He ignored me and focused on Rand. “Aren’t you Eugenie’s boyfriend? What the hell are you doing here?”
Rand squared his shoulders. “I am a member of the Elven Synod, and Dru and I are bonded. This blood-bond allowed me to save her, as elves are immune to the loup-garou curse. If the shift didn’t kill her, her wizard Elders would have, thanks to you.”
I closed my eyes. Rand was such an ass. I liked him a lot better when he was half conscious or fighting for his life. “The little detail Rand omitted is that the Axeman was after us and we escaped through a transport that took us to Elf heim, which was too dangerous for us. Long story. I don’t want to go back to New Orleans without a plan to stop him, and I thought Jean could help.”
Slow. No expectations. “I’m really glad to see you, Jake.”
Jake was boring visual holes in Rand, his brows lowered. I didn’t think he’d even been listening to me. “If you give me your blood, will it kill the loup-garou virus in me?”
Rand blinked. “I am bound to Dru. I can’t bond with anyone else. Especially a man.”
“It’s that kind of bond? Sunshine, I’m surprised at you.” Jake slipped into his easygoing, good-old-boy-from-Mississippi persona that didn’t even begin to hide his disquiet. “Bet Alex is not a happy Boy Scout.”
“It is not that kind of a bond.” I hoped he could understand my words since I seemed incapable of unclenching my teeth. But Jake had brought up a point I’d been too self-absorbed to consider, and I was ashamed of myself. His stirrings of hope kindled my own. “Rand, if Jake were to bond with another elf, would that kill the loup-garou virus in him, or at least neutralize it?”
Rand chewed his lip and stared at the floor. The air seemed to get sucked out of the room while we waited. Jake’s longing soaked into my skin so intensely it sent sharp pains through my head. I was still clutching the staff, and stroked my palms over it to soothe the ache. In previous trips to the Beyond, the staff had neutralized my empathic abilities. Broken, it only filtered out some. Jake was broadcasting like crazy.
“I don’t think so,” Rand finally said. “Dru was a given because she hadn’t shifted yet, and the virus had just begun to change her system. You’ve been turned, what?”—he looked at Jake—“three years?”
Jake nodded. “More or less.”
He shrugged. “I can’t see it working. It might even kill you since the virus has changed your system completely. Plus, you’d have to find an elf willing to bond with you. It’s a lifelong, unbreakable tie, and not a decision we make lightly.”
Jake’s eyebrow took a hike northward. “You’re tied to this guy till death do you part?”
“No!” I shook my head emphatically. Not like he thought, anyway.
“Exactly,” Rand said.
“That is most unfortunate for you, Monsieur Elf, since it hastens your death,” said a voice from behind us—a deep voice, sexy and husky and decidedly French. I’d know it anywhere.
Jean Lafitte had come home.
CHAPTER 33
Jean blew into the room like a hurricane gale, throwing a satchel on a chair and stalking to face our little group. He pinned me with dark blue eyes that softened when I finally met his gaze, then turned to Jake. “Jacob, please show our elven friend to the room we reserve for our most honored guests, and ask Marcel to bring what he needs in terms of ban dages and clothing. Then find Josefin and send her to me with the things Drusilla will need for her toilette.”
“Dru and I stay together.” Rand moved closer to my side, and I rolled my eyes. That elf so needed a reality check.
Jean grinned at him. “That was not a request, Monsieur Randolph. The elves are accustomed to being les tyrans in Old Orleans with their mental games, but you are in Barataria now. You would do well to remember you have no asylum here, but are tolerated on my forbearance. Jacob, do as I say.”
For a moment, I didn’t think Jake was going to respond. I didn’t blame him. Rand might be able to help him get rid of the loup-garou curse, and Jean was being awfully pushy. I’d spent most of my time with the charming, flirtatious (if occasionally smarmy) Jean Lafitte, or his sneaky, devious alter ego. This was the cold, calculating, and extremely smart man who’d manipulated nations and commanded respect.
“Jake, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” I started to move toward him.
