Belle Chasse

by Suzanne Johnson

  “The woman you’re having dinner with?” I kept my voice pleasant and neutral. I was above jealousy. Mostly.

  “Yes, you won’t believe it. She’s going to help us … What was that?”

  Alex dropped my hands, stood, and turned toward the door. I hadn’t heard anything earlier, but now the sound of loud voices came from the dining room. He looked back at me. “You sense anything?”

  I edged around him and stayed against the wall, moving closer to the door. A shiver ran across my shoulder blades. “Red Congress magic, and shifters. Weres, I think.”

  “Shit. You’ve gotta get out of here. If I slow them down, can you make a transport out here?”

  I looked around quickly. “A small one, yes.”

  “Do it.” He stood between me and the door while I pulled a vial of sea salt from my messenger bag and drew a hasty interlocking circle and triangle.

  I’d just taken Charlie out of the thigh holster when a crash sounded from inside and thick smoke billowed out the door. Something in the dining room had exploded, judging by the sounds and smoke. Frantic screams blended with the crash of breaking glass, chairs falling on hard flooring, and trampling feet.

  I jumped into the transport but paused when a tall brunette tripped on her way out the door, coughing furiously. “I slowed them down, but it won’t last long,” she said between hacks, her accent British and upper-crust. “DJ must leave now.”

  “Who are you?” She was Alex’s dinner companion, and she was close enough now for me to tell she was a wizard from her familiar energy buzz. But what wizard?

  “DJ, zap me with the staff—just enough to knock me out,” Alex said. “That way, they won’t suspect me of helping you escape. It’s okay to burn me a little.”

  “Okay. I guess.” Made sense. I was already a fleeing criminal and Alex was my mole on the inside. I held out the staff, touching it to Alex’s shoulder, but hesitated. I couldn’t zap him, mole or not, and I didn’t trust myself not to really hurt him. “I can’t—”

  “Oh, bloody hell. We don’t have time for this. The flipping werewolves are on the march!” The brunette jerked Charlie out of my outstretched hand and, in one smooth motion, beaned Alex over the head with it. Hard. His face registered shock for about two seconds before he crumpled.

  “What have you done? He could have a concussion.” I snatched Charlie out of her hand, but was prevented from going to Alex when the woman shoved me back into the transport. “Get out of here, DJ. Now.”

  She was right. The scuffling sounds were near the door of the restaurant. I leaned over and touched Charlie to the transport, praying Alex had nothing but a minor lump on the head as well as a good cover story. “Who are you?” I asked, before mumbling, “Maison Rouge, Barataria.”

  Her voice came through faintly as I transported out. “I’m your cousin Audrey. Lovely to meet you!”

  CHAPTER 17

  An hour later, I supervised while Jake carried the still-unconscious Rene across Grand Terre Island like a five-foot-nine-inch sleeping Cajun toddler. The eternal full moon peeked through a scattered cloud cover, providing enough illumination for loup-garou vision but not for wizard vision. I had a flashlight, a useful little item Rene had purchased on his last shopping trip. I didn’t even mind its casing of pink camo.

  I pondered the mystery of my cousin Audrey, five years younger and probably fifteen annoying pounds lighter than me, although I’m sure my extra curves were all muscle. I guess I’d expected her to look more like me, not to be an Amazon with short, waifish dark hair, a porcelain complexion, and my father’s blue-gray eyes. Well, technically, her father’s blue-gray eyes.

  Eye color was one of the few things Gerry and his brother Lennox St. Simon had shared. Gerry was a dreamer while Lennox was a straight arrow. Gerry had fought the system and lost. Lennox had recently become an Elder and already had his sights on the First Elder’s seat.

  I hadn’t yet formed an opinion of my uncle, and although I liked the idea of a cousin, Audrey was another big question mark. Rumor had it she’d twice flunked the exam to be licensed to the Red Congress and Lennox had all but washed his hands of her, which begged the question: Why was she in New Orleans, where Lennox was now living and acting as the temporary sentinel?

  When we first met a couple of weeks ago, my uncle had revealed that his only child was undisciplined and he thought I might set a good example for her. I’d probably destroyed that crazy notion.

