Before the last customer left, Alex returned from the back. His jacket wasn’t even wrinkled. I raised my eyebrows and he pantomimed a shot to the head. Guess Lafitte had one less undead pirate at his disposal.
Leyla left without closing the door behind her. I walked over, flipped the OPEN sign on the door to CLOSED, and locked the door with the thumb latch.
Alex had cleared one of the tables and motioned me over with a jerk of his head. My lip felt rubbery and heavy and my head throbbed, but we needed to do some damage control with Jake. I hoped memory modification wouldn’t be necessary. I didn’t want to scramble around in Jake’s head, plus I didn’t have the energy to slog back to the car to fetch the potion from my backpack.
Jake went behind the bar, pulled out a bottle of Four Roses, and brought it to the table along with some glasses.
“He’s really upset,” Alex whispered. “He’s bringing out the good stuff.”
Jake sat opposite Alex. “Start talking. Do I need to call the police?”
Bad idea. Plus, their buddy Ken was busy with a murder tonight, possibly two if the wounded soldier didn’t make it.
“It’s taken care of,” Alex said. “Forget it happened.”
Jake poured a couple of inches of bourbon in each glass, took one, and shoved the other two in the center of the table. “That’s gonna be kind of hard with sunshine here looking like the loser in a prize fight.” He reached out and turned my chin toward him. I tried not to wince.
“What did he hit you with?” Jake studied my face with the look of someone who’d seen his share of injuries. Almost clinical.
“His boot,” I said. “He was kicking my phone away.” Speaking of which. “I need to get my phone.”
Alex reached in a pocket and slid it toward me. “I found it. Where was he?”
“Hiding in the alley. He was waiting for—” I almost said waiting for me, but Jake wouldn’t understand why I’d have a nautical stalker. “Waiting for someone to attack.”
I grabbed the glass of whiskey and took a sip. It burned all the way to my empty stomach. Alcohol was probably a bad idea. On the other hand, it might make my chin hurt less. I poked my tongue at the inside of my bottom front teeth to make sure they weren’t loose.
“He try to rob you?” Jake wasn’t giving up.
“I guess that’s what he had in mind.” Not such a lie. I’m sure he would’ve robbed me of something. Some dignity. Probably my freedom. Lafitte might want revenge but I still didn’t think he wanted me dead. Of course, I’d been wrong before.
“Like I said, let’s forget about it.” Alex said. “DJ and I need to go.”
Jake stared at him. “You don’t seem real upset about shooting a guy dressed in a bad pirate suit behind my bar, Alex. For that matter”—he turned to me—“neither do you. So how ’bout you tell me what’s going on?”
Alex cleared his throat. “I don’t know—”
“Just don’t even start with that I don’t know bullshit.” Jake kicked at the table, making the glasses rattle. Coils of his anger and frustration slithered over my arms like snakes. I shivered. Why-oh-why hadn’t I stuck my mojo bag in my pocket instead of leaving it in the backpack?
“I know you aren’t just down here helping Drusilla clean out her uncle’s house. For one thing, you’re not the manual labor type. And at this point, seeing as I suddenly have a dead-ringer for Louis Armstrong playing inside my bar and a dead pirate behind it, I think I have a right to know what’s going on. So don’t sit there and tell me you don’t know.”
At this point, I could have been floating around with a lampshade on my head, playing maracas and singing show tunes. Alex and Jake were having a full-tilt stare down. This was a Jake I hadn’t seen before. Under that laid-back charm and all the dimples, he had a hard inner core. All I saw now was the Marine, or what happened to the Marine after life slapped him around too hard.
When I’d first met them, Alex had called Jake a tough SOB and Jake had called Alex a marshmallow. I’d thought they were deluded. Now I thought they knew each other pretty well.
The marshmallow broke first. He blew out a sigh, leaned back in his chair, and stretched his neck with a series of audible cracks. One of his stress habits. He’d be thrumming his fingers on the table next. “Okay, fine. DJ and I are working together on a case, a tough one, and I’m sorry you got caught up in it.”
He looked at me briefly, as if to warn me to keep my mouth shut and play along. No problem. My lips were zipped.
