Suzanne Johnson - Elysian Fields

Alex had two vehicles but he hadn’t offered to let me drive the Mercedes, and I’d be damned if I was going to ask him. Rand would probably let me use the Plantasy Island van or his little boxy car, but I’d be damned if I’d ask him, either.

Instead, I called a cab to take me to a car rental place on Canal Street. I was perfecting self-pity and martyrdom to an art.

A half hour later, I puttered toward home in the cheapest car available, a domestic model built from an old soup can that I had to pay extra for because it was the weekend before Thanksgiving. When my cell rang, I saw Alex’s name on the screen and waited a couple of rings before answering so I could get my professional self in charge. He wanted time, and I was determined not to push him until he was ready to talk. Maybe he was ready.

“Hey, what’s up?” I was the soul of professionalism.

He paused before answering, and I wondered if he’d expected me to be either crying or angry. “Can you meet me for lunch? Liuzza’s? We need to talk about the Axeman case and decide what to do next.”

“Half hour?” I was already near Mid-City, so no point in putting it off. We needed to talk about the case before the Axeman came after me again. I promised myself we’d only get into relationship stuff if he brought it up.

When I pulled into the tiny, crowded parking lot at Liuzza’s, I was disappointed to see Ken’s sensible tan sedan in the lot instead of Alex’s car or SUV. This wasn’t going to be lunch for two, but I could be patient. Alexander Warin couldn’t hide behind Ken forever.

Liuzza’s had been up to its aging rafters in floodwater after Katrina, but had rebounded with fresh paint, glass tiles, and wood paneling that still managed to make it look retro and wellloved. As I squeezed through the crowds milling around the door, I spotted Ken and Alex at a table in the far corner of the front room.

A few fried green tomatoes with shrimp remoulade later, we’d had a perfectly professional conversation. Ken had found only three places renting sedans with dark-tinted windows, including one in Baton Rouge, so he was going to each of them this afternoon to chat with managers and employees and look at rental records.

We needed something more proactive, though. “The Axeman will have to lead us to the necromancer—it’s the only way we’ll ever catch him.” I pushed a shrimp around my plate. “And the only way we can get the Axeman to do that is draw him out, and either catch the person who drops him off or follow his trail back to his summoner. I’m looking for a spell or charm I can use to do that.”

Alex nodded. “Agreed. We just have to figure out how to draw him out since we don’t know where he’s going to be until he shows up.”

I pointed at him with my cocktail fork. “Wrong. We don’t have to know where he is. We just have to make sure he knows where I am. I’m the bait.”

“Oh, no you aren’t.” Alex set his spoon down with a clatter. “We’re not setting you up as a lure. We’ll find another way.”

Ken cleared his throat. “She’s right, Alex.” He nodded at me. “The only way of controlling this guy is to be a step ahead of him, not a step—or two—behind. I don’t like it either, but DJ’s the one he’s after, so she’s the only one who can draw him out. We just gotta set the trap and be smart about it.”

Alex tapped the table with his fingers. “You get in enough shit on your own without us creating more trouble for you to get into.”

This was business, not personal, and he should know better than to mix them. “I’m in more danger not knowing when he’s going to jump out from behind a bush and split my head open with a Home Depot special.” I struggled to keep the anger out of my voice. “I’m the sentinel, I’m the target, and it’s my call. You don’t get to decide.”

“We don’t know how long it will be before he can come back.” Alex’s face looked as stony as Abe Lincoln on Mount Rushmore. “And even if we knew he was coming back tomorrow, how do you plan to get word to his summoner—post your schedule on the front page of the Times-Picayune ?”

I probably wouldn’t have to. “I’ve thought about how the Axeman could have known I was at Six Flags yesterday. Either the necromancer followed me or he knew my schedule with Adrian. Chances are, as long as I let a few people know where I’ll be and then be there, he’s going to show up.”

Alex frowned, but he didn’t argue.

“Did you find out how soon he can come back?” Ken asked.

I paused while the waitress delivered three steaming bowls of gumbo. “If this were a normal case, it would take the Axeman a couple of weeks to build up enough strength to return—maybe more. But the necromancer is a wild card. The necromantic magic could compel the Axeman to return immediately. He doesn’t need the strength to cross the metaphysical borders since he’s not coming in under his own power.”

Ken picked a crab claw out of his gumbo and held it up with raised eyebrows. Alex grabbed it.

“Once we get a rough timetable and plan the trap, who will you share your whereabouts with?” Ken picked out a couple of shrimp with a fork and scraped them into Alex’s bowl. Why the man ordered seafood gumbo and then picked out the seafood was beyond me.

I thought about necromancers and the people who might know them. “Etienne Boulard and Jonas Adamson, of course. Adrian Hoffman. And I’ll get Rand to spread the word among the Synod.” That pretty much covered my least-trustworthy list, and Adrian was only there because he’d proven he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. He was the only one who could have told Lily about my abilities in hydromancy.

Ken leaned back in his chair. “You really think there’s a chance the elves are involved in this?” Then he shook his head. “Man, I cannot believe I just asked that question. The words that have been coming out of my mouth this week. Damn.”

I grinned at him. It had been so long since I smiled it felt unnatural. “You’ve had a steep learning curve.”

“Tell me about it.” He hunched over his gumbo, but paused with the spoon halfway between bowl and mouth. “Seriously, though. You think the elves could be behind the Axeman?”

A day ago I’d have said no, that they were more into mental than physical violence. The sight of what they’d done to Rand, one of their own, had changed my opinion. “They’re not necromancers.” My anger bubbled to the surface again, just thinking of Lily letting Rand drown and of Mace wielding his cane. “But the elves are beasts, and they know how to hire black-market magic. We’d be nuts to not consider them.”

“Does that include Quince Randolph?” Alex’s question was asked in a tone that caressed like velvet, but his expression hinted of razor blades and gunpowder.

We glared at each other until Ken cleared his throat and pushed back his chair. “I gotta . . . make a call, or answer the call of nature. Or see a man about a call.”

I waited until he got out of earshot, then leaned close to Alex. “Okay, look. You know damn well I didn’t”—I made quote marks with my fingers—“ marry Quince Randolph. I wanted out from under the loup-garou curse. I didn’t want to give up this job I’ve worked so hard for. I didn’t want to give up my magic, which would happen if I moved into the Beyond. I didn’t want to give you up. You were a big part of my decision.”

Alex slumped in his chair and rubbed his eyes. “I’m sorry. Damn it, I know you didn’t really have a choice. But Randolph’s like your buddy Jean Lafitte—another example of the chaos that surrounds you. It swirls around you like a dust cloud.”

Alex took a sip of his iced tea and avoided making eye contact. “As much as I want to be with you I don’t know if I can handle everything, and everybody, that comes with it. And I don’t like admitting there are things I can’t handle.”