  The other burning questions: Whose side was she on, and why was she having dinner with Alex? I hadn’t had time to ask him about setting up a meeting with Zrakovi, or about his supposed seat on the Interspecies Council. I’d only added to the questions. Sneaking in to see him again would be virtually impossible, however, even if the Elders believed I’d knocked him out with Charlie upside the head.

  “How’s Rene doing?” I asked Jake. Although the merman hadn’t awakened and he’d grown feverish, his breathing remained strong and I was pretty sure he’d recover once we got him in the water. Or at least Alex seemed sure, and if anyone knew weapons and ammunition and shapeshifters, it was Alex Warin.

  “About the same, but I still don’t see why I couldn’t just drop him in the ocean instead of hauling his scaly ass all over this damned island.” Jake had been grumbling since I’d nagged him into carrying Rene instead of having some of Jean’s undead pirate flunkies drag him on a makeshift travois. “He’s a fish, DJ. He ain’t gonna be that picky about his water source.”

  “Yes, but he’s my fish, and I want him in a contained area of freshwater.” I knew a few of Rene’s secrets from having lived in his head when we’d done the ill-advised power-share that had helped us find a killer. Unfortunately, it hadn’t been in time to save Rene’s twin brother from becoming a victim. Big, open bodies of water freaked him out, which is the main reason he lived on the river in Plaquemines Parish rather than at his family’s compound up in St. Bernard. Those wetlands stretched directly into the Gulf of Mexico.

  Rene didn’t share that quirk with anyone, and I didn’t plan to either. We’d never even spoken of it to each other. Everyone had some embarrassing habit or trait or fear, and friends kept their friends’ secrets.

  As a result, I didn’t want Rene shifting and trying to heal in the Beyond’s version of the Gulf of Mexico, where he’d be stressed out and have trouble getting his bearings. I’d hounded Jake into hauling him to a small freshwater lake that Jean told me about. We finally found it near the centermost, highest point of the island. It stretched before us, a wide expanse of black glass with silvery moonlight glinting off its still surface.

  A loud splash sounded from somewhere in the darkness. “You think there’s anything in the water that will hurt him?”

  Jake gave a rude, huffing snort. “I’m a loup-garou, DJ. We don’t exactly go in for water sports.”

  He stepped to the edge of the lake and tossed the unconscious merman out over the water like a man-shaped beach ball. Rene landed with a splash, headfirst, about six feet offshore.

  “What are you doing?” I tried to keep my voice calm, but I imagined Rene sinking to the bottom like a boulder. I’d thought we could settle him gently into the water at the edge of the lake and ease him into shifting. “He’s going to drown before he can change.”

  I stepped up to the water’s edge and stopped. What the hell was I thinking? I couldn’t swim.

  “Go in after him,” I told Jake. “Tout de suite.”

  Hey, it worked for the pirate.

  “Good Lord, woman, he’s a water shifter. He grows gills. He isn’t going to drown.” Jake planted his feet and crossed his arms over his chest. I was still glaring at him when he jerked his head toward the water. “Look.”

  I turned and saw a moonlit version of Flipper nose his way out of the water. Rene’s aquatic self could adapt to a saltwater dolphin or a river dolphin, depending on circumstance. Since river dolphins weren’t known to inhabit Louisiana, he rarely let anyone see him fully shifted and did most of
his swimming in the federally protected waters near the mouth of the Mississippi. But I’d seen him in his shifted form, and this was definitely Rene, letting us know he was okay.

  He did a halfhearted splash over the surface—probably the best he could do after being poisoned—and disappeared.

  Jake slung an arm around my shoulder and hugged me. “Feel better?”

  “Definitely.” So much better. I wasn’t sure I could stand to lose Rene. The list of people I trusted completely was a short one and he was at the very top. I was ashamed to admit it, even to myself, but Rene was ahead of Alex. Worse, Jean Lafitte was slightly ahead of Alex in the trust department, too, but that was another of my own little secrets. Alex’s blind faith in the Elders had hurt his position on my trust-o-meter, although his star was rising now that he’d helped me escape the Elders twice. Jake was pretty high on my trust list, too, as was Eugenie. Who knew? I might even begin to trust Adrian Hoffman one of these days. Or not.