“Stay where you are, Drusilla. Jacob, do as I say. Tout de suite.” Jean’s voice was hard, authoritative.
Jake gave a small nod and nudged Rand toward the outer doors with a grip on his upper arm. “You heard Le Capitaine, elf boy. Move it.”
Rand jerked away from him. “Dru, give me the staff. I can work on it tonight.”
I looked down at the cracked stick of wood I’d been clinging to like a lifeline for what seemed like a week. “I thought you needed supplies from Elf heim in order to fix it.”
“Vervain’s powers transferred to me when she died,” he said shortly. “I can do it now.”
Ah, yeah, Vervain’s powers. That would be the glowing, chanting thing. I might as well let him have it. Its power had been so diminished I could do almost as much with my own native magic. I laid the staff in his open palm. If there was any chance he could fix it, might as well let him try, even though I didn’t trust him as far as I could drop- kick him.
Once they’d left, I rounded on Jean. “You don’t know what Jake’s been through.” I summoned up energy I didn’t think I still had and put it behind my words. “I appreciate your taking him in but don’t treat him like one of your lackeys. Why is he bruised?”
“I will treat him as he needs to be treated.” Jean unstrapped the crossed leather belts slung across his hips and laid his bulky pistol on the table. “Jacob drinks too much and is dangerous to himself and to others, as you well know if you will only admit to it.”
“Bossing him around like that isn’t going to help.”
“I beg to differ, Jolie. Of this, I know more than you—as hard as such a thing might be for you to admit.” He treated me to a little smirk that drew my eyes to the strong jaw with the scar running across it, and neutralized my comeback. I needed to remember that my rational mind seemed to book a holiday whenever I was around this man . . . dead guy . . . pirate . . . and keep my wits on alert. I thought he was hot, and he wasn’t above taking advantage of it.
I sighed. “What do you mean? You know more about what?”
“About soldiers and fighting men, Drusilla.” He pulled out the elastic band he’d used to tie his dark hair into a short tail—a band he’d stolen from me—and ran his hands through his dark, wavy hair. My body ached and my heart was with Alex, but I wasn’t blind.
“Jacob is a fine man, but he is confused by the things which have happened to him,” Jean continued. “He also is a soldier, and soldiers who do not know their way need someone to lead them. Sometimes, following orders can help them rediscover their path.”
“What about the bruises? He’s been hurt.”
Jean leaned against a side table and looked at me, arms crossed over his chest. “Jacob has anger which needs to be used in a way that endangers no one. He fights, the men place wagers, and he is no longer so angry.”
“But—”
“He is loup-garou, Jolie, and enjoys the fight. I promised you I would not allow him to be truly harmed, but you must let me deal with him in my way.”
I ran my hands through my own hair, fighting the overwhelming exhaustion that had been building since we arrived. I had to admit Jean’s logic made sense. Jake had been a Marine. He was hard-wired to follow orders and respect authority, and he’d mostly been floating alone since the loup-garou attack. And he did have a lot of anger to work off.
“You’re right.” Man, I hated to admit that. Jake would take orders from Jean before he would do anything Alex suggested. The Warin cousins loved each other, and hated each other, and had way too much baggage. “What I don’t understand is, what’s in this for you?”
“Allies are al
ways of value.” He walked to me and put his hands on my shoulders, then leaned down and kissed me on each cheek. “Welcome to my home, Drusilla. We will talk more. For now, I have someone who will help tend to your toilette, or certainly I would be pleased to be of service myself.”
Ah, there was the Jean I knew, and I had to smile—until I felt the dried blood on my face crack and a dark reddish-brown flake fell on the shredded remains of my red dress. I felt a blush spread across my face at the picture I must make.
I’d kill for a shower, but somehow I didn’t think plumbing had been invented in this version of Barataria. “You aren’t even going to ask about the elf?”
Jean’s jaw tightened. “As I said, we will talk afterward.”
Oh, goody.
A soft knock sounded from the open doorway, and I turned to see a young woman standing shyly outside.
