I took a deep breath, trying to organize the questions and thoughts flying around my brain like leaves in a hurricane. “I still don’t understand why you need Gerry’s transport—the borders between New Orleans and the Beyond were damaged by the storm. I’ve seen Samedi, so I know he’s crossed over at least once.” Not to mention Jean himself and Louis Armstrong and whoever else wanted to trot across the borders.
“The damage between worlds is already being repaired and, even now, it is difficult to find reliable places to cross back and forth,” Jean said. “But your mentor has solved that problem with his transports. Now, he is more useful to the Baron as a sacrifice. Blood spilled in his name gives him power, and now he wants yours most of all.”
Jean shook his head. “You should have stayed quiet in your home and not become involved in this, Drusilla. I fear it will not end well for you.”
Well, there was good news and bad news. The pirate didn’t plan on killing me, but the voodoo god did. I still didn’t understand why my blood would help the Baron more than Gerry’s, unless it was the cumulative effect of two wizards. Double the blood, double the power.
I had an idea. “Will you help lure the Baron to me, so the Elders can fight him?” Samedi was stronger in the Beyond, where a wizard’s physical magic was said to be weak and unpredictable. But on this side of the fence, he’d be no match for a strong wizard.
Jean gave Dominique a look of amusement. “Women always ask for so much. Such things have not changed over time.”
He huffed out a big, fake, put-upon sigh. “I will forgive your earlier betrayal, and I will answer whatever of your questions I can, in exchange for the concessions you agreed to earlier. I will not, however, cross the Baron so transparently as to bring him here, even if I were able. He has already grown powerful.”
At this point, I’d take what I could get. “Fine.”
Jean smiled, reached out, and pressed my chin between his thumb and index finger. I winced and jerked away from him.
“I am sorry my man marked your face,” he said. “The younger ones, they do not have a great deal of sangfroid.”
My translation potion interpreted that as self-control, and I had to agree Bad Teeth didn’t have much of it.
He settled back in his chair. “What information do you want, Jolie?”
I thought a minute. I had so many questions I didn’t know where to start.
“Has the Baron been killing the soldiers here, or is someone doing it for him?”
“Ah, so serious.” Jean lit a small cigar. “Very well. Oui, one of the Baron’s followers here in the city has been killing your soldiers on his behalf, for the blood sacrifice. Samedi does not think as you and I do.”
Somehow I doubted Jean and I thought alike. At least I hoped not.
“He believes he does a kindness to your city by having his follower kill only those who are strangers here rather than your own citizens.” He nodded at my snort of outrage. “As I said, he does not think as we do.”
“And what about the signs marking the houses of wizards?”
“His followers will eventually kill those in the marked houses when they return to the city, beginning with your mentor, and probably you as well. From you and Monsieur St. Simon, he wants power. From the rest? Simply to rid himself of an annoyance. But, as I said, I have decided it is not in my best interest to help him. This is good tidings for you.”
Jean stood, walked behind my chair, and put his hands on my shoulders, then moved them up to stroke my neck. He had really big hands. Strong hands. It occurred to me that he could wring my neck like a chicken if he wanted to. He leaned over and spoke softly, his breath warm on my skin. “Plus, killing you would be a waste, n’est-ce pas?”
I swallowed and sat very still. I’d quit thinking about the chicken-neck thing and had moved on to pondering his comment about killing my mentor.
“Is Gerald St. Simon still alive?” I held my breath, willing him to answer.
Jean squeezed my shoulders, then left to pace near the windows again.
“I do not know.”
“Where is he? Have you seen him?”
Jean returned to his seat, poured a glass of brandy for me, and one for himself. “I have not seen him, only heard that he made a deal with Samedi after your hurricane. He set up ways for Samedi’s followers to travel in and out of the Beyond, as well as myself and my men.”
I took a sip of the brandy without thinking, then put it down as soon as the burn hit my throat. The old rule about taking candy from strangers should apply doubly to taking alcoholic beverages from undead pirates. Especially those you’d once tricked with doctored rum.
