Frenchman Street_A Novel of The Sentinels of New Orleans

by Suzanne Johnson

  Their strategy had been simple. Stage a shifter or werewolf on every block along the parade route, all connected by a common radio transmission monitored by Alex, who also moved from place to place. They had a lot more people, or else had brought in shifters from other areas.

  “It sounds as if everyone has worked out a system, so I suggest we keep it as it has been except providing one set of radio communications to everyone,” Elder Sato said.

  “What is our end goal?” Alex asked. “Do you want Florian dead or captured?”

  Zrakovi would have said captured, because it would leave options open. Sato sat back and thought about it. “I understand there is a younger sister who is the only other viable heir to the throne of Faerie. What do we know of Princess Kirian and her beliefs, assuming she is still alive?”

  Ah, well, there were some things the wizards weren’t up to date on.

  I looked at Faulk and Lia, and they nodded. “Princess Kirian is in a safe location until after her brother is neutralized,” Faulk said. “She shares Christof’s views that the preternatural community should not be revealed to the humans at this time, and those of us who supported Christof have all pledged our loyalty to her. She is young, but very intelligent.”

  And probably would have had sex with all the willing mermen in St. Bernard Parish by next week, but at least it would keep her occupied.

  “I suppose the most honorable thing would be to capture Prince Florian alive, if possible, and turn him over to Princess Kirian when she takes the throne,” Sato said. “The final decision should be made by the Hunters, however. It is not a wizard’s decision to make since it involves the monarchy of Faerie.”

  How…sensible. Willem Zrakovi would never have ceded that power into Faerie’s hands.

  Faulk gave a slight bow. “I agree that Florian’s fate should lie in Kirian’s hands, if it is possible to take him alive,” he said. “If not, she will not begrudge his death. He has killed both her older brother and sister and would have slain Kirian were she not rescued by Lord Randolph and his raiding party.”

  Oops. Rand nodded at Faulk and simply said, “That is a story for another time.”

  “Very well, I won’t ask her location,” Sato said. “The fewer who know, the better. And the next six days will tell all, will they not? Before we leave, we should hear from Captain Lafitte and whether he has learned anything from the mayor’s office.” He frowned. “Who does the mayor think you are?”

  Well, there went my job offer if Jean broke his cover. “He believes me to be a visiting man of business from France who wishes to learn about these celebrations,” Jean said, sending a small smile in my direction. “Monsieur Mayor DeFazo has allowed me to accompany the lovely Linda of tourism to all discussions of such.”

  Thank God I had had a chance to school Jean over a late-night phone call. So far, so good.

  “The new things I have learned are that a famous maker of song named A-ree-tha will be at the parade called Mooses, and—”

  “Muses, the Krewe of Muses,” I said.

  “Good God, that can’t be right,” Lennox said. “Isn’t she at least seventy-five or eighty?”

  “We think the fae are going to glamour themselves to look like celebrities in order to infiltrate the parades and draw bigger crowds,” I explained. “It ensures maximum exposure for Florian’s big takeover on Tuesday.”

  “Very well, keep an eye on Aretha,” Elder Sato said, looking a little green. “What else, Captain Lafitte?”

  Jean looked at his notebook. “There has been some discussion about having a unicorn-riding club during D’Etat on Friday and En-dym-ion on Saturday, and we know that Florian makes use of unicorns.”

  He read off the names of A-List celebrities expected to ride in Endymion on Saturday and Bacchus on Sunday, including George Cooney, Nick Jongas, Brad of the Pitt, Taylor the Swift, Bay-oncy, Demi Love Otter, and Lady GayGay. Okay, so all my lessons in pronunciation hadn’t quite sunk in.

  “There’s also the arrival of Rex on Monday night,” Alex said, explaining for the non-locals. “Rex, some local businessman and philanthropist who’s this year’s King of Carnival, arrives at Spanish Plaza downtown at six p.m. on Monday and meets the mayor. Normally, DeFazo would turn over the keys to the city, symbolically, to Rex, who would declare Fat Tuesday a day of revelry.”

  “I don’t think that’s big enough for Florian,” Rene said. “But you’re right, we need to have it covered.”

