River Road (26 page)

Alex’s investigation into Doug Hebert’s and Jeff Klein’s deaths had stalled. We were still waiting on the toxicology report on Melinda Hebert, and Jake said the NOPD was bristling at FBI interference.

I pulled the slinky black dress from the pile for consideration. It was basic mankiller stuff: short, off the shoulder, curve-hugging. I set it aside. Not the message I wanted to give a man who thought “no” was a word used to begin negotiations.

What message
did
I want to give the pirate, exactly? I sighed and nudged a pile of clothes far enough to sit on the edge of the bed.

I had a little pixie angel DJ on one shoulder telling me how bad Jean was.
He’s violent and unpredictable. He hit you once—hard. Oh, sure he saved your life later but it was in his own best interests. Plus, you have absolutely no common sense where he’s concerned, and we won’t even mention the dead thing.

I hated pixie angel DJ.

On the other shoulder sat pixie devil DJ:
He’s a preternatural being just like a werewolf and a shapeshifter, so you’re splitting fine hairs by saying he isn’t human. What’s more, the pirate is practically immortal, which means he can’t get killed on you, and he’s sexy as hell. Plus, he accepts himself for who and what he is.

Who was I to argue with the devil? I snatched up the little black dress and slid it on with a smooth rustle of silk, enjoying the irony of wearing a mankiller dress on a date with a man who, for all intents and purposes, had already been killed. Sapphire and silver jewelry set it off, and I left my hair long and loose. I picked up my sensible black pumps and threw them in the back of my closet, instead pulling out a pair of strappy (not to mention crazy-expensive) Manolo Blahniks Eugenie egged me into buying on clearance two years ago. I’d never worn them. New Orleans isn’t a Manolo Blahnik kind of town, at least not in my social circles, where an unscuffed pair of Nikes was practically formalwear.

I picked up the elven staff that had bailed me out of trouble with Jean Lafitte in the past. The thigh holster Alex helped me rig for it would look ridiculous with my dress. Note to self: get Alex to pick out a nice all-purpose handgun that would fit in an evening bag. If I was going to date outside my species, I needed to be armed. The fact I even considered the need for a gun on a date should have rung a few alarm bells, but tonight I’d be going weapon-less.

On the drive to the French Quarter, I rethought the whole outfit. What if Jean wore his customary black pants and linen shirt? I’d be grossly overdressed. What if he thought my dress was too short? The guy probably liked powdered wigs and petticoats.

Still, I was excited by the promise of an interesting evening. Whatever else Jean Lafitte might be, he was not dull, nor was he likely to dredge up emotional crap that would leave me in tears.

I tapped on the door of the Monteleone’s Eudora Welty Suite, and when Jean answered I got an eyeful of early nineteenth-century gentleman that made me forget about being overdressed. He’d tucked fawn-colored trousers into matching soft leather boots, and a fawn vest topped a formal white shirt. A blue scarf around his neck added a dash of color, and I saw a blue waistcoat draped over a chair.

We stared at each other. I recovered first, and laughed. “May I come in?”

He stepped back and smiled. “You look magnificent,
Jolie
. More beautiful than even I realized.”

God help me, I blushed. Again. “You look kinda hot yourself.”

He frowned and looked down at his clothing. “But I am quite comfortable. Why would you believe I was hot?”

I bit my lip. “Sorry, it’s just a modern term to mean that you look very handsome.”

“Ah,
trés bien.
” He smiled, handed me a brandy, and pointed me toward one of the suite’s facing sofas. I sat close to the arm of the nearest one and was pleased to see he sat a respectful distance away. Good pirate. There would be no making out on this sofa.

“Drusilla, I have chosen a special place for us to dine tonight. I reserved a table, but you must decide if you are willing to go.”

I took a sip of brandy, which sent a sweet burn all the way to my toes, and tried to keep a pleasant expression on my face despite being able to tell he was uncertain. I’d done my emotional grounding ritual before leaving the house, but the dress was too clingy for my mojo bag to be hidden anywhere. I’d left it at home, accepting that I’d be pulling in some unwanted emotion tonight.

Jean didn’t think I was going to like whatever he was about to tell me. “What did you have in mind?”