“I can’t say any more right now, except I’ll try to keep it away from the Gator. When I can explain it to you, I will.” Alex locked eyes with Jake, waiting to see if he’d buy it.
Jake rested his elbows on the table and studied his cousin for what seemed like a day and a half. “Fine. For now. But as for me and the Gator, don’t change what you’re doing. For whatever reason, it seems important for Jackie to be workin’ here. I’m drawing good money off him. Just warn me if anything’s going down I need to know about. And for God’s sake, don’t get Leyla or the band involved in anything. It’s too hard to find employees right now and I don’t want them getting hurt or scared off.”
Jake shifted his gaze to me.
I couldn’t decide whether to try and look contrite, scared, or defiant. I settled for blank-faced.
“When this is over,” he said, “we’re all gonna sit down and have a chat about what’s going on—not just what happened tonight, but all of it.”
Alex looked relieved at being let off the hook, at least temporarily. Come to think of it, I felt pretty relieved myself. I had already envisioned having the little speech that goes something like, Sorry, Jake, but the world isn’t exactly what you thought it was. The monsters you believed in as a kid are real, and your cousin just killed one behind your bar. Oh, and he can turn into a dog, and I’m a wizard.
We might be forced to have that conversation down the road, but not tonight.
Jake pushed his chair back and stood, signaling an end to his part of the conversation. When Alex told him again not to call the cops, he nodded, went behind the bar, and started clearing out the cash register.
Alex and I headed for the front door. As I passed him, Jake motioned for me to stop. He propped his elbows on the bar and reached over to pluck a leaf off my shirt. “You sure you’re okay?”
I nodded and tried to smile, but Jake’s emotions were freaking me out a little. His anger and frustration had been replaced by a heady dose of adrenaline and envy. Part of him had liked the rush of tonight’s drama and wanted to be part of it.
CHAPTER 26
I walked down the stone corridor once more, and again I knew it was a dream. The corridor had changed. The smooth stones along the walls were rutted and chinked as if someone really strong had taken a mallet to them. Chunks of rock littered the pathway. Only one in three gas lanterns burned, so the shadows fell heavy and long. The door at the end of the passageway creaked when I opened it, hinges coated red with rust.
I walked into the room and saw Gerry waiting in the same chair as before. He wore a dark sweater I’d never seen, and his hair was down. His eyes were intense, and his mouth tightened in a straight, grim slash.
“You aren’t making it easy for me to protect you, Drusilla. You’re drawing too much attention to yourself.”
When I first came in, I’d thought he was angry. But he was scared. I could feel his emotions, which I rarely could with Gerry. Plus, this was a dream, right?
“Protect me from Jean Lafitte?” A bit late for that.
He stood and paced the edges of the room. “It’s bigger than Jean Lafitte, girl. Defend yourself against Lafitte if he comes after you, but don’t do more. Stay away from anything to do with the Beyond.”
Gerry came to a stop in front of my chair. He leaned over me, his face close to mine. I smelled Ralph Lauren aftershave, and his aura crackled over my skin. He was one step shy of panic. “Tell the Elders you know I’m dead. Have a damned memorial service if you want
to.” He pulled away and returned to his chair. “Just stay away from this, DJ, and keep the enforcer out of it too if you don’t want him killed.”
I sighed. “I hate these freaking dreams.”
“This is no dream, and you best not treat it as such. Did you find the staff?”
“That thing is dangerous.”
He smiled for the first time. “You can use it then? I had hoped …” He trailed off. “Don’t let anyone know you can use it, or they’ll try to exploit you, Elders and elves alike. It’s important.”
“Fine, I can’t control it anyway. Gerry, what can I do to bring you home? If this isn’t a dream, if you’re still alive, tell me where you are.”
“Pretend I’m dead, for now at least. Did you read the journal?”
“Which journal? There are three dozen journals.”
“Nineteen-ninety—”
The dream ended abruptly as a car alarm echoed through the neighborhood. I tossed until my legs were twisted in the sheets, trying to go back to sleep, to continue the dream. Finally, I just flopped on my back and stared into the dark.