  We finally broke things off, with Alex and the Elders leaving and the rest of us staying to coordinate plans for tonight. “Dru, you need to stay here and let your foot heal,” Rand said.

  No way. “The three parades tonight are back-to-back, so why don’t I camp at one spot? Maybe the corner of Napoleon and St. Charles.”

  I’d have my staff, a bag full of potions and charms, a killer corgi, and a lawn chair. What could go wrong?

  Chapter 34

  At five o’clock, I joined the throngs at my appointed corner, set my lawn chair far enough back that I wouldn’t get in the crush as people fought over the parade throws, and settled in. I prayed for a Florian-less evening, and was thankful that, finally, the wizards, elves, Lafitians, and Christof supporters were all in sync.

  Parading tonight would be the Krewes of Babylon, Muses, and Chaos. Muses was one of my favorite parades, one of only two or three that were all-women. It gave those of us who were not gorgeous, drunken twenty-year-olds a better chance of scoring a desirable throw. And they had great throws, the prize of all being a hand-decorated stiletto pump. One practically had to be related to or sleeping with a krewe member to get one.

  I’d never seen the crowds this heavy, so I moved my chair even farther off the route and up a slight incline that gave me a better view. In flat South Louisiana, it qualified as a hill.

  “Move over, wizard.” I looked up to see Rene, his face painted in a mask of half black and half white, which worked with his white t-shirt, black jeans, and black hair.

  “Okay, but you’ll be recognized by faeries if you’re with me. Otherwise, you could blend in really well.” At five-ten, if I was being generous, and about a hundred-sixty muscled pounds soaking wet, Rene was a ripped Mr. Ordinary with his face and tattoos covered. His almost-black, expressive eyes took all the ordinary away, but they weren’t as visible with the face paint, especially after dark.

  He sat on the ground beside my chair, watching as Babylon paraded past. Nothing appeared unusual. “I’m gonna move up front for Muses,” he said. “Gotta see Aretha.”

  “Get me a shoe!” I shouted after him.

  I didn’t think faery glamour included voice manipulation, or at least I’d never heard Christof sing when he’d gone through his Justin Bieber phase, so I kind of dreaded any singing “Aretha” might do.

  Muses began its parade, and I looked in envy at the throngs jumping up and down for beads and purses and other trinkets.

  The crowds down-parade from me began a roar of cheers, so I stood up and craned my neck to see. And there she was. Across the back of the float, in Hollywood-style letters surrounded by flashing lights, was the single word, “Aretha.” Giant speakers facing both sides of the street blared out “Respect,” and in the center of the float stood the woman herself—well, the fae version. She wore an unbuttoned fur coat that might or might not have been mink, a hot-pink sequined dress with lots of ample cleavage, and a ton of makeup. Fae-retha lip-synced perfectly, and no one in the screaming throngs seemed to care that she wasn’t actually singing. She was here, after all. Sort of.

  I dug my Gruff-hair locket out of my bag and slipped it around my neck. Suddenly, Aretha was not a seventy-something, zaftig black woman but a skinny twentysomething-looking black woman. When she looked in my direction with her tilted-up eyes and sharp cheekbones, I saw her leaning over and doing a bump-and-grind for someone in the crowd before she handed out a shoe. I took out my cell phone and took a photo of her, then looked to see if the glamour was picked up by a camera.
/>
  Just like with the Robin Hoods, it was, and I was glad. At least a lot of people would go home thinking they’d had an Aretha experience. When the real Aretha proved, as she would, that she’d been nowhere near New Orleans tonight, I hoped no one came up with “faeries” to explain it away. That would mean Florian had succeeded.

  Right now, he was building buzz and enjoying his fun like a media star.

  The rest of Muses passed without incident, and I messaged everyone to be on the lookout for Aretha on the third Muses float.

  A tractor malfunction had delayed the start of the Krewe of Chaos parade, so Rene returned and handed me a glittering green stiletto. “Here ya go, babe.”

  I took the treasured prize; they were so treasured that they were handed out in protective plastic bags. My only other shoe had burned up in my house on the land where Rene now lived. “Are you sure you don’t want it? How did you get it?”

