Pirate's Alley (8 page)

With Melnick gone, our odds had improved. It was now Jean and myself against Hoffman and Etienne, and Hoffman had been sitting on the ground looking stunned since we landed. All I had to do was buy a little time. Zrakovi should be materializing in the transport at any second with reinforcements.

With much grunting and swearing and trash-talking in French, Etienne and Jean engaged in a bit of knife play a few feet to my left, doing a lot of thrusts and parries with wicked-looking blades. Jean seemed to be holding his own, so I pointed the staff at Hoffman. Did I dare make a sentinel’s arrest of the First Freaking Elder?

“Don’t move a muscle.” Did my voice sound squeaky? I lowered it an octave. “I’m officially detaining you, under my authority as sentinel of the New Orleans region.”

I’d never gotten to use those words before, although I’d practiced them in front of the mirror. Not in my wildest nightmares had I imagined I’d ever use them on the First Elder.

He crossed his arms over his chest and raised one dark eyebrow. “Who the hell do you think you are, you meddling little half-breed?”

I was not a half-breed. I was at least eighty percent wizard. Fortunately, my other twenty percent could wield an elven fire staff in the Beyond and have it work.

“I’m the person who’s taking you back to New Orleans. The Interspecies Council can decide what to do with you.”

I wished Zrakovi would get his robe-wearing ass here. My arm was getting tired, and I could swear my bullet wound had reopened. Either that or I’d learned to sweat from one shoulder.

“You troublemaking bitch. I’m supposed to be afraid of you?” Hoffman climbed to his feet and raised himself to his full height, which was considerably more than mine. I backed away, but my hand on the staff was steady. I had the better firepower here, or at least I hoped I did.

Without warning, Hoffman flung a finger toward me and, on instinct, I threw myself to the ground and rolled to the side, bracing myself for a magical hit. My heart rate returned to a steady gallop when only a few sparks flew from his fingertips.

Thank God. I knew physical magic didn’t work well in Old Orleans or Elfheim; apparently it didn’t work in Vampyre either. Hoffman must not have gotten the memo. He cursed and flung his hand at me again.

I got back to my feet, propped one fist on my hip, and grinned at his expression of outrage.

My enjoyment ended when a train, or at least it felt like a train, hit me from behind. My body flew in one direction, the staff in another. I landed with a jolt, my chin cushioned by a puddle of mud. I guess it rained in Vampyre.

What had hit me? Damn it; I had to find the staff. I crawled in the direction it had flown, and finally spotted it. Then I looked over my shoulder to see what had derailed me—or who. It sure wasn’t Hoffman; the First Elder had disappeared.

It had been Jean. A few feet behind me, finally bested by Etienne’s vampire strength, he lay on his back, panting. Etienne knelt over him with one hand on Jean’s throat, holding him in place. The other held a knife above Jean’s chest.

Jean struggled, but Etienne only pressed harder on his windpipe. “You might not die forever, Jean, but this will hurt like hell while you’re healing.”

Damn it, Jean was about to get himself killed again.

I clutched Charlie more tightly and rolled to my knees, pointing the staff at Etienne and willing it to fire. A heavy rope of red flame shot from its tip and ignited the grass to Etienne’s right.

He jerked his head up but didn’t release his hold on Jean’s throat. Jean’s breath had turned to a definite wheeze and he’d quit struggling. I had to save him this time. I shifted the aim of the staff to the left. That had been a warning shot. Even I couldn’t miss from here.

“Move. Away.”

“To hell with you. Everybody knows your aim is worse than that of a blind man.” Etienne gave me defiant flash of fangs and plunged the knife into Jean just as I released my pulse of elven magical energy.

From this range, I could hit anything. The flames of fire wrapped themselves around Etienne, burning into his clothing and reaching skin within a fraction of a second. His screams echoed around the arena … and he disappeared. How the hell could he disappear?

A flash to my right sent me into a crouch, ready to fire the staff again. Etienne had reappeared at least a hundred yards away, near one of the stone columns. His shirt hung in scorched tatters, and bloody red stripes stretched around his neck. Probably below the tatters on his chest as well. Good. I’d scorched the fanged son of a bitch.