“I would like to take you to Antoine’s.”

I blinked at him. Antoine’s was culinary royalty in New Orleans. I had only eaten there once. My salary was more in the cheap corner dive range, and Antoine’s was even more expensive than Commander’s.

“Well, of course. I’d love to go to Antoine’s.” I hoped he didn’t try to pay for dinner with gold doubloons. If he did, I could always slip the waiter some plastic and pray my credit limit held.

“Do not answer in haste,
Jolie
. I do not refer to the modern restaurant, but the original. Antoine Alciatore himself will be preparing our meal.” Jean looked pleased with himself. “Of course, you must accompany me into the Beyond for the evening.”

I set my brandy snifter calmly on the coffee table but gave away my alarm by crossing my arms tightly. I wasn’t sure if it was to keep from wringing my hands or throttling him. “I don’t think that’s such a good … No freaking way. Not just no, but
hell
no.” The only time I’d gone over the border into the Beyond, I’d barely made it back alive.

Jean
tsk-tsk
ed me. “Such language you modern women use.”

Yeah, like pirate wenches didn’t curse. I’ve read those novels.

“I know your only other venture into the Beyond did not go very well,” he said in the world’s biggest understatement. “But we are not going to Old Orleans, where things are so treacherous, but back in time itself.”

I tried to be calm and practical. “Jean, my magic doesn’t work in the Beyond, or at least not very well.” The elven staff worked just fine but it was lying on my bed at home.

“You are not going to fight tonight, Drusilla. We are going to have a fine meal prepared by Antoine himself, and then we will come back here and take a walk beside the river. You have seen only the bad side of the Beyond. All is not evil there as long as one knows where to go.”

I felt my resolve weaken. I hadn’t known you could do things like have dinner at the original Antoine’s in a past version of New Orleans, but I suppose the legendary restauranteur, much like Jean himself, was immortalized by memory.

And why not go? If nymphs and mers could live in the modern era, why shouldn’t a wizard be able to cross the other way for dinner?

Jean watched my thought processes with a bemused expression. “I can tell you are beginning to think this is a good idea,
oui
?”

I looked down at my mankiller dress and Manolo Blahniks and shook my head. “I left my bustle and corset at home. I think if I walked into a nineteenth-century restaurant like this I’d be arrested for indecent exposure.”

“Exposed, but not so indecent,
non,
” Jean said in a soft voice, giving me a look that made me blush again.

What had I been thinking, wearing my mankiller dress? I needed a therapist, and wondered if the Elders had a wizard Dr. Phil who could cure me of my pirate obsession and impulsive decision-making.

Jean interrupted my moment of horrified clarity. “There are others from elsewhere in the Beyond who go there to dine. You will not feel out of place.”

I knew there were a baker’s-dozen good reasons not to go, but I found myself smiling back at the blue-eyed blackguard, and he knew he’d won. He might as well have rolled a ride in a stolen cherry-red Corvette into the deal just to make my stupidity complete.

We strolled from the hotel to Jackson Square, then crossed over to the small gardens behind St. Louis Cathedral. With his custom-fitted suit and confident stride, Jean attracted double-takes from quite a few of the tourists strolling through the Quarter. The locals are far too jaded to find anything worthy of a second look.

St. Anthony’s Garden, behind the cathedral, was one of several permanent transports the Elders had established between modern New Orleans and the Beyond. Last time I’d been here, the transport had still been temporary. I’d been half-battered and on the arm of Jean’s pirate half-brother Dominique You. He was remembered enough by pirate fans and scholars to have a life in the Beyond, but not enough to sustain him in the modern world for very long at a time.

“Uh, we won’t be running into Dom tonight by any chance, will we?” The pirate disliked me because he thought I was a bad influence on Jean. Imagine.

Jean shook his head. “I do not believe so. He spends most of his time in Old Barataria.”

No tourists were in sight, so we stepped into the interlocking circle and triangle that had been formed to look like a rock garden and permanently inlaid with magic for transport into the Beyond. Tiny green crystals glittered throughout the rocks, dancing under the streetlights like twinkling stars underfoot. The magic-infused crystals would temporarily seal the transport closed if a human accidentally wandered onto the rocks. Couldn’t have the mayor of New Orleans falling into Old Storyville. He had enough problems with his constantly squabbling city and his scandal-riddled administration.