A journal from the 1990s, then. That narrowed it down, although I still didn’t know what I was looking for. Or would I just be wasting time?
Okay, so these dreams didn’t feel like the ordinary Freudian brain-dumps, where a bicycle meant sex and your first-grade teacher on a bicycle meant you needed therapy. These dreams, or visions, or whatever they were, had too much information in them I couldn’t pull from my subconscious because I didn’t know it to begin with.
Once I accepted that, the next step came more easily. I crawled out of bed and went into my library. Boxes of books sat everywhere, and another stack of loose books was piled on my worktable where Alex had been sorting them.
The journals had gotten scattered. I had some of them downstairs but some were still up here, and I still wasn’t sure we’d found them all. I began dragging boxes of books aside and digging through them. I winced as a heavy volume on the history of dragon lore fell off the table and crashed on the floor like a boulder. I hoped Alex was a heavy sleeper.
Apparently that wasn’t in the enforcer job description. Only a few seconds passed before I heard him climbing the stairs. He appeared at the door wearing low-slung jeans and a rumpled frown. In other circumstances, I’d have stopped to admire the view.
“Insomnia?” His frown deepened as I replayed my dream.
I tried to be dismissive. “I know it’s probably just a dream—it’s normal that I’d dream of Gerry.”
“Are you sure? Did you and Gerry ever communicate mentally?”
I snorted. “The only people with fewer psychic powers than Green Congress wizards are Red Congress wizards.”
“Well, we’re up now,” he said. “Why not at least take all the journals to one place and pull out the ones from the nineties?”
We gathered them up and took them to the kitchen table, sorting out ten journals dated between 1990 and 1999. I opened one, running my fingers along the lines of tiny print. A bunch of little leather books representing the sum of a man’s life.
Alex reached out, took the journal from me, and set it on the table. “We can do this tomorrow. Between the pirate and the dream, you’ve been through enough tonight.”
The pressure of unshed tears built behind my eyes, and I turned to go back in the living room, not wanting him to see me awash in my own pool of self-pity. He reached for me again, and gathered me into a hug, holding on even when I stiffened and tried to pull away. I didn’t grow up around touchy-feely people, and didn’t know how to let him in or even know if I wanted to. Finally, I let myself rest my cheek against his chest and inhale the scent of soap and sandalwood aftershave, comforting yet exotic.
He leaned in, his lips hovering over mine, hesitant. I kissed him, whisper soft, and he took the invitation. The hard muscles of his back bunched as he lifted me to sit on the counter. He trailed his fingers over my face where the bruise ached, then wedged his body between my knees and kissed me again, his hands holding me against him, mine sliding around his waist. I reached out to him with my mind and felt his want, his protectiveness. The worry and fear of the day melted under his warmth. Scent. Taste.
I finally pulled away, my voice ragged. “We can’t do this.”
It was two a.m., and both of us were vulnerable. Alex’s feelings for me were all mixed up in his rivalry with Jake, and I didn’t know what I wanted. We were just learning to work together. Maybe we were even becoming friends. Anything else had Big Mistake written all over it. It would be so easy to do but so hard to fix.
Alex backed away, looking rattled, and I eased myself off the counter. We busied ourselves piling the journals from the nineties in one box, and the rest of the journals in another. I took the small box to the living room. He stayed in the kitchen.
Not that we were avoiding each other or anything.
TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 27, 2005 “City tries again to bring life to shattered area … Most of N.O. unlivable; Louisiana death toll 864.”
—THE TIMES–PICAYUNE
CHAPTER 27
I read past dawn, but still hadn’t found anything by the time Alex left on an emergency job for the Elders, checking a new breach that had popped up in Lower Plaquemines Parish, southeast of New Orleans. It would require a boat, an FBI badge to gain access to the hurricane-decimated area, and possibly guns. I elected to stay home.
We ate breakfast together, making polite conversation but avoiding eye contact. I had done my grounding ritual before breakfast, covered my bruised face with makeup, and had my mojo bag refreshed and in my pocket. I didn’t know if Alex felt awkward after our late-night kitchen make-out session, but I did.