I pointed the staff at him and fired, but again he disappeared, causing my shot to blow out a chunk of the stone column behind where he’d been standing. Creepy vampire. How did he do that?

I scanned the arena, waiting for him to materialize in another spot, but all was silent except for Jean’s labored wheezing and the drip of water from somewhere nearby. Etienne seemed to have joined Melnick and the First Elder, skulking away to regroup.

Turning my attention back to where Jean lay unconscious, I crawled to him and took in the blood quickly soaking his right side just above the waist. Damn it, where was Zrakovi?

I didn’t dare put down the staff with Etienne popping in and out like a half-burned, bloodsucking whack-a-mole. Sitting on the ground next to Jean, I kept Charlie at the ready with my right hand while reaching over to pull aside Jean’s shirtfront with my left. He was wheezing less, but the stab wound was deep, the outer edges jagged. Etienne had used a serrated blade and twisted it on the way out.

Jean’s blood coated my fingers when I pulled the ragged fabric away from the injury. The historical undead were immortal unless they were forgotten and no longer had the magic of human memory to sustain them in the modern world, but otherwise they appeared purely human. They breathed and bled like humans. They didn’t have superstrength. They didn’t have extraordinary speed or magical talents.

In other words, they weren’t that hard to kill. True, they didn’t stay dead, but they felt the pain of death. Until he healed, which he would do fairly quickly because he was probably fueled by more memory magic than any other famous New Orleanian, Jean would be in pain.

I didn’t want that. I
so
didn’t want that.

“Jean, damn it. I should’ve taken out that vampire from the start and forgotten about Hoffman.”

My useless sling still hung around my neck, so I pulled it off, folded it, and pressed it on the wound. Above me, a full moon hung low in the black sky, and the soft lights hanging at intervals around the arena cast heavy shadows in which a million vampires could be lurking. Could they feed from Jean? Would the blood scent lure them here? Obviously, I tasted like crap.

And what the hell did vampires watch at an arena anyway? Somehow, I doubted it was football or soccer. I shivered, and it had nothing to do with the temperature. In fact, Vampyre was toasty warm.

Where the
hell
was Zrakovi?

I’d waited long enough. I was getting the crawling creeps, and everyone who needed killing or arresting had fled the scene. My magic might not power up that transport, but Charlie’s would. I just had to drag a hefty unconscious pirate a couple dozen yards and never mind my bloody shoulder and bruised ribs. No problem.

I studied the pirate in question. He’d ditched his fancy waistcoat, his hair had come loose from its ponytail, and his light-colored pants were a mess of grass stains and dirt and blood. Then again, he had more money than God; unlike me, he could replace his wardrobe.

It would be easier to drag him by his boots, but somehow I doubted he’d appreciate his head bouncing along the ground. He had almost a foot of height and probably sixty or seventy pounds of weight on me, but I had determination on my side and a strong streak of stubborn.

Kneeling behind his head, I hooked my hands under his arms and heaved. His head lolled against my chest; pity he wasn’t conscious to enjoy it. I got to my feet after a couple of tries and pulled him a dozen steps toward the transport before needing to rest. My shoulder throbbed, and my breath wheezed like I had a vampire pressing on my esophagus.

Okay, time to do it again. I leaned over and screamed as something grabbed my wrists and flipped me a complete one-eighty.

I landed hard on my back and my failing breath was knocked out of me by an elephant landing on my chest.

“Drusilla? Forgive me,
Jolie
. I thought you were that blackguard Etienne.”

Drawing in a deep, gasping lungful of air, I flipped my lids open to find a familiar pair of dark blue eyes an inch or two above mine, narrowed in concern. An elephant hadn’t landed on top of me, but a pirate had. And he seemed disinclined to move.

“I’m not Etienne.” I was fast developing a reputation for my witty repartee under pressure.

“Non.”
His gaze dropped to my lips and I thought for a second he was going to kiss me. How would I respond if he did? Add that to the list of questions for which I had no answers.

“We’re still in Vampyre, but Etienne and the others are gone. Do you think you can walk to the transport?” I took a deep breath as he rolled off me with a groan and sat up.

“
Oui
. The wound is painful but not deadly. Your fire stopped Etienne before he could finish his dark work.” Jean got to his feet more easily than I did; in fact, he had to help me. “You are covered in blood,
Jolie,
and I do not believe it is all mine.”

