Belle Chasse

by Suzanne Johnson

  Shortly before noon, I used Charlie to power up the scrying magic, and quickly saw Alex sitting in an armchair that looked familiar. “Where was the meeting being held?” I asked Jean.

  “I know not.” He leaned forward. “It looks like a home.”

  I adjusted Charlie’s angle and a blast of anger shot through my veins. “Yeah, it’s a home, all right. Mine.”

  They were meeting at Gerry’s house—my house now—in Lakeview. The upstairs of the Katrina-flooded home remained a gutted, empty shell, but Alex and Jake had worked to make the first floor livable as a surprise for me after my house in Uptown New Orleans had burned down.

  How dare they meet in my home! Sit on my furniture! If they blew up my house, the elven staff and I were going to do some damage.

  Cursing under my breath, mentally calling Willem Zrakovi and Lennox St. Simon every evil name I could devise—because one of them was behind this choice of venue, I had no doubt—I shifted the staff again to see who was present.

  Alex lounged in the armchair nearest the sofa, on which Zrakovi and Lennox sat like stiff, business-suited bookends with an empty space between them. Toussaint Delachaise, shorter and wirier than Rene, with a floating mane of Einstein-white hair, sat away from the group, on the brick hearth. Should he decide to leave, the French doors Alex had installed to replace Gerry’s old sliding glass patio door lay directly to his right.

  Shifting the staff farther to the center of the bowl, I spotted Rand sitting on one end of a long bench facing Zrakovi and Lennox. Next to him, short and swarthy, sat his new lapdog, Betony Stoneman, aka Fred Flintstone. I’d never seen that bench, so it must have been scrounged up to compensate for my inadequate seating. Which is what they got for stealing my house.

  At the other end of the bench, side by side physically but miles apart in their body language, sat Florian and Christof. I knew the brothers looked very much alike in their natural states, although Christof was a couple of inches taller, his hair darker, and his features a bit softer and more handsome. Today, however, since my tuft of Gandalf’s fur was being used for the scrying ritual, I was treated to their glamour.

  “Faeries are absurd,” Adrian observed in a flagrant understatement. The Faery Prince of Summer wore a yellow and white seersucker suit and straw boater hat, which would be fine if he’d been a New Orleans attorney in the summer of 1910 who’d been shopping at Haspel. On Christmas Eve of modern times, it looked ridiculous. Plus, his blond hair was now medium brown hair and arranged in a fluffed-up mod cut that made him look like a mushroom wearing a straw boater.

  Christof had gone the undertaker route, with a severe black suit, white shirt, and black-and-gray-striped tie, his dark hair short and slicked back, a white carnation in his lapel. The effect was ruined only by the white patent-leather shoes he’d chosen to go with his ensemble, which kind of took it from undertaker into mob boss territory.

  Although a barefoot, unemployed wizard wearing a white T-shirt with pink rhinestone hearts on the front had little room to judge.

  Zrakovi rapped on my coffee table with his knuckles to call the meeting to order. I was glad I’d had the paranoia to hide the rest of Gerry’s black grimoires above a beam in the unfinished second floor. The First Elder would love to figure out a way to charge me with doing illegal magic. Unfortunately, it wouldn’t take much figuring.

  “I must apologize for such a hastily called meeting in such inadequate surroundings,” Zrakovi began.

  “Asshat.” The First Elder had not only stolen my home, he was apologizing for its inadequacy.

  “Hush.” Adrian kicked the leg of my chair.

  “Before we get to other matters, I’d like to announce that a warrant has been issued for the arrest of Jacob Warin, for failure to report infecting former Sentinel Drusilla Jaco with the loup-garou curse last month and for escaping before he could serve his one-year sentence at the wizarding facility in Ittoqqortoormiit, Greenland. His sentence will be extended to two years once he is apprehended.”

  Zrakovi could eat dirt for all Jake cared. Not being able to see his family in Picayune, Mississippi, often enough was Jake’s only regret at leaving New Orleans behind, and he figured he could slip over to see his relatives occasionally. Picayune wasn’t a magical hot spot. He’d never go back to New Orleans and didn’t care; he’d already arranged to transfer ownership of his bar, the Green Gator, to his manager, Leyla.