As soon as we settled into the transport, Jean mumbled something in French and the air around us shimmered. I closed my eyes to fight the feeling of being compressed into an impossibly small space. Finally, the pressure lessened, and I opened my eyes to the Beyond.

CHAPTER
26

Jean radiated excitement. I could tell he was pleased to bring me here, and not only because his eyes glittered and he smiled a lot. Unlike my magic, my elven empathic abilities worked fine in the Beyond. I’d be hauling in emotions from everyone.

I looked around with curiosity. When I’d gone into Old Orleans, it was always nighttime, and the city was a mishmash of different eras. This was quiet, a level much deeper into the Beyond, and sat in deep twilight. We picked our way carefully around St. Louis Cathedral toward Jackson Square.

“So, we are in 1850 New Orleans?” I looked up at the back of the cathedral, which didn’t look very different in the dim light.

“Oui.”

I frowned. The Elders always lectured wizards about the dangers of going into the Beyond. There was no way to control where one landed, they told us. You might want to go to 1850 New Orleans, but could just as easily end up as an unwilling blood donor in the Realm of Vampyre.

So unless the Elders had suddenly discovered new ways to transport, which I doubted, they’d been lying to keep wayward wizards under control. It bore more thought later on. For now, I planned to enjoy my adventure.

We rounded the corner of the cathedral and made our way through the dim murk of Pirate’s Alley and into the broad expanse of Jackson Square. Except it hadn’t yet been renamed for Andrew Jackson.

“It’s the Place D’Armes!” I realized for the first time the amazing thing I was doing. People in nineteenth-century clothing strolled through the softly lit, wide expanse, absent its modern landscaping and statues. Meetings and public hangings took place here, militias drilled, and people walked to see and be seen. The Louisiana Purchase had been signed here only a few decades earlier.

With no cars or electric lights, the stars lay heavy overhead and looked close enough to touch. A damp breeze blew unobstructed from the river.

By 1850, Jean had been gone from New Orleans about thirty years. “How is this time period different from your day?”

He smiled. “It does not smell so bad as in my day, for one thing. The streets are covered with paving stones and not mud. There are more people, more types of people. Still many Frenchmen, but also others.”

I took his arm to keep from tripping on uneven flagstones in four-inch heels and tried to ignore the scandalized looks from the bustled-up women we passed. Their male companions smiled a lot, teeth gleaming between muttonchop sideburns and heavy moustaches.

It came as no surprise that Jean had grossly exaggerated the number of modern people strolling around 1850 New Orleans. So far, the grand total was one blond wizardess in a mankiller dress and five-hundred-dollar shoes, hanging on to the arm of a famous pirate.

We turned up Royal Street, headed toward St. Louis. Gaslights flickered atop ornate iron posts, and horse-drawn wagons and carriages clattered through what in modern times would become a pedestrian area. Several men and couples we met along the way greeted Jean by name, confirming yet again my suspicion that he did a lot of traveling around the Beyond in addition to his forays to the modern world.

“How difficult is it to travel here?” I asked.

“One would simply hire a carriage,
Jolie
.”

“No, I mean, to other parts of the Beyond. If I wanted to travel from here to Vampyre, for example, how would I do it?”

He raised an eyebrow. “You do not wish to go to Vampyre, Drusilla. They would eat you.”

I laughed. “I don’t want to
go
there. I just wondered how hard it is to travel between different parts of the Beyond. I mean, you seem to have traveled to a great many places.”

He grimaced. “I have been here many long years to do so. But, to answer your question, there are track lines through the Beyond that lead from one place to another. One finds the correct path and follows it. Occasionally, the lines move and one has to be wary until the new track has settled.”

He looked down at me and frowned. “I have mapped out these lines because I have an interest in navigation,
Jolie,
but do not ever try to travel within the Beyond yourself. It is
trés perfide,
treacherous and difficult. Traveling in your transport is safer, as long as you are precise in stating where you wish to go.”

We reached the corner of St. Louis and Royal and I looked in confusion for Antoine’s.