Gerry had helped Samedi for a while, at least, and there was a chance the Baron hadn’t yet turned on him. Gerry was probably still alive and had figured out a way to block detection by the Elders.
“Do you know if he is still helping Samedi?”
Jean twisted his brandy snifter by its stem, swirling the dark amber liquid. “I assume so, but do not know. Like you, he wanted to make an agreement. Unfortunately, he chose the wrong creature with whom to do business. He was foolish to trust one of the old gods, especially one as lacking in influence as Samedi. The Baron is but a stalking horse for stronger powers in the Beyond.”
I stared at him. Jean was getting downright chatty, and had finally said something worth hearing. Samedi was playing Gerry, but other groups were playing Samedi, or at least using him.
“If you think Samedi is so untrustworthy, why not help me?” I asked. “Our agreement benefits you more if the borders remain under the authority of the wizards.”
Jean looked at Pierre a moment, then back at me. “One does not win battles by taking on opponents without the necessary strength to conquer them. I do not believe you can defeat the Baron alone, and your Elders have placed their focus elsewhere.”
The Elders were busy negotiating meaningless treaties with the vampires and the fae so their stalking horse, a small-time voodoo god, could fly below the Elders’ radar until he gained enough power to open the back door for everyone to stampede through. He’d do the dirty work, and they’d reap the benefits. I wondered how much of it Gerry knew, or if he’d knowingly backed David because he was sure Goliath wouldn’t take the small threat seriously until it was too late.
Jean reached across the table and took my hand. I let him.
“I would like to help you more, Drusilla. I will not do as Samedi asks but, for the present, I also will not cross him further.” His hand slid up my arm to my shoulder.
It might have slid farther had Alex not chosen this particular time to burst into the room, startling me and Jean both, as well as the three others. And the gun he pointed at Jean might have been effective if Bouret, bayonet at the ready, hadn’t been standing just inside the door where Alex couldn’t see him.
Diplomacy was about to bite the big one.
CHAPTER 30
I’d barely had time to register Alex’s arrival and jump to my feet when Jean spit the word parjure—treachery—and backhanded me hard enough to knock me sprawling out of my chair. My temple met the edge of a side table with a wood-splintering crack, and I hit the floor on one shoulder.
I shook my head, trying to clear the pinpoints of light that danced in front of me, and heard a shot from the doorway. I tried to see where Alex was, but Jean grabbed my hair and jerked me to my feet. I think our relationship was taking a new turn.
He stood over me, eyebrows knit tight, one hand holding me in place by a fistful of hair. I aimed a knee at his groin and got a satisfying hiss of pain in return before he flung me back to the floor. My shoulder hit the table this time, but at least it wasn’t the shoulder I’d landed on earlier. I like my bruises in matched sets.
From my prone position, I risked a glance toward the doorway. Bouret lay on the floor, and Alex and Dominique were throwing punches. Good. One less pirate, maybe, and Alex was still fighting.
Pierre remained near the window, knife out, watchi
ng both scenarios. Guess he’d go where he was needed.
“You were foolish to bring the enforcer here, Drusilla.” I could feel Jean’s anger all the way to his boots, which were in close proximity to my face. “Get up.”
I rose slowly, shaking my head again to stop the room from spinning. “I didn’t try to trick you,” I said hoarsely, then propped against the table for balance and did a double take. The elven staff, which had rolled underneath me when my chair fell backward, now rested against the table next to my left hand. I eased toward it without looking away from Jean and managed to grasp the staff and tuck it behind me.
“I think you are a liar. This makes me rethink my position about taking you to Samedi,” he said. “Pierre, let Dominique kill the man. What do you think we should do with our little wizard here?”
Pierre’s brown eyes gleamed above a sly smile, but he didn’t answer. Neither he nor Dominique had said much since I arrived, but then again, Jean yammered enough for both of them. I heard the grunting and crashing sounds of the fight continuing near the door, but didn’t look away from Pierre.
I backed away from him with the staff still behind me. At least Bouret was out of commission. I wasn’t sure what Pierre had in mind, but he was going to be my first target.