“Bonjour, Josefin.” He motioned her closer, and she stepped in with a quick, wide-eyed glance at me before looking down. I tried to imagine what I must look like to a pretty, young mulatto girl of the early 1800s, standing here in my bare feet, half of a short red dress, a coating of dried blood, and hair that probably looked like a rat’s family palace. I’d be afraid to look at me too.
Jean rattled off some instructions in French, then turned back to me. “Josefin will bring you water and clothing. I will have food brought for you once you are ready.”
“Thank you.” I began to relax, and breathed normally for the first time in hours, which was sad considering I was hiding out in a pirate lair in some time-warped version of reality. “Before I go, can you get word to Alex that I am here and safe? Please?”
That grin again—more of a smirk, actually. “Certainement. I will inform le petit chien that you are a guest in my home, and that it was I to whom you came for assistance.”
Oh good Lord. Well, it was the best I was going to get, and at least Alex, “the little dog,” wouldn’t be planning my funeral. He’d just see it as one more ridiculous situation I’d landed myself in to reinforce his feelings that my life was too chaotic for him to handle. What else was new? Only that it made me profoundly sad.
With a lot of pointing, pantomime, and my pidgin French, Josefin and I managed to get through bath time without a disaster. She brought several buckets of heated water and poured them into a large tub in a small, windowless room located off a bedroom—an early nineteenth- century version of en suite. She sat in a chair near the door, just out of sight, and hummed to herself while I took stock of my injuries with the help of a mirror she’d brought me. It was ornate silver, heavy, and polished to a bright shine. I wondered from what Spanish ship Jean had plundered it.
Shampoo hadn’t been invented yet, so I had to wash my hair with rich, oily soap that smelled slightly of coconut. Josefin had sprinkled some type of lavender-scented liquid in the water, so I ended up smelling like either a Carib bean courtesan or a tropical drink that would be served with little paper umbrellas.
I’d kill for some aloe, hawthorn, and ground hibiscus to make a healing potion. I had cuts and concrete scrapes on both arms and one side of my face, and my ribs were killing me. Sadly, I had enough experience with such injuries to know they were bruised and not broken since I could move without screaming. My feet were cut and sore.
On the bright side, at least I hadn’t been chopped at with an ax. Maybe I could make a shopping list for someone to pick items up for me in Old Orleans. I wanted to be healed and ready for a fight before I went home. In the back of my mind, I already was hatching a plan that included the aid of a certain piratical member of the historical undead. Jean Lafitte could help us catch the Axeman, if I could talk him into it.
I also wanted Rand healed and back to his fully powered, glowing self before he had to meet Mace Banyan again. I wasn’t sure what I was going to do about my elven non-husband, but I had a feeling his continued existence might be closely tied to my own.
If the necromancer controlling the Axeman had simply wanted me dead, he could keep sending the killer back again and again until my luck ran out. But I suspected the necromancer also wanted to play with me, drag this out, make me wonder where his killer would turn up next. Anyone who liked playing games that much would love the idea of killing me not at the hands of the impersonal Axeman but using Jean Lafitte.
The irony of it would be irresistible. I just had to work out the details, including convincing Jean to go along with it and figuring out a way to keep him from actually being controlled by the necromancer and killing me. If we pulled this off, God only knows what I’d owe him.
I wrapped myself in one of the towels Josefin left for me, and stood looking uncertainly at the gross bathwater, tinged pink and brown with blood and dirt. I wouldn’t let that poor girl haul it out for me. I took the bucket, filled it, and walked to the door of the bathing room.
Josefin tittered when she saw me. “Non!” She took the bucket and poured the water back into the tub, then reached in and pulled out a plug I hadn’t seen. I leaned over and saw some rough piping leading from the bottom of the tub through the floor. Fancy.
Josefin rattled on enthusiastically, and I smiled. The only words I understood were “Monsieur” and “Lafitte.” And really, in Barataria, what more needed saying? The man could afford the best rudimentary plumbing available.
She motioned for me to follow her, so I hitched the towel around me more tightly, trailed her into the bedroom—and stopped. I hadn’t really looked around it before, assuming it was a guest room. Judging by the pirate lounging on the bed, looking right at home,, my assumption had been misguided.