  Zrakovi droned on. “Also, a warrant has been issued for the arrest of former Sentinel Jaco for not reporting that same incident. Although this is a wizarding matter, I also would like to assure the council that because Ms. Jaco chose to run away rather than face her charges, the loss of her Green Congress license and, of course, her position as sentinel has been made permanent. Her sentence at Ittoqqortoormiit, too, will be lengthened.”

  How, exactly, did one lengthen my “unspecified term” of imprisonment? I ground my teeth and mentally told Charlie to prepare to char the first name on his incineration list, then had to remind myself about moral absolutes and murder and all that intellectual crap I’d been spouting earlier.

  “If I might, Elder Zrakovi?”

  I shifted Charlie around to find the speaker. Florian stood up in his seersucker suit, his hair arranged in oily swoops and his lips snarled. He resembled a young Jerry Lee Lewis; I hoped he didn’t pop out his great balls of fire in the middle of my living room. I’d already had one house burn down.

  “Prince Florian, Faery’s political situation is on our agenda if you don’t mind waiting.” Zrakovi gave him a fierce look and even without sitting in the room and feeling it, I knew his blood pressure had begun to rise.

  “This concerns the former sentinel.” Florian adjusted his lapels. “I have eyewitness testimony that proves Ms. Jaco’s charges are much more serious than this council knows and have grown beyond a wizard-only concern.”

  “Oh, holy crap. Here it comes.”

  Jean reached out a hand and grasped mine. I let him.

  Zrakovi sat back, looking pleased. The angle from which we saw him via Charlie enlarged his nose and bugged out his eyes. Maybe I’d make an illegal potion to render him that way permanently. “Please enlighten us, Prince Florian.”

  I took a deep breath, ready for my name to be dragged through the political sludge. Again. In the corner of my frame of view, Alex sat up straighter, a frown drawing his dark eyebrows together. On the other end of the bench, Rand leaned forward to get a better look at Florian.

  The Prince of Summer assumed a slow, somber tone. “Most of you have heard about the tragic passing of my great aunt, the Queen Sabine, which I fear was foul play.”

  Yeah, because you killed her, you lunatic fringe mop.

  “It is a time of great mourning in the monarchy of Faery.”

  Lying toadstool.

  “Unfortunately, my attempts to peacefully reconcile the assumption of the monarchy with my brother have been unsuccessful.”

  Since when does beheading one’s sister constitute a peaceful anything?

  “Rather than compromise or leave the decision to our people, Christof has willfully destroyed much of our capital city—even his own palace—and brutally murdered our dear sister, Tamara. And he has done so using elven magic with the assistance of Drusilla Jaco and her self-professed paramour, Captain Jean Lafitte.”

  Jean propelled himself from his chair. I wrenched my hand free of his before he could drag me to the floor and dislodge Charlie from my hand. “C’est des conneries!”

  Yeah, what he said. Whatever it meant.

  Zrakovi exchanged looks across the empty sofa cushion at Lennox. I’d give anything to be in that room so I could read their auras. Having to interpret body language and expressions was annoying. If I had to guess, Zrakovi was so pleased he was practically doing the tango in his seat. Lennox, however, looked troubled.

  Jean continued to pace and mutter to himself in French.

  “Can you turn up the volume on that bowl?” Adrian asked, glaring at Jean
but not daring to tell his meal ticket to shut up.

  I urged Charlie to amp it up a bit, and the volume increased. I loved that staff.

  I’d missed the first part of his comments, but Christof had entered the fray. “… a blithering idiot.”

  “He’s talking about Florian,” I told Adrian, who nodded.

  “Florian and his squad of Hybrids took over the Royal Palace while Sabine was still alive—ailing, but alive.” As Christof talked, his breath began coming out in mists of condensation. Around the room, everyone except shifters Alex and Toussaint Delachaise drew jackets more tightly around them. “He killed our queen and assumed control of the tower in order to rob the people of a chance to elect the ruler of their choice.”

  Uh, excuse me. But what about me? I was being set up.