  “What the hell would I want with one glittery woman’s shoe? And that one came from Aretha herself. I took off my shirt and showed her my boobs. I think that’s worth a shoe.”

  He had taken off his shirt, and he had a very nice, chiseled chest that did, indeed, deserve a shoe, even under all the tattoos. “Think she knew who you were? It might be poison glitter.”

  He took the shoe, opened the bag, and sniffed. “Smells like glue and glitter to me.”

  I snatched it back and stuffed it in my bag. “In that case, thank you.”

  A pounding drum alerted us to the start of Chaos, so Rene returned to the front of the crowd. He was scanning the parade itself, so I focused on the crowd.

  My phone buzzed. Rene had texted the whole security team: Vamps in walking club. Fangs out. After Chaos flambeaux.

  I stood up to get a look at them. They were camping it up, all dressed in tuxedos with white powder on their faces, choosing cute college girls to break rank and get close to the crowd for a kiss and a flash of fang.

  Suddenly, I fell backward against someone. Someone strong, who dragged me into the darker shadows and held a blade against my throat. “If you want to survive the evening, Drusilla, you’ll be still and listen.”

  I knew that voice, but couldn’t place it. Old South, with a touch of French. I startled when the blade pricked the side of my neck, just enough to break skin, and gasped at the soft scrape of a tongue across the cut.

  “Etienne Boulard,” I hissed. “Isn’t this kind of a grunt job for the new Regent of Vampyre?”

  He was busy spitting. “God, Garrett Melnick said you tasted foul, and he wasn’t joking.”

  Great. Rejected by another vampire. “Sorry to disappoint you.”

  “Have you heard what happened to Garrett Melnick, Drusilla?”

  This wizard hadn’t fallen off Aretha’s concert float. “Only that he was dead. I mean really, truly dead. And that you had been named Regent. Congratulations, I guess.”

  He spun me to face him. I didn’t fight; my human strength could never compete with a vampire in terms of brute force. But he could be burned. I slid my right hand toward Charlie, but Etienne grabbed my hands in his.

  “Listen to me, you stupid woman.” He looked around him as if paranoid about being watched. “I’m supposed to be killing you, but believe it or not, I don’t have any desire to see you dead.”

  Damn it. “Zrakovi hired you?”

  “I’m going to pretend to bite you. Fall to the ground in a few seconds in case we’re being watched. I know this is a foreign concept to you, but during this performance, you will keep your mouth shut and listen.”

  He clutched me to him and lowered his mouth to my right ear. “Zrakovi offered me a seat back on the Interspecies Council and a pardon of my so-called crimes if I killed you. I don’t think Zrakovi will last as First Elder; he’s too unstable. So I agreed, but I don’t plan to kill you. Here’s my price.”

  “What?” I didn’t tell him Zrakovi had already fallen from the throne.

  “Talk to your uncle and get the vampires back on the council. We’re withdrawing our support of Florian. I think exposing us to the humans would cause more problems than it would solve. We have a pretty sweet deal the way things are.”

  “Jean will be so disappointed.”

  “Faint.”

  I let my knees go limp, and Etienne followed me to the ground, his mouth still at my ear as if he were feeding. “Do you agree?”

  “I don’t have the authority to make decisions for the wizards. I can tell you the elves will agree.” I felt sure of Rand’s compliance. “And I’ll talk to my uncle.” I thought the wizards would agree as well. Florian would be alienated.

  He picked me up. “Get my bag,” I hissed. “I have a Muses shoe in there.” I could replace the lawn chair.

  He tossed me over his shoulder like a sack of crawfish boudin and grabbed my bag before stalking back into the neighborhoods. A lot of people were on the street. “Drunk girlfriend,” he said several times in explanation.

  After a couple of blocks, he ducked between two houses and set me down, handing me my bag. “You’re welcome.”

  “Where is Zrakovi?” I asked. I couldn’t see him hiding out in Vampyre.

  “He’s in Old Orleans, laying low. Which leads to me ask, why is he in Old Orleans trying to make deals with the likes of me?”

