Suzanne Johnson - Elysian Fields

In the gray predawn light, I couldn’t see what I looked like, but Rand looked like death personified. His skin had blanched almost as pale blue as the few parts of his sweater that hadn’t been stained red, which was pretty much only the shoulders.

I took a deep breath, gently pushed his sweater up to bare his stomach, and didn’t see the bruises and cuts I expected. There wasn’t enough solid expanse of skin to display them. “What the hell did he do to you?” If I’d had anything in my stomach to lose, it would’ve been gone.

Rand lifted his head enough to take a look, then dropped it back to the beach, even paler, if that was possible. “He had me on the floor, hacking with the ax. If you hadn’t come after him with the staff again, he would’ve pulled my guts out. Like my mother.”

I felt a stab of pity for him beneath my veneer of annoyance. I knew what it was like to lose a parent, suddenly and violently and right in front of you. Tish wasn’t my mother, but she was the closest I’d had, and the sight of her lifeless body lying on my porch still haunted me, drifting into my thoughts late at night when things were quiet. And Gerry. I’d watched him die as well. “I’m so sorry about what happened to Vervain.”

He closed his eyes, but not so quickly that I didn’t see the hurt in them. “She was already dying. She’d be glad she went like that, fighting to save us and not just fading into the afterlife.”

I didn’t like Vervain. She hadn’t done a thing to stop my mental abuse at the hands of the Synod—had participated, in fact. And what role she’d played in Rand’s little bond-withthe-wizard project, I didn’t know, although I was grateful for the end to the loup-garou saga.

No one deserved that kind of death, and I had to admit she’d come through at the end, for Rand if not for me. She’d stood in front of us and taken the first hit of the Axeman.

“Does this mean you’re Synod now?” I wanted to ask how old Vervain was, and what kind of afterlife elves believed in and how it related to the liberal interpretation of the JudeoChristian faith I’d been brought up in, but that was the kind of leisurely conversation best saved for a time when we weren’t so desperate and his grief so fresh. Not that I could pull emotion from him. Where Rand and emotions were concerned, I had to guess just like a normal person. It was really irritating.

“The Synod position falls to me now.” Rand shifted a little, pulled a seashell from beneath his head, and tossed it aside. He might look worse than last night, but he wasn’t wheezing anymore. “Doesn’t mean Mace won’t come after me—after us— until he formally acknowledges me as the head of my clan and you as my mate. Then he won’t dare.”

Now that we were talking, we’d aroused the curiosity of the pelican, who did a 180 on his log and watched us with bright eyes as if to say, “Daylight’s wasting, people.”

I’d address the use of the word mate later. Rand needed to be very clear on what our relationship was—and wasn’t. But not now. “Do you think you can stand, or do you want to stay here while I look for help? We need to move while we can see.”

“Any idea which way to go?”

I climbed to the top of a slight rise in front of us, toward the pulsing sound of the sea. Pushing the tall marsh grass aside, I tested each step to make sure I didn’t hit anything I’d sink into up to my knees, or worse. During my adventures with the merpeople last month, I’d rolled around in enough wetlands mud to last a lifetime.

The Gulf of Mexico stretched before me, blue-black and churning. Just below the rise was a narrow strip of sand, and riding the waves to my east were two tall ships, their masts supporting sails dyed a deep blue, elaborate rigging outlined against the gray sky, cannon visible from their decks. The ships lay too far offshore for me to identify their flags, but I’d bet they bore the colors of Cartagena, from whence Jean claimed his marque. Basically, it gave him license to plunder Spanish ships and claim it as an act of war rather than the piracy it was, but I wouldn’t be sharing that opinion.

“I say we walk east along the beach.” I turned back to find Rand wavering on his feet. I was impressed to see him upright, although he still clutched his belly.

“Need help?”

“Just don’t go fast.” He hobbled behind me down the slope to the sand, which was hard-packed and made for easier walking. “Do you know where we’re going?”

I pointed west. “I figure the ships are this way, so their master probably is as well.”

“Why do you think he’ll help us? Jean Lafitte is a common thief.”

I realized the arrogant question had come from several feet behind me, so I stopped and waited for Rand to catch up. “Let me make this clear. Jean won’t help us . Jean will help me . You’re just part of the package, and if you’re smart you won’t mention anything about bonding. In fact, if you’re really smart you’ll keep your mouth shut altogether.”

Jean had no claims on me, but I instinctively knew that however pissed Alex was about this whole ridiculous nonmarriage, Jean would be equally so, and more apt to do something about it. Something that might involve a long-barreled, muzzle-loaded pistolette .

Jean had proprietary feelings toward me—not that I was his great love or anything. I think he considered me a desirable potential conquest with good political connections. Not so different from Rand, when I thought about it. The difference being, I liked Jean. Rand, not so much.

His face took on an obstinate, haughty, mulish look I was beginning to know too well and dislike intensely. “Lafitte needs to know you’re mine now. When he comes back to the city, it’s not appropriate for him to spend time with you.”

I’d started walking again, but turned on Rand so quickly he stumbled and had to do a painful sand-dance to regain his balance. “I am not yours . I belong to nobody but myself. Got that? This farce of a bonding does not give you the right to say who I spend time with. In fact, it gives you no rights at all.” If Alex, whose good opinion I cared about, couldn’t dictate my friends or behavior, the elf sure as hell couldn’t.

He managed to look pale and pretty and stubborn all at the same time, in a beat-up, bloody sort of way. “You saved me last night. If you’d really wanted out of our bond, you could’ve let the Axeman kill me.”

Stupid, stupid elf. He’d known the night I refused to use the broken staff on him that I didn’t have it in me to intentionally hurt anyone except in self-defense, much less let anyone die when I could stop it. “I would have done as much for anyone. It just happened to be you.”

We trudged along in silence, the darkening sky causing me to speed up as much as Rand could keep pace. Ahead in the distance, fires burned and the sound of music occasionally seeped through the thunder of waves that send tendrils of foam closer to our feet.

“Qui êtes-vous?” A man emerged from the inland shadows, a rifle and bayonet trained on us. He was short, swarthy, and had bad teeth. I knew this because he was grinning. Had pirate written all over him.

What does a half-dressed wizard, accompanied by an injured elf, say to an undead pirate on a fast-darkening beach in coastal Louisiana, circa 1814?

After staring at him a moment, I decided humor was best avoided. “Do you speak English? Parlez-vous l’anglais? ”

“Bah.” The man spat in the direction of our feet. “Pas l’anglais.”

I tried to conjure up some of the pidgin French I’d learned from Jean. “Où est Jean Lafitte? Il est mon ami.” Well, he was sort of a friend. Mostly.