Rene and put dolphin on the dinner menu, so maybe he and Alex just flat-out didn’t like each other.
Rand gave me a grim smile. “Transparency?”
Uh-oh. “Yes.”
“A few days ago, I wanted to kill him because of it. I don’t feel that way any longer.”
I considered that statement while I chewed on my muffin, which was gluten-free, dairy-free, and taste-free. I held out a bite for Gruff. He wouldn’t touch it, which showed excellent decision-making on the corgi’s part.
Finally, it dawned on me what had changed in the last few days. Rand had held his son. “Because of Michael?”
Rand gave a slow nod. “Because of how Michael feels about you, and how you feel about him. You’re not his mother, but you want to help raise him because you love him. I love him too; I’d do anything to protect him. I know what love feels like now. Between elven mates, that’s not our way.”
He didn’t have to say the rest. He knew I didn’t love him and, for the first time, maybe he’d accepted I’d have to love him before I’d ever be his mate in a true sense. He needed to work on making me like him for more than twenty-four hours before doing something obnoxious.
Bondmates were for life, however, so we were stuck with each other. Sometimes it even came in handy. Michael might make it easier, at least in the short term. Rand’s acceptance that I might eventually love someone else would make things even easier, if it was real.
Was that person Rene? It was way too soon after my breakup with Alex to even think about love, and both Rene and I were damaged by loss. Nobody wants to be a rebound.
Plus, Rand was mercurial at best. He’d be back to his old imperious self before long, and I wouldn’t make Rene a target.
Enough serious stuff for now. “C’mon Gruff. This is the one day you get to wear clothes, and I bought something for you.” I headed back down the hall and into the bedroom but turned to see him standing outside the door. He’d been subdued around me this morning, now that I thought about it.
I managed to sit on the floor without crying at the scrape of my tender foot across the rug. Gruffydd, come here.
He slinked into the room, not making eye contact. I patted the rug next to my knee and, when he got there, I put my arms around him and buried my nose in his furry neck.
Thank you for your bravery yesterday. I wouldn’t have survived without you. You put aside your grief. You were heroic. I am honored to have you escort me today and always.
He whined. I let The Dru down and disgraced my family.
I pulled his head up and forced him to look at me. I am proud of you. I hope you feel like escorting me today. I know you are injured because of me, and I’m sorry for that. I’m also sorry about your uncle. He, too, was brave.
He heard the truth in my words, and it was like nothing had happened. Gruff licked my face and would have danced but for the tape Dr. Ginger had wrapped around his sore ribs.
After that, there was nothing to do but let him try on the little Yeoman Warders outfit I’d found on my one short foray down Magazine Street since returning. I explained to him that the Yeoman Warders, also known as Beefeaters, were the guards of the Queen of England’s palace and fortress guards.
He wasn’t too keen on the red underpants but liked the jacket and hat. He even trotted down the hall to let The Rand make a fuss over him.
I applied another healing potion to my foot and arm, rested until time to leave for the parade, and took Gruff out the back door, where Rene waited.
“I dig the hat,” he told Gruff when we got in, which alleviated my worry that we’d be awkward around each other. He was still Rene, my buddy.
My armed buddy. “You aren’t keeping that pistol and holster on you during the parade, are you?” I’d staged one jail break this past week and didn’t relish another.
“Nope,” he said, weaving a path through the neighborhoods to reach the French Quarter without intersecting the uptown parades. “I’m gonna put the gun in my pocket. I also have a bone knife with a silver blade and some pepper spray.” He glanced at me. “Got a problem with that?”
“Not at all.” I had an elven staff, a dagger, a messenger bag full of charms and potions, and no room to talk.
We had a six-block walk through a French Quarter filled with
people and dogs, both of all shapes and sizes. Gruff practically vibrated with excitement, looking from side to side, his big, round eyes growing bigger and rounder than usual. The parade started at Armstrong Park and had a fifteen-block route through the Quarter, so I picked a viewing spot about five blocks from the park. My foot throbbed in time with my heartbeat and burned like I’d stepped on a flambeaux carrier’s torch.
What are these canines? Gruff finally asked me. They don’t look like me.
There are many kinds of canines, just as there are many kinds of people, I said. It hadn’t occurred to me that he might only have seen other corgis. But you, Gruff, have the best costume of all.
Yes, I do. The Dru picked out a wonderful uniform for me. What is that dog? It doesn’t look very smart.
“It’s a standard poodle. They’re very smart; don’t let the bad haircut fool you.”
We spent the next hour watching the crowds while I identified different breeds of dogs and what their costumes were, from ballerinas to Batman, jesters to giant jalapenos.
I spotted Rene occasionally, wandering near enough to keep us in sight but not close enough for us to distract him from scanning the crowds.
Gruff froze as the parade began and dressed-up dogs either walked past in their finery or rode “floats” created of everything from baby carriages to Red Flyer wagons.
Werewolf, he said, and looked up and around at the tops of the buildings. I spotted the sniper and ducked a fraction of a second before the woman next to me screamed and collapsed to the sidewalk, blood pooling around her head. This sniper wasn’t aiming to wound, and I’d bet the rest of my real estate money he was aiming at me.
I ran hunched over, cutting between dogs and walkers, pulling Gruff with me. Where had I last seen Rene? After about half a block, I spotted him down an alleyway just off Dauphine Street, chasing a much-bigger man. There wasn’t much time to act before his prey reached the end of the alley and ended up in the throngs of people on Bourbon Street. Then we’d lose him.
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