Neither did I. My whole freaking shoulder burned as if it had another bullet in it.

We limped toward the transport. Neither of us would be in any road races soon, although I fully planned to get the ingredients for a healing potion for myself and maybe one for Jean as well. My supplies had been so low, and my access to a magic-friendly workspace so limited, I’d been trying to heal the hard way—like a human. Forget that; the prete world was too unstable for me to be out of commission. I needed my staff-shooting arm fully functional.

Jean glanced around the arena. “Where went Etienne? And the Vice-Regent and your First Elder?”

I shook my head and stepped in the transport. “No clue. And I don’t think Hoffman’s going to be First Elder after tonight.”

Jean stepped into the interlocking circle and triangle and reached out to pull a leaf from my hair. “Why did Monsieur Zrakovi and your elf and your dog not follow to assist you?”

Well, wasn’t that a million-dollar question? “I don’t know, but I sure intend to find out.”

I didn’t have to wait long. In fact, we had only to transport back to the Orleans Parish Criminal District Court Building and walk into the council meeting room to see the problem.

The place was on fire.

CHAPTER
7

Jean and I paused in the doorway that led back into the meeting room, momentarily speechless.

“
Merde,
” Jean finally said.

“Exactly,” I added.

Flames engulfed the long table where the council members had been sitting. On either end, Zrakovi and Elder Sato had taken off their robes and were using them to beat at the flames, to little avail.

“Where have you been?” Alex yelled as he rushed past me and grabbed the arm of Toussaint Delachaise. “I’m having to take people out in the transport a couple at a time. Can you make the transport bigger?”

“Not without shutting that one down and creating another one,” I shouted to his retreating back. Mr. Delachaise’s Einstein hair was in more disarray than ever.

I turned to get a better overview of the scene. Jake and several of the werewolf security people were trying to stop the fire from spreading to the carpet by stomping on sparks. Apparently the Blue Congress wizards in charge of decoration hadn’t used flame-retardant fibers.

Floating several feet above the chaos was Sabine the Faery Queen, who laughed while the dark-haired faery yelled at his blond counterpart, who apparently had lost control of his fireball. Now he stood with a stubborn expression on his face and his arms crossed over his chest, glaring at his colleague. Some enterprising wizard had at least equipped the room with emergency lighting, although the flames cast eerie shadows on the walls. The fire was spreading slowly and so far had been confined to the table, so either the table was fire-resistant or the flame was some kind of magical faery business. My bet was on the latter.

I moved closer to the faeries. I wasn’t sure where Jean had gone, but we probably didn’t have long before the building’s smoke sensors would alert the NOFD, if they hadn’t already.

The faeries were fighting among themselves.

“Put the damnable fire out!” Dark-haired faery’s chiseled features flushed an unbecoming pink. He shouted with a slight accent I couldn’t place. “Make it rain, you overgrown clump of crabgrass!”

“Make it rain yourself.” Blond faery waved his arm in the direction of the fire, and a sudden wind gusted through the room, blowing the sparks beyond the werewolf stompers and igniting the carpet beside the council table. “Sabine is enjoying the show, and she needs to see proof of my powers.”

Oh good grief. Dueling faeries, plus a roomful of prete politicians who couldn’t figure out how to put out a fire. Could this night get any more ridiculous?

I hobbled to my messenger bag, still on the floor beside my chair, and pulled out a container of unrefined sea salt. Ignoring the flapping and shouting around me, I laid down a containment circle to rim the burning table and the section of carpet that was on fire, shooed Elder Sato outside the circle, and touched Charlie to the salt. I watched with satisfaction as my magical barricade sprang into place.

Just in time, too. The carpet fire quickly reached the containment circle and climbed an inch or two up the side of my invisible cylinder, but went no farther. Too bad I didn’t have the proper gear to form a bubble. I could have cut off oxygen and killed the fire.

I also didn’t have the ingredients for a replenishing charm, or I could have multiplied the water left in the bottle on the witness table.

With the fire momentarily contained, I looked for Zrakovi. The flames wouldn’t spread outward, but they would continue to burn until the floor beneath the circle caved in or something shorted out.