Suzanne Johnson - Elysian Fields

“Le Capitaine?” Short and Swarthy treated me to an ebonytoothed grin, and did a slow visual crawl across my overexposed, bloody, dirt-encrusted body. He probably thought Jean had developed really bad taste in women, but shrugged and motioned with the rifle for us to go ahead of him. Rand wisely kept his big elven trap shut and stumbled alongside me, holding his stomach.

After what seemed like a half mile of walking in sand and mud, we approached a village of thatched huts and shanties, around which milled crowds of people. It was mostly men of all shapes, sizes, and colors, with a few women scattered in. No kids. The village seemed to go on forever, which confirmed my suspicion that Jean had quite an undead entourage in his little paradise à la Beyond. The historical undead seemed to exist in the Beyond at the height of their success or power in their human lives, which meant Jean would be in his early thirties, at the peak of his pirate command. None of them, other than possibly his brothers, would be famous enough to have much of a life outside the Beyond, but all the pirates lived here, fueled by his memories as he was, in turn, fueled by those of humans.

The silence of shock spread across the crowd, and all activity— mostly gator-skinning, dancing, fistfighting, and drinking— ground to a halt as our pirate escort herded Rand and me into a clearing. A carpet of reeds and grass covered the muddy ground, with trench-encircled bare patches serving as fire pits. I couldn’t help but think of all the old movies I’d seen, where the hapless woman is captured and surrounded by tribal warriors—just before discovering the warriors were also cannibals.

Mr. Shorty spewed a stream of French that was way beyond my limited comprehension, then beat a retreat. Everyone else stepped back as well, drawing my attention to a man they’d left alone in front, facing us.

Crap. My heart bottomed out at the sight of our official welcoming committee of one. Dominique You was olive-skinned, hook-nosed, and allegedly Jean’s half-brother, although I could see no physical resemblance beyond a certain arrogance in his walk and a sharp intelligence behind his eyes. I’d hit him with my best confusion charm once upon a time, and he seemed to hold it against me.

After the War of 1812, when Jean had spurned his presidential pardon and gone back to pirating, Dom had gone straight and done well for himself. But he didn’t share Jean’s fondness for a certain blond wizard. Maybe I was such a bloody, ragged mess he wouldn’t recognize me. I’d tell him my name was Adrian Hoffman.

“Far from home, are you not, Made moiselle Jackal?”

So much for not being recognized. For some reason, Dom thought I was untrustworthy and a bad influence on Jean Lafitte, which was ridiculous. The man was an immortal undead pirate, for God’s sake.

“We need to see Jean right away.” I might look like something a bad gale blew in, but I wanted Dom to know I wasn’t the naïve girl he’d first met in the weeks after Hurricane Katrina. He still scared the crap out of me, but I had the sense not to let him know it.

“And you have brought with you . . .” He studied Rand, annoyance puckering his face as if he’d bitten into a lemon. “ Qu’est-il? What is he?”

Rand straightened and put more force in his voice than I’d have thought him physically capable of, with his injuries. “I am Elf.”

I sighed. Rand sounded imperious, defiant, condescending, and antagonistic. Like an elf, in other words.

Dom snorted and turned back to me. “ Elf is not welcome here, and neither are you, made moiselle. I will give you a quarterhour’s head start out of respect for Jean, and after that”—he shrugged—“I care not what happens to you.”

He turned to the crowd of men behind him, who were six shades of scary. “Prepare for a hunt, mes amies . The girl? She is the prize to whomever first finds her.” Then he repeated it in French so they’d understand it. The English version had been for my benefit.

Nice. I could run or I could call his bluff, and my feet hurt too badly to run. He wouldn’t risk Jean’s anger by moving against us. I walked forward till we were inches apart and stuck the tip of the broken elven staff in his chest. “You might not care what happens to me, but Jean will. Do you trust all of those fine gentlemen behind you to keep secret what they do to me? Because if you don’t trust them, you better forget your petty, vindictive game and take us to Jean.” I poked him harder. “Now.”

A dark flush washed across his features, and a low mumble wove through the onlookers. Did I know how to make friends and influence enemies, or what?

Several things happened at once, and it took a few seconds for me to sort them out. Dom wrapped a hand around my upper arm and jerked me roughly toward him. Rand stepped forward and began chanting elven gibberish. And a dark red wolf the size of a miniature horse prowled from the nowdarkened beach into the firelight.

Everyone on two legs froze. The wolf continued forward until he stood alongside Dom, who loosened his grip on my arm. He stared at the beast a few heartbeats before throwing his hands in the air and pushing through the crowd. “You’re the wolf ’s problem, then, and Jean’s. Tout est foutu .”

Yeah, I knew that much French. The F-bomb was still popu lar in my world. I turned my attention to the wolf, who watched me with golden eyes both alien and sentient. Only once had I seen Jake in wolf form, but since this big, red loup-garou hadn’t yet laid a fang on either me or Rand, I had to assume it was him.

“Jake?” I caught the wolf ’s gaze a moment, then looked down. I didn’t know how much was Jake and how much was wolf, so I wanted to make no movements he’d see as threatening.

He moved closer to me, flames from the nearest fire reflecting in his eyes and giving them a red glow. I swallowed hard but kept my breathing even when he bumped my arm with his snout. I held out my hand, opening my palm to him.

“Dru, are you insane?” Rand reached across me and grabbed my outstretched hand. “That’s a loup-garou, not a pet.”

The wolf snarled and snapped, and Rand’s skin began glowing as he muttered what sounded like curses in his consonantheavy language.

Jake—wolf Jake—whined and backed away, shaking his head. Whatever Rand was doing to him, it hurt. I still hadn’t quite figured out what the glowing and chanting did.

“Stop that.” I stepped between Rand and wolf Jake. The elf still had his inner glow, but at least he shut up.

When had he picked up that glowing thing, anyway? It was awfully incon venient that elven magic worked in the Beyond when wizard’s magic didn’t, because if ever an elf needed a good zap of calm-your-ass-down magic, it was Quince Randolph.

The wolf stretched out his neck and sniffed along my arm where I’d bled from God only knows what injury, then sat and cocked his head at me a moment before focusing on Rand. The black-tipped hair around his nose and snout bristled as his upper lip slowly curled upward, revealing the biggest, sharpest set of teeth I’d seen since I’d watched Rene skin an alligator.

“I don’t think he likes you.” I glanced at Rand, who was staring back at the wolf. He didn’t get the memo about avoiding the dominance stare-down thing.

“It’s mutual.”

I’d rather talk to the wolf. “Jake, we need to see Jean Lafitte. Do you know where he is? It’s urgent. You can fight with the elf later.” Now we’d find out how much Jake’s wolf understood, and how helpful he was feeling.

He stared past me at Rand a few moments longer, then turned and loped up the beach in the opposite direction from our transport.

“Come on.” I stumbled after the wolf and heard the crunch of shifting sand as my mate followed.