  “Prince Christof, please.” Zrakovi held his hands up, palms outward, placating. “I understand your plight, and sympathize with the difficult decisions you face. But the fact is that the decision as to which of you will rule Faery is a matter for the fae to decide. It is not a matter for the Interspecies Council.”

  “Even if a wizard sentinel is attempting to throw support to the prince who is most opposed to the wizards?” Florian’s face had turned downright florid. “Christof is no friend to you. And even if that same wizard has used elven magic, thinking to cast a shadow on the relationship between the fae and the elves, and as a by-product, the elves’ alliance with the wizards?”

  “It is you who is antagonistic toward the wizards, you lying buffoon!” Christof shouted louder, and behind me, Jean urged his friend to hold his temper. Even Toussaint and Alex pulled on their jackets.

  “Jean, what is he doing?” I changed Charlie’s angle slightly so I could get a better look at Rand. “This is making Christof look like the crazy one.”

  “Oui, this is most distressing, but Christof is a man of passion, much like myself. It is difficult to respond with reason when one’s heart is in anguish.”

  Whatever. Passionate or short-tempered, he still needed to calm down. And at the risk of sounding selfish, but what about me, damn it?

  Alex looked like a treed cat and I knew him well enough to read that expression. He wanted to stand up for me but didn’t want to jeopardize his position. Torn between love and duty yet again.

  I closed my eyes and mentally screeched as loud as I could: Quince Randolph, do something, you elven jackass!

  I hadn’t expected him to hear me; my earlier attempts at telepathy between the Beyond and the modern world hadn’t worked. Then again, I hadn’t had the elven staff stuck into a bowl of holy water in a scrying ritual at the time.

  Because this time, he heard me. He jolted as if he’d been stuck up the backside with an electric cattle prod and clapped his hands to his ears. Dru?

  Florian is lying. I had nothing to do with the war in Faery. Florian killed his aunt and his sister. Well, I didn’t know that, but my gut told me Christof hadn’t done it.

  Rand stood slowly. “Since the elves and their allies, past and present, have been brought up here, I’d like to speak. As all of you know, former sentinel Jaco is my bond-mate. The only way she would use elven magic in Faery would be on my orders, and I assure you, the elves have no desire to involve themselves in the fight over the fae monarchy, at least not yet.”

  A long silence followed. There were so many things to respond to, not the least of which was the implication that the elves might join the fae power struggle in the future.

  Zrakovi, however, honed in on the most obvious.

  “Are you intimating that you are in contact with your”—he coughed indelicately into his hand—“mate, and that she follows your orders? Think carefully, Mr. Randolph, because with all due respect, Drusilla Jaco is much like her late father Gerald, with apologies to my friend Lennox.” He and my uncle exchanged grave nods. “Drusilla Jaco does not follow orders from anyone, period.”

  Damn straight and suddenly proud of it.

  “She follows the orders of those she respects, Mr. Zrakovi.” Rand paused long enough for me to snicker and Zrakovi’s face to turn the color of a pickled beet. “Dru and I have a very mutually respectful relationship.”

  Right. Hope he remembered that when he came to visit Eugenie later today.

  Rand sat back down but continued talking. “The point being, I assure you that Prince Florian’s eyewitness was mistaken. If elven magic was used, then I will find out who committed such an atrocity, and will report it to the princes and to the council. Justice will be swift.”

  Yeah, and we all knew what form Rand’s justice took. He wasn’t saddled by such an inconvenience as moral absolutes or, more likely, his absolutes had a different set of morals attached. He’d once offered to kill Zrakovi for me. I’d pretended he was kidding but, really, I knew better.

  “I accept this offer, and thank Mr. Randolph for his level head.” Christof gave Rand a solemn nod. One would never suspect those two had been in a recent battle of wills outside a Shreveport Catholic church.

  “So, let me make sure I understand this, Christof.” Florian began a dramatic pacing around the crowded room; one had to admire his dexterity as he twisted and swiveled around chairs, benches, and tables. “Mr. Randolph has no objections that his bond-mate and her friend Mr. Lafitte came to Faery two days ago and solicited your help in preventing you from seeing the mother of your unborn child as she attended her sister’s funeral?”

  Damn it, Dru, is that true? That was your doing? That faery goes nowhere near my child. Ever! I clapped one hand to one temple since using both hands to stop the jarring noise in my head from his mental shouts would have required me to drop Charlie.