  Maybe I really was a Lafitian, although my inner jury remained undecided about Christof.

  Jake and I started the walk back to the pirate mansion in companionable silence. Another admission: I was glad things hadn’t worked for Jake and me romantically. We worked much better as friends.

  “What did you think about your cousin? What was her name?”

  “Audrey St. Simon. I’m not sure yet.”

  “Does she look like you?”

  “Polar opposites. Take Audrey Hepburn in Breakfast at Tiffany’s, give her a British accent and a miniskirt, and stretch her out so she’s a foot taller.”

  Jake laughed. “Doesn’t sound like you, sunshine.”

  Understatement. “You didn’t know Gerry, but I can see him in her. Her eyes, and something about the shape of her face.” That alone was enough to make me predisposed to like her. If she turned out to be another wizard toady, I would be disappointed.

  “Why is she in New Orleans? Watch out for that hole.” Jake grabbed my arm and pulled me off our path a moment before I’d have stepped in a deep sand pit and, with the way things had gone lately, would have broken my leg and had to be put down like a lame, unemployed mule. Which, sadly, didn’t sound like such a bad fate.

  “I don’t know why she’s here, except she saved Alex and me both tonight.” We finally reached the flat stretch of narrow beach that gave us a straight shot to Maison Rouge. “I’m anxious to talk to her.” Although how I’d manage that, I wasn’t sure.

  If she ever came here, I’d have to issue Cousin Audrey a few warnings about sexy pirates with wandering hands, said pirate’s brother with a bad attitude, elven and vampire invasions, love-struck faeries, interspecies birth control, and other matters of survival.

  Collette met us about forty yards from the house, and I became yesterday’s news as Jake focused on his fiancée. Which was as it should be. I wished them a good night and walked up the banquette toward the lights. My scrying materials still sat at the foot of the steps, so I emptied the big bowl and placed it on the porch, gathered my locket and photo, and left the table for someone with preternatural strength to move it back to its spot beside the front door. There were several candidates, and I wasn’t one of them.

  I heard voices from the entry hall before I reached the door. From the top step, I had a clear view into the hallway. I wouldn’t have to wait long for my chat with my cousin; she stood a few feet away, talking to Jean Lafitte.

  I bit my lip to avoid laughing at his expression, which lay somewhere between perplexed, annoyed, and fascinated. Not fascinated like I want to rip off your corset and ravish you, but fascinated like Whatever condition she has, I hope it isn’t contagious.

  Audrey was a talker and, as I’d observed earlier, a waver. Her hand gestures were embellishing what sounded like an account of the events at Jacques-Imo’s. Jean’s gaze followed the wide arcs of her long arms as she demonstrated an explosion.

  I wanted in on that conversation. “Wait. Start over; tell me what happened. Everything.” I shrugged at Jean as he turned a raised brow in my direction.

  “Is this really your cousine, Jolie? She is most … effusive.”

  I’d known the pirate long enough to recognize a veiled insult when I heard it, but let it pass. “Let’s go in the study. I want to hear about Jacques-Imo’s, and why Audrey is here. I hope nothing was too badly damaged.”

  In the past two weeks, I’d witnessed the destruction of the Orleans Parish Criminal District Court Building at Tulane and Broad, the history building at Tulane University, and part of the New Orleans Museum of Art. Those hadn’t been my fault; well, not entirely. Tonight’s damage might not have come at my hand, but it would be laid on my doorstep as most things seemed to be these days.

  Audrey had changed from her short going-to-dinner-with-Alex dress, one of those little clingy things only very young women with very long legs could wear, into a winter-white sweater and jeans with black boots, as if she needed heels. Rand would love it; Jean Lafitte would consider it worthy of a farmhand, which is what he thought of my own wardrobe.

  I still wore my jeans and the baby-pink angora sweater that felt like heaven—if heaven held only cast-off baby clothing. Jean had complimented me on the femininity of the color, which made me hate it all the more.

  Pouring a healthy shot of Four Roses to counterbalance the sweetness of the sweater, I settled into my favorite corner of Jean’s settee and patted the cushion for Audrey to sit next to me.

  “He’s one sexy dead guy,” she whispered as Jean barked orders at Jake and Collette, who’d dallied too long before returning to their transport post.

