Suzanne Johnson - Elysian Fields

For a moment, I didn’t think Jake was going to respond. I didn’t blame him. Rand might be able to help him get rid of the loup-garou curse, and Jean was being awfully pushy. I’d spent most of my time with the charming, flirtatious (if occasionally smarmy) Jean Lafitte, or his sneaky, devious alter ego. This was the cold, calculating, and extremely smart man who’d manipulated nations and commanded respect.

“Jake, you don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.” I started to move toward him.

“Stay where you are, Drusilla. Jacob, do as I say. Tout de suite .” Jean’s voice was hard, authoritative.

Jake gave a small nod and nudged Rand toward the outer doors with a grip on his upper arm. “You heard Le Capitaine, elf boy. Move it.”

Rand jerked away from him. “Dru, give me the staff. I can work on it tonight.”

I looked down at the cracked stick of wood I’d been clinging to like a lifeline for what seemed like a week. “I thought you needed supplies from Elf heim in order to fix it.”

“Vervain’s powers transferred to me when she died,” he said shortly. “I can do it now.”

Ah, yeah, Vervain’s powers. That would be the glowing, chanting thing. I might as well let him have it. Its power had been so diminished I could do almost as much with my own native magic. I laid the staff in his open palm. If there was any chance he could fix it, might as well let him try, even though I didn’t trust him as far as I could drop- kick him.

Once they’d left, I rounded on Jean. “You don’t know what Jake’s been through.” I summoned up energy I didn’t think I still had and put it behind my words. “I appreciate your taking him in but don’t treat him like one of your lackeys. Why is he bruised?”

“I will treat him as he needs to be treated.” Jean unstrapped the crossed leather belts slung across his hips and laid his bulky pistol on the table. “Jacob drinks too much and is dangerous to himself and to others, as you well know if you will only admit to it.”

“Bossing him around like that isn’t going to help.”

“I beg to differ, Jolie . Of this, I know more than you—as hard as such a thing might be for you to admit.” He treated me to a little smirk that drew my eyes to the strong jaw with the scar running across it, and neutralized my comeback. I needed to remember that my rational mind seemed to book a holiday whenever I was around this man . . . dead guy . . . pirate . . . and keep my wits on alert. I thought he was hot, and he wasn’t above taking advantage of it.

I sighed. “What do you mean? You know more about what?”

“About soldiers and fighting men, Drusilla.” He pulled out the elastic band he’d used to tie his dark hair into a short tail—a band he’d stolen from me—and ran his hands through his dark, wavy hair. My body ached and my heart was with Alex, but I wasn’t blind.

“Jacob is a fine man, but he is confused by the things which have happened to him,” Jean continued. “He also is a soldier, and soldiers who do not know their way need someone to lead them. Sometimes, following orders can help them rediscover their path.”

“What about the bruises? He’s been hurt.”

Jean leaned against a side table and looked at me, arms crossed over his chest. “Jacob has anger which needs to be used in a way that endangers no one. He fights, the men place wagers, and he is no longer so angry.”

“But—”

“He is loup-garou, Jolie, and enjoys the fight. I promised you I would not allow him to be truly harmed, but you must let me deal with him in my way.”

I ran my hands through my own hair, fighting the overwhelming exhaustion that had been building since we arrived. I had to admit Jean’s logic made sense. Jake had been a Marine. He was hard-wired to follow orders and respect authority, and he’d mostly been floating alone since the loup-garou attack. And he did have a lot of anger to work off.

“You’re right.” Man, I hated to admit that. Jake would take orders from Jean before he would do anything Alex suggested. The Warin cousins loved each other, and hated each other, and had way too much baggage. “What I don’t understand is, what’s in this for you?”

“Allies are always of value.” He walked to me and put his hands on my shoulders, then leaned down and kissed me on each cheek. “Welcome to my home, Drusilla. We will talk more. For now, I have someone who will help tend to your toilette, or certainly I would be pleased to be of service myself.”

Ah, there was the Jean I knew, and I had to smile—until I felt the dried blood on my face crack and a dark reddish-brown flake fell on the shredded remains of my red dress. I felt a blush spread across my face at the picture I must make.

I’d kill for a shower, but somehow I didn’t think plumbing had been invented in this version of Barataria. “You aren’t even going to ask about the elf?”

Jean’s jaw tightened. “As I said, we will talk afterward.”

Oh, goody.

A soft knock sounded from the open doorway, and I turned to see a young woman standing shyly outside.

“ Bonjour, Josefin.” He motioned her closer, and she stepped in with a quick, wide-eyed glance at me before looking down. I tried to imagine what I must look like to a pretty, young mulatto girl of the early 1800s, standing here in my bare feet, half of a short red dress, a coating of dried blood, and hair that probably looked like a rat’s family palace. I’d be afraid to look at me too.

Jean rattled off some instructions in French, then turned back to me. “Josefin will bring you water and clothing. I will have food brought for you once you are ready.”

“Thank you.” I began to relax, and breathed normally for the first time in hours, which was sad considering I was hiding out in a pirate lair in some time-warped version of reality. “Before I go, can you get word to Alex that I am here and safe? Please?”

That grin again—more of a smirk, actually. “ Certainement . I will inform le petit chien that you are a guest in my home, and that it was I to whom you came for assistance.”

Oh good Lord. Well, it was the best I was going to get, and at least Alex, “the little dog,” wouldn’t be planning my funeral. He’d just see it as one more ridiculous situation I’d landed myself in to reinforce his feelings that my life was too chaotic for him to handle. What else was new? Only that it made me profoundly sad.

With a lot of pointing, pantomime, and my pidgin French, Josefin and I managed to get through bath time without a disaster. She brought several buckets of heated water and poured them into a large tub in a small, windowless room located off a bedroom—an early nineteenth- century version of en suite . She sat in a chair near the door, just out of sight, and hummed to herself while I took stock of my injuries with the help of a mirror she’d brought me. It was ornate silver, heavy, and polished to a bright shine. I wondered from what Spanish ship Jean had plundered it.

Shampoo hadn’t been invented yet, so I had to wash my hair with rich, oily soap that smelled slightly of coconut. Josefin had sprinkled some type of lavender-scented liquid in the water, so I ended up smelling like either a Carib bean courtesan or a tropical drink that would be served with little paper umbrellas.

I’d kill for some aloe, hawthorn, and ground hibiscus to make a healing potion. I had cuts and concrete scrapes on both arms and one side of my face, and my ribs were killing me. Sadly, I had enough experience with such injuries to know they were bruised and not broken since I could move without screaming. My feet were cut and sore.

On the bright side, at least I hadn’t been chopped at with an ax. Maybe I could make a shopping list for someone to pick items up for me in Old Orleans. I wanted to be healed and ready for a fight before I went home. In the back of my mind, I already was hatching a plan that included the aid of a certain piratical member of the historical undead. Jean Lafitte could help us catch the Axeman, if I could talk him into it.