Suzanne Johnson - Elysian Fields

“If you can wound the Axeman without hitting Alex, shoot him!” I shouted. “Don’t kill him, though.” I needed him alive, in an undead sort of way, to run the elven ritual.

I pulled the staff from its holster and from my pocket tugged out the paper with the ritual words Rand had told me. I’d written them phonetically and began chanting: “Gan fod-e meister”— Alex howled, and I faltered, looking up and screaming as the Axeman buried a huge knife in the front of his shoulder, exposing muscle and bone. Alex fell to his knees.

Feeling underneath the big sweatshirt, I found the grenade and unclipped it from my belt loop. I needn’t have bothered; the explosion of Ken’s gun was deafening.

The Axeman didn’t fall, but he stopped and shouted a bunch of gibberish at Ken, something about demons and hell and heavenly realms. I bent over my cheat-sheet, holding out the staff, trying to block out the noise, and hoping Ken could handle it. “ Gan fod-e meister Mahout ,” I whispered, the words coming out fast and jumbled. “Rowyn-e gal wary pwer o dan I daflu goleuni ar y ffordd ohut.” As the master of Mahout, I call upon the power of fire to illuminate the way of magic, Rand said it meant, although I’d have to take his word for it.

I pointed the staff at the Axeman, currently trying to shake off an enormous golden dog whose teeth were buried in his thigh. Alex had shifted, and his alter ego Gandalf ’s shoulder was raw and bloody. Gandalf whimpered as the Axeman shoved him away with a powerful kick of a huge, booted foot into his midsection.

I focused all my native physical energy into the staff, then released it, praying the taped-together staff worked, the ritual chant did its thing, and the Axeman didn’t burst into flames and go back into the Beyond. If that happened, this would all have been for nothing.

Instead of the red ropes of flame I’d come to expect from the staff, a violet glow spread from me to the Axeman. His gaze met mine, and I saw it all in my head—and he didn’t want me there.

“I’ll kill you, wizard!” I was barely aware of Ken trying to slow him down with what looked like a banister off my half-burned staircase while the killer advanced on me. I closed my eyes, focusing on the line of magic, mentally tracing the violet band like a piece of yarn as it stretched out of my house and away, east on Magazine Street. I mentally sped along it, following it through twists and turns until it ended at a spot I recognized. Just a little farther . . .

“DJ, down!” Ken shouted, and I shot my eyes open just as the Axeman wrapped me in a bearhug and took me to the ground. I squirmed underneath him as he pinned my hands and bared blackened, sharp teeth.

I gagged on the stench, and screamed when a gunshot exploded near my right ear and the Axeman’s shoulder burst like a ripe melon, raining meat and hot blood over me. He went limp on top of me but didn’t begin fading, so he still lived.

“Goddamn son of a bitch.” Ken pulled the Axeman off me and slapped a pair of silver handcuffs on him. He disappeared into the guest room and came back with a pair of shackles, which he used to fasten the Axeman’s ankles together. Old Axel wouldn’t be chasing me down again anytime soon. I hoped.

I rolled to my hands and knees, panting. “I think he’s still alive. Good job.”

“Was that fucking thing ever alive?” Ken was breathing hard after dragging Axel in front of the fireplace. The killer was regaining consciousness, and bellowed when he realized he’d been shackled.

I approached him cautiously, wiped blood off my elven cheat-sheet, pointed the staff at him, and repeated the charm. This time, I was able to close my eyes and focus harder. I followed the purple trail of magic all the way to the door of L’Amour Sauvage and into the back office.

Etienne Boulard was not at his desk, but Adrian Hoffman was.

I didn’t have proof that Etienne Boulard was the necromancer since I didn’t actually see him, but the circumstantial evidence was damning. And freaking Adrian Hoffman had sold me out.

Alex had shifted back, pulled on his clothes, and curled on his side, breathing hard. He stared at me a moment, then choked out a laugh. “You look like Sissy Spacek in Carrie .”

Good thing red was my color. And my only clothes were ruined. What a cluster. Except I knew exactly where to go, and I needed to get there fast.

“Yeah, well, you look like last week’s hamburger. You gonna be okay? I need to check on Eugenie.”

“Yeah, I’ll heal.”

My friend still lay in the doorway, her eyes wide and shocky. I knelt next to her, and her focus shifted to me. It didn’t seem to calm her any. I stroked her hair. “I’m so, so sorry.” Again. I couldn’t seem to do anything right by her.

I shifted around to look at Alex. He’d managed to sit up, but his shoulder was going to take a while to heal. “Ken, can you take Eugenie home? You’ll have to carry her. The charm should wear off in about another hour.”

He nodded. “She’s gonna have questions. What should I tell her?”

I pulled a chunk of flesh out of my hair and turned my back so I could dry heave in semi-privacy. I might have to go vegan.

Eugenie had closed her eyes, her skin like porcelain in the lamplight. She looked frail. “Tell her the truth.” I raised a blood-encrusted eyebrow at Alex, and he nodded. “Tell her everything.”

***

Amazing what a person can do in fifteen minutes with the right incentive. And I had a lot of incentive. I charged to the head of the line at L’Amour Sauvage and didn’t wait for the bouncer to wave me through. I wanted to see Etienne and Adrian, and to find out what happened to Jean Lafitte.

Alex was on my heels. He hadn’t finished healing his own shoulder wound yet, but we needed everybody. Ken was babysitting Eugenie. As soon as he could calm her down and make sure she wasn’t in shock, he’d be meeting us here. I’d even called Rene, but he was out hunting in the wilds of north Louisiana with his brothers Claude and Cheney and couldn’t get back before midnight, though he’d been willing to try. I hoped everything would be over by then.

I’d taken a fast shower at Alex’s and thrown on one of his Ole Miss sweatshirts. It came almost to my knees but it covered up the grenade. My jeans, with their modified staff holster, were bloodstained. I had to wear them anyway. Pantless necromancerchasing? Not a good idea.

At the end of the bar, I stopped at the sight of Adrian sitting alone in a booth, his vampire significant other noticeably absent. He had his head propped on his hands as if he had the mother of all headaches, so he didn’t react when I slid in the booth facing him. I raised my voice to be heard over the din. “Where’s your feeder?”

He looked up at me slowly and blinked, his eyes bloodshot, face haggard, expression confused. It was a startling difference from the last time I’d seen him here with Terri, arrogant and making plans to resume our lessons in elven magic. “Etienne sent her on an . . . errand.”

His eyes darted around the bar, finally settling back on me and Alex. “I thought your house burned down and you disappeared. You were safe. Why the hell did you come back?”

Gee, and he sounded so happy to see me. “You must not have gotten my message. I managed to track the Axeman’s necromancer back to L’Amour Sauvage using some of my useless elven magic. And guess who the trail led me to?”

Adrian sat up straighter and assumed his normal—i.e., condescending—demeanor. He still looked like a cat that had been dragged through a washing-maching wringer, but it was an arrogant cat. “It might have led you to this bar, but it didn’t lead you to me. Etienne is in the back office with your friend Lafitte. The Regent was behind everything.”