  Rand’s voice grew deeper and as cold as Christof’s temper. “I assure you, my mate and I will be discussing this matter later today.”

  Florian’s mouth widened in a smirk. “Elder Zrakovi, since Mr. Randolph clearly knows the whereabouts of Ms. Jaco, can’t you have her arrested today? And perhaps Jean Lafitte, for harboring a fugitive?”

  Zrakovi cleared his throat and fidgeted. “As you know, the council has no jurisdiction in Old Orleans or its outposts such as Barataria. I assure you we are watching the borders carefully.”

  I held my breath. Zrakovi had to know I was in town last night; only my unique energy signature would have tipped off the werewolf guards to show up at Jacques-Imo’s. That I had escaped would be yet another embarrassment to him, and I waited to see if anyone brought it up. Lennox could use it to make Z look incompetent. Florian could do the same. Rand would figure out a way to use it to his advantage.

  Alex’s only nervous tell, when playing poker or living his life, was thrumming his fingers, and his right-hand digits beat a slow cadence on the leather arm of the chair. Otherwise, he sat still as a vampire.

  “Well, then, am I to understand that the official stance of the Interspecies Council regarding the monarchy of Faery is that it has no stance?” Florian spoke after what seemed like an hour-long pause but was probably less than five seconds. I began to breathe again, and Alex stopped thrumming. Assuming Zrakovi knew I had breached security last night, he wasn’t sharing that information and enforcers were trained not to talk.

  It’s also possible that the guards, backing up Alex, hadn’t told Z about it at all.

  If Audrey had told Lennox, he was keeping it to himself.

  Zrakovi began shuffling papers in his lap. “That is accurate, Prince Florian. I wish the best to both you and Prince Christof, and hope that you will be able to settle the matter peaceably. I assume that you both will remain on the council, and once the monarchy is decided, the fae are entitled to a third representative. You may let me know when that happens.”

  He was washing his hands of the fae, and Christof and Florian exchanged looks that promised violence and retribution.

  It was going to be ugly.

  CHAPTER 22

  The rest of the council meeting was quick, decisive, and mostly unsurprising. The biggest surprises to me were that
Toussaint Delachaise didn’t resign from the council and Alex didn’t open his mouth.

  The others debated whether or not to appoint new representatives for the no-longer-represented species and decided the answer, for now, was no. The vampire leaders were criminals, the at-large groups didn’t seem interested, and the leader of the historical undead was on shaky legal ground himself.

  Speaking of whom, they discussed whether or not Jean Lafitte should be arrested when he next came into the city because he was clearly harboring fugitives. The decision on that was yes, which made Jean chuckle. He’d proven over the centuries, both alive and undead, that he went where he wished, when he wished, and rarely got caught.

  Florian made one more attempt to convince Zrakovi to storm Barataria and arrest me, but the First Elder refused on the jurisdiction grounds again. Jurisdiction be damned; he’d come and get me if he thought it would work, but his physical magic wouldn’t knock down a pine cone here and that meant, with Charlie in hand, I had the superior firepower. Plus backup from a vampire, a couple of loups-garou, a merman, and a legion of undead pirates.

  Finally, Rand said he had delivered a proposal to Zrakovi involving the “future viability” of the Interspecies Council, and he hoped to meet as soon as possible after Christmas to discuss it either privately or before the full council, whichever Zrakovi preferred.

  What the hell was up with that?

  I guess I’d find out soon enough. There was an hour before Rand was due to arrive for his meeting with Eugenie, but I doubted he’d wait, so with Adrian’s and Jean’s help we got the scrying materials put away within minutes.

  “I will accompany you to the transport, Monsieur Hoffman.” Jean gestured for Adrian to head toward the water. “We will ensure that the elf does not arrive armed.”

  Jean had a short memory; Rand didn’t need to wield a weapon. “Don’t touch him, and don’t get close enough for him to touch you,” I reminded him. “If he starts that glowing thing, stay the hell away from him.”

  “We must discuss your language again, Jolie.” Jean spun on his pirate boot heels and swaggered toward the beach, testosterone on parade.