CHAPTER 34
My mouth went dry, and I couldn’t think of anything to say. If the garments piled next to him were any indication, Jean had managed to rustle up some clothing. “Uh, can you excuse me while I dress?”
We would not be discussing anything with me in his bedroom wearing a towel.
His blue- eyed gaze traveled leisurely—and blatantly—from my face to my feet and back. I knew some good French words for that. “Cochon. Go away. Vamoose. Au revoir.”
I doubted it was the first time he’d been called a pig, and he seemed to take no offense. “You cannot blame a man for being a man, Jolie.” He chuckled and rolled to his feet. “I will grant your privacy, however. Josefin will help you dress.”
I wished Josefin would leave as well but after assessing the clothing on the bed, I realized I needed an instruction manual. I looked at the girl helplessly and she giggled, pulling out a cream-colored garment that consisted of two tubes connected at the top by a band. When I shrugged, she held it up to herself.
Holy crap. It was a cross between crotchless pan ties and silk long johns. That was so not going to happen. I shook my head and dug my nice little red bikinis from the pile of clothing in the bathing room and put them back on. God would forgive me for a little judicious recycling.
Josefin collapsed into a chair, laughing, and I imagined the stories she’d take home with her about the filthy idiot woman who didn’t know how to bathe or dress.
She held out what I decided was a corset. Crafted of ivory linen and silk, it looked more like a vest than anything too Victoria’s Secret, so I shrugged into it, looking at the laces and pulling at strings. It was really lovely, with delicate embroidery in floral patterns hand-stitched into it.
Too bad Josefin’s English was nonexistent. I’d love to know how many different sizes of lingerie Jean Lafitte had hanging around his bachelor pad, just waiting for the proper woman to need it.
I starting lacing myself in, and the girl shrieked, now laughing so hard tears rolled down her cheeks.
“Non, non.” She turned around, miming a lacing motion behind her back.
Ack. I was wearing it backward. Sighing, I slid into it the other way and turned for her to lace me up. “Not so tight. Need to breathe. Bruised ribs.” I flapped my arms in a bellowing motion.
The corset created way more cleavage than I was accustomed to showing, but who was going to
see it? Certainly not Monsieur Lafitte. And it kind of held my ribs in place and helped with the pain.
I picked up a simple chemise and tossed it aside, along with a pair of what looked like silk stockings. No wonder women in the olden days kept their virtue intact so long—it was too much trouble to get dressed and undressed. Although the open-air bloomers would have made certain bodily functions and sexual acts convenient.
The only remaining garment was the dress, and I held it up. A beauty, probably stolen from a ship bound for the fashionable ladies of New Orleans. It had a velvet bodice of deep indigo blue that gathered under the bust in an empire waistline, with a champagne-colored skirt flowing beneath. Very 1815 haute couture.
With Josefin’s help, I slipped it over my head and discovered all that cleavage was still exposed. Otherwise, it fit perfectly. It was even the right length, surprising since modern clothing always had to be hemmed for me.
Along with the mirror, I’d been given an ornate silver brush, and I ran it through my damp hair, which had started curling from the sea air. Josefin took the brush from me and directed me to a seat, where she tugged out curls and pulled hairpins from her skirt pocket, working until I barely recognized myself in the little mirror. I looked like a wealthy nineteenth- century lady. We’d see how long that lasted.
I was as presentable as I was going to get, and I could eat an undead horse. I also wanted to make sure Jean hadn’t killed Rand. Eventually, I might hire him to dispose of the elf, but for now I felt at least partially responsible for him, like a nanny with an entitled, ill-tempered, six-foot-tall toddler.
“Monsieur Lafitte?” I motioned for Josefin to go ahead, and she led me from the room onto the verandah and down two doors, back into the main parlor. There seemed to be no hallways in the interior of the house, but I noticed both the front and back were open, allowing air to circulate.
Jean sat in an armchair, long legs splayed, smoking one of his little cigars. He rose to his feet when I came in. The door snicked behind me, and I turned to see Josefin had left us alone.
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