I raised the staff and pointed it at him. “Let us go, and I won’t use this.”
Jean chuckled. “What is this little stick, then? Should we cower from it?”
I tried shooting as much energy through it as I could muster. Without the staff, I might have been able to light a candle. With the staff, the small table between Jean and Pierre burst into flames. Okay, so I needed to practice my aim.
A spate of French flew from both brothers as they beat out the fire. No doubt they didn’t want their comfy pirate headquarters and open transport burned down. A minor inferno wasn’t the diversion I was going for, but I’d take it.
I raced for the door, shouting for Alex to run.
Dominique caught me by an ankle as I went past and sent me sprawling on the polished hardwood. Before I could scramble away, he hooked an arm around my neck and hauled me upright. My feet dangled in the vicinity of the floor but I didn’t struggle much since he’d pressed one of the triangular blades against my throat.
Now would be a good time for Alex to ride to the rescue. I rolled my eyes to the left and saw him on the floor near the same spot where Bouret had fallen. He wasn’t moving.
Oh God. I tried to keep my mind from spinning into a horrific tangle of fear and what-ifs. Maybe he was just unconscious. There might still be time to help him if I could suck up to Jean again or, even better, get to my backpack. First, I needed to get away from Dominique.
I bent my leg and kicked backward, slamming my boot into his knee with a satisfying crack. He grunted, removing the knife but tightening the arm around my neck till my breath came out in rasps and I fought for oxygen. Not the result I was hoping for.
“Bring her to me.” The room was turning gray, and Jean’s voice seemed to come from a distance.
Dominique shifted his choke hold into a rib-crusher as he slid his arm from my neck to circle my waist. I took a gulping breath, and my vision cleared.
He dragged me into the center of the room and tossed me to the floor near Jean. I’d been spending an awful lot of time on the ground lately, but at least this time I’d landed in a useful place—near my backpack. I curled myself into a ball facing it, and snaked a hand slowly to ease inside the front flap.
“Bouret est mort?” Jean’s boots were inches from my head. One good kick and I’d be toast.
“Oui.” Dominique’s voice came from across the room. After he’d dumped me like a sack of dirt, he had returned to Alex.
“Et l’executeur?”
The executioner. Alex. I held my breath.
“Pas encore. Mais bientôt.” Not yet but soon.
Alex was still alive, at least for now. My shoulders relaxed from a tightness I hadn’t realized was there. I still had time to help him. My fingers shook as I blindly eased my right hand around the backpack’s interior.
Serious hexes are illegal in the magical world. Black magic is right up there with treason in the list of offenses punishable by execution. I occasionally came across an obscure hex recipe in my reading, however, and if I ever got home, I was going to cook up a few—just for times such as these.
I located the potions I’d brought with me, wrapping my fingers around two vials at once and slowly extricating them. I thumbed off the top of the first one. I’d made a variety of nonlethal charms to use in tight situations since I seemed to be getting into them regularly these days, and had no idea which ones I held. I might make it rain. I might cause smoke. Whatever, it would have to do.
I groaned and struggled to sit up, shielding the vials in my right hand as I clambered unsteadily to my feet.
I’d faked the groan. The unsteadiness was real.
Jean stood in front of me holding the elven staff, eyeing my struggle without expression. “I cannot reach a conclusion about you, Drusilla. You stride in here alone like a brave warrior, then your enforcer sneaks in to kill us.”
I kept my right hand hidden behind me, but rubbed the side of my mouth and jaw with my left. My fingers came away bloody. “I didn’t intend any harm to you, Jean. My friend must have followed me.” Yeah, because I left him a note. “He is protective and is trained to fight, much like your own men.”
Jean tilted his head to study me as Dominique grabbed me from behind again, wrapping one arm around my rib cage and squeezing the shoulder I’d bashed into the table with his other hand. My breath caught at the pain and I couldn’t stop myself from whimpering, but at least my right hand was still free.