  I laughed. “He’s on the run. You were right about him; he’s already been removed as First Elder and could have his powers stripped—if anybody can catch him. Is he out here tonight?”

  “I don’t think so, but he’s got money and he’s desperate.” Etienne crossed his arms. “So he’s out already, eh? Who’s the new First Elder?”

  “Asahi Sato,” I said. “But my uncle is still sentinel of this region, so I’ll talk to him. He’ll listen.”

  Etienne and I studied each other. He was not a big man. Maybe Rene’s height but more slender, with blond hair and eyes whose color I couldn’t see in the semi-darkness. I knew they were sky-blue. He had a penchant for expensive business suits but was dressed in khakis and a sweater to blend in tonight. He was not a vampire to mess with, however. I’d felt his power.

  “I have one more condition before I have all my people abandon Florian,” he said.

  “Etienne, I am unemployed. I don’t have a place to live. I don’t have a freaking car. The only reason I can buy food is that a friend took pity on me and bought the land my burned-down house sat on. You had a part in fire, by the way. Why the hell do you think I can make deals?”

  “Because I think you’re the only one who can make this happen.”

  I propped my hands on my hips and looked at him, waiting.

  “I want a guarantee that I can reopen my nightclub in New Orleans without being harassed or killed by my old friend Jean Lafitte.”

  Ah, well. Good luck with that.

  “Look, Etienne. I can’t make a promise on Jean’s behalf. You know him better than I.” By a couple-hundred years. Etienne had been a plantation owner who made smuggling deals with Jean back in the early 1800s. “But I will promise to make an argument on your behalf, because I think it’s a good thing for both of you.”

  He nodded. “Will you let me know what Jean and your uncle say?”

  “How do I reach you?”

  He gave me a card from L’Amour Sauvage, the nightclub he’d run until December, when Jean had burned it to the ground in retaliation for Etienne’s betrayal. Or so everyone suspected. I didn’t suspect; I knew he’d done it. I’d been part of his alibi.

  Me and the undead Truman Capote. Long story.

  “My cell number’s written on the bottom,” he said.

  “I have a request for you in exchange.”

  He cocked his head and grinned, his fangs gleaming in the light from the street. “No, I won’t feed from you, even though it would give you a better orgasm than your dog shifter ever could. You taste like elf.”

  “Boor.” I no longer had a dog shifter, and he hadn’t given me any pleasure in months, sexual or otherwise. “I want y
ou to allow Adrian Hoffman to live among you safely. He’s angry because of what happened to Terri, but he needs a community.”

  “I hated what was done to Terri as well; I had no part in it.” Etienne sounded genuinely disgusted, and he was probably telling the truth. He and Terri had been friends for a long time. “I agree to this, as long as Adrian does. What happened to him was not his fault.”

  “No, it wasn’t.” I looked down at his card and stuffed it in my pocket. “I’ll call you tomorrow at sunset.”

  As suddenly as he’d appeared, he disappeared. Vampires sucked. It was more than just a pun.

  Chapter 35

  I found Rene standing at my lawn chair, looking panicked, even with his painted face.

  “I’m fine,” I said after he’d chewed me up one side and down the other for scaring him. Then he bitched at me some more when he saw the trickle of dried blood on my neck.

  “Let me fill you and Rand in at the same time. And Elder Sato. And Uncle Lennox. Faulk. And Jean.” We’d almost reached the Plantasy Island van. “I’ll meet you back at the dragon barn. If we go to your house, you’ll have to tell everyone your transport word again.”

  As paranoid as Rand was, I was surprised he hadn’t made me reset Rivendell. Then again, he now had a half-dozen dragons guarding that transport and if I’d learned anything about dragons, other than their tendency to get fluffy when alarmed and their endless appetite for rats, it was that they were extremely nosy. Nobody would sneak past them.

  Rand, I’m on my way home, but I need to meet everybody in the dragon barn.

  Who is everybody, and where’s the dragon barn?

  Your former nursery. Could you contact Elder Sato and Uncle Lennox and Alex? And one of the Hunters. I need to talk to Jean Lafitte separately before they get here. But the sooner we meet the better.