“What time will you be back?” I asked. “The construction guy from Picayune’s coming down to look at Gerry’s house about lunchtime.”
He’d just finished cleaning the big pistol on the coffee table and was strapping on a Kevlar vest. “Not sure—it may be hard getting in there without the local deputies wanting to tag along, or it may be a cakewalk. No way to know. Eugenie’s home—why don’t you get her to keep you company? Maybe wait on going to Lakeview. Lafitte’s going to try again.”
Yeah, and no telling how many pirates he had running around looking for me. My encounter with Bad Teeth had rattled me. I knew Lafitte could come back, but hadn’t realized he might have a whole crew of undead pirates with him. They weren’t famous enough to have a long shelf life outside the Beyond, but Bad Teeth had created a lot of trouble in less than ten minutes.
Still, I couldn’t sit at home and hide behind my wards, and besides, I had a plan that didn’t include Alex. “I need to get this over with,” I said. “Besides, the construction guy’s probably already left Picayune. It’s too far to make him drive for nothing.”
Alex holstered the pistol. “Be careful. Take the elven staff with you, at least. You can set fire to anyone who tries to hurt you.”
He almost smiled, and we almost looked each other in the eye. I breathed a silent prayer of thanks that the Big Mistake hadn’t happened.
As soon as Alex left, I retrieved the journal I’d been working on before breakfast. I was at 1997 and working my way down. A lot of the entries were in the form of angry diatribes against the Elders, mostly Willem Zrakovi and Daniel Ciro, head of the Red Congress—Gerry’s boss.
The journal entries didn’t tell me anything useful about Gerry’s whereabouts or current problems but did give me some insights into his views on magic policy. How had he felt so at odds with the Elders and yet spent so much time teaching me the importance of following the rules? Or maybe I had been so self-absorbed I didn’t observe the differences between the talk and the walk.
I glanced at the clock and cursed. Time to head to Lakeview. I gathered my backpack, complete with a few extra items I’d added this morning, then grabbed the elven staff. “You get to go this time, Charlie.” If it was going to follow me around like a pet, it might as well have a name.
&nb
sp; This construction friend of Don Warin’s was doing me a big favor by driving down to look at Gerry’s house. Between Katrina and Rita, crews across the Gulf Coast from Mobile to Port Arthur had waiting lists longer than Santa on Christmas Eve. At least I didn’t have to sit around and wait for insurance adjusters—Eugenie was on her second. She had buckets all over her attic to catch rainwater.
I parked behind Gerry’s upended BMW and coughed as I got out of the Pathfinder. With the return of hot, dry weather after Rita, the thick layer of mud had dried and cracked in the blazing sun, creating a pattern that looked like alligator skin. I dragged the mask out of the car and hung it around my neck, and dug another peppermint out of my backpack.
A heavy-duty pickup already sat in front of the house. It had probably once been white. Now it was covered in mottled shades of brown and gray like everything else. A short, beefy guy with red hair and an open, friendly face full of freckles climbed out to meet me, and he wasn’t alone. I’d recognize his companion’s dimples anywhere.
Jake introduced me to Rick the construction guy as Alex’s old lady. He even managed to do it with a straight face.
“Yeah, Donnie told me Alex found him a woman and settled down. Never thought I’d see it,” Rick said, giving me a jovial once-over but obviously seeing no need to address me directly. “She met Norma yet?”
“Not yet. They’re still enjoying their domestic bliss,” Jake answered, as if I weren’t standing next to him. “Hate to spoil it by bringin’ Aunt Norma into the mix.”
I rolled my eyes, which was about all the protest I could muster after making out with Alex on the kitchen counter.
We slipped on our boots and masks and headed into the house. I’d been leaving my plastic go-go boots outside Gerry’s door. Nobody had been desperate enough to steal them. Copper wiring was the hot ticket with flood-zone thieves these days.
Going inside put an end to any joking. The mold had continued to blossom since my last visit, barely leaving the house recognizable as the place I’d grown up in. Rick walked around with a clipboard, making notes. Jake occasionally pointed something out to him.
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