Pierre finally spoke, rattling to Jean in French. The gist of it was that I was a conniving strumpet and that if Jean wouldn’t turn me over to Samedi he should at least lock me up for them to enjoy later. Oh boy. The night just kept getting better.
Jean flicked his gaze to Dominique and nodded slowly. “We will do this, yes, so that she does not destroy our door to the Beyond. We will take her to one of the damaged houses near Barataria.” He smiled at me. “We will visit you often, though, Jolie.”
I moved fast, flinging the contents of the open vial over my shoulder into what I hoped was Dominique’s face. He cursed and let go of me, giving me time to pop the top of the other vial and hurl its ingredients at Pierre.
Jean grabbed the back of my sweater before I could run, and hauled me back to him. “You are a witch.” He watched his companions, irritation clear in his expression. Pierre had burst into gales of laughter, tears streaming down his dark cheeks. He’d gotten the laughing potion, apparently. Dominique stood rooted to the floor, frowning.
“Dom,” Jean barked, cursing as the man looked at him blankly. “What have you done to him, witch?”
“His mind is clouded,” I said, struggling in Jean’s grasp. “He’ll be back to his cheerful self in a few hours.” I couldn’t let the insult pass, so I added, “And don’t call me a witch. A witch couldn’t do this kind of magic.” It was awesome, if I did say so myself.
Pierre had collapsed into one of the chairs, mucus and tears mixing on his face as he howled.
“I suppose my laughing brother too will recover in a few hours?”
“I don’t want to hurt any of you, Jean. I just want to leave here and take Alex with me.”
He jerked me around to face him, and I saw a glint of humor seep back into his dark-blue eyes. “Bah. You are a pox, Jolie. I will allow you to leave, and take your killer with you. How you get him out of here is your affair.”
He let me go, handed me the staff, and stalked to the banquet table, resuming his position next to the cigars and brandy. “But you will honor our agreement, oui? And if you attempt to return and break our transport, I will find you again. Next time, I might not be so generous.”
I held the staff to my side. I knew Jean wouldn’t hurt me—not today, anyway—but he also knew I w
ouldn’t hurt him. Damn. Our relationship seemed to have shifted from adversarial to … less adversarial.
Jean shouted for Dominique to sit down, and the big man walked toward the chair, wrinkling his brow as if trying to remember who he was. That was a fine confusion charm. I’d have to make up more for emergencies. Pierre remained in his seat near the window, braying.
I ran to Alex and knelt, rolling him onto his back. “Alex.” I tapped his cheek and spoke louder. “Wake up!”
His eyes cracked open, narrowed, then closed again, and I let a wave of my own relief wash over me, along with his annoyance. Thank God. If he was conscious enough to be pissed off, he was going to be okay.
I dragged my backpack over and pulled out a bottle of hartshorn—aka smelling salts. Don’t leave home without them. I held them under his nose, and his brown eyes shot open again.
“Umph.” He waved the bottle away.
“Have you been shot?” The front of the Kevlar vest looked intact, but blood seeped beneath the lower right side of it.
“Stabbed,” he said, breathing hard. “I shot the guy with the bayonet, but the other one got a knife under the vest. Lost the gun.”
I jerked at the Velcro straps and pulled the vest and T-shirt away from the wound. Sweat beaded on his face, and his breathing was raspy. I probed the cut with my fingertips, trying to see how deep it was and if it would be safe for him to try to walk. It had already started healing around the edges. Shapeshifter genes.
“Umph!” Alex shoved my hand away and struggled to a sitting position.
“I’m going to call Jake. Do you think you can get downstairs with my help?”
He nodded, then froze as he spotted Jean watching him from the banquet table with malevolence. “Where’s my gun?”
The man could barely talk and he wanted his gun. “They’re letting us go. Just shut up and see how fast you can get on your feet.”
I ignored his grumbling and kept an eye on the pirate as I dug my cell phone from my backpack and called Jake, giving him only the barest details.
Sliding the backpack straps over my shoulders, I turned back to Alex. “Can you make it downstairs if I help?”
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