  I tried to muster up some jealousy over Audrey’s appraisal of the pirate, but it just wasn’t there. For one thing, Jean wasn’t mine to be jealous over, not that that would stop me. Mostly, though, she wasn’t his type; he would only tolerate her for my sake if I considered her trustworthy. I knew this in some deep, instinctive way that I didn’t want to examine too deep.

  “That he is, very sexy for a dead guy,” I said. “Accent on the word dead.”

  She shrugged. “He’s immortal, right? That renders dead meaningless.”

  Jean returned to his chair, set his brandy on the side table, and fixed his gaze on me, his eyes dark cobalt blue and deep enough to drown in. “Mademoiselle Audrey speaks words of truth, oui? What does death mean when it loses its ability to end life?”

  “You shouldn’t eavesdrop; it’s rude.” He had a point, but it didn’t change the fact that I’d made my choice, and that choice was Alex. Jean had hinted that he’d wait for me, but he might not feel so ardent when I had four chins and frizzy white hair while he remained a virile thirty-five. Wizards aged slowly, but we weren’t immortal.

  Although the way my life had gone since Hurricane Katrina came blowing through town, I might not live long enough to worry about the chins or the hair.

  “Why are you in town, Audrey? Does your father know? I thought you were on bad terms. How did you meet Alex?” I fired off questions as if she were a fleeing Spanish galleon and I was one of Jean Lafitte’s artillerymen.

  “I should like to hear these answers as well, Mademoiselle Audrey.” Jean settled in his recliner but he left the footrest down and never fully leaned back into the cushions. The pirate remained on high alert, which was wise. Audrey St. Simon might be my cousin by blood, but I didn’t know her. She didn’t get an automatic pass. In fact, it made her sudden appearance more suspicious.

  I handed her the glass of whiskey to loosen her tongue. She took a sip and made a choking noise. “That’s awful.”

  “Give it back, then. You want a soda?”

  “Diet soda, no ice, please.”

  I fetched it, not reading much into her DJ-like preference for room-temperature soda since only Americans seemed to have the fetish for icy drinks. “I’m sorry to sound suspicious.” I handed the bottle to her. “I appreciate your quick thinking at the restaurant. Do you know if Alex is okay?” I turned to Jean. “Audrey beat Alex over the head wit
h my elven staff and knocked him unconscious.”

  Jean grinned. “Très bien. This tale shall bring me great enjoyment.”

  I thought it would.

  “Okay, so where to start … Oh!” Audrey sipped her drink, then set it down on the side table, the better to wave her hands around. “First, to answer your question, Alex is a bloody trooper, he is. Pretended to be out when the werewolf security guys charged into the alley…” She paused. “Should one call that an alley or a courtyard?”

  “Courtyard.” I twirled my finger in the keep-talking movement.

  “When they managed to rouse him, he pretended to be so confused he didn’t remember what happened to him—or even if you’d been there.”

  I hoped he was acting and not concussing. I also hoped he didn’t overact to the point of rousing Zrakovi’s suspicion. So far, Zrakovi trusted Alex and therefore might be more inclined to talk to me if we could work out an opportunity. “So what did you do in the restaurant before you came into the courtyard?”

  She shrugged. “My dad always says I have no control over my emotions.” She deepened her voice. “You shall never become a worthy Red Congress wizard as long as you react rather than think, Audrey. You bring me nothing but shame.”

  I smiled. “I don’t know your father well, but yeah, that sounded like him.”

  “I’ve heard that my whole bloody life. I say, why bother to get your name on a card admitting you to a club—or Congress, in this case—full of stiff old fools who never have an original thought among them?”

  Uh-huh. She’d failed the Red Congress test, all right, and sounded a whole lot like her Uncle Gerry, even though she’d never met him. “You realize your dad is one of the stiff old fools?”

  “The stiffest … well, no.” She gave me a sharp look that aroused my suspicion antennae. “The First Elder, Zrakovi. He’s much worse, from what I’ve overheard my dad say.” She blushed. “Eavesdropping’s the only way to learn anything from my dad. He considers Zrakovi a weak old bastard, I think, and some of the other wizards are starting to think so as well.”