“What?” The sad thing was, Alex looked truly perplexed. “It was a reasonable question, all things considered.”
“Let’s go to dinner.” I couldn’t get mad at him about the question since I’d pondered the same thing, plus he didn’t know about the baby Eugenie had lost. He was also a guy and had no common sense when it came to two things women did not want to hear about from men—reproduction and hip circumference.
I grabbed my messenger bag on the way out, but took Eugenie’s house key and left my overnighter. As much as I liked the idea of snuggling up next to my big, warm shifter tonight while the sleet pelted away outside, Eugenie needed me more, even if it was to fetch juice and figure out what one did with agave nectar.
A half hour later, Alex and I piled into his black Range Rover and headed across town to Café Degas, the spot he’d chosen for dinner. Left to my own devices, I’d always go to Commander’s Palace, but Alex reasoned that Degas was en route to City Park, where we planned to catch the annual holiday light show before heading back to his place. Then I’d have to fulfill my promise and call Rand. Joy.
Reveillon was a two-week period of prime eating in a city that relished good food—local restaurants offered special fixed-price, four-course holiday meals in December. Tourism always fell off before the holidays, so Reveillon had become a clever gimmick to entice locals onto the restaurant circuit.
We made our way through the airy interior of the café, which tonight promised an array of fried oysters, crawfish ravioli, rack of lamb, and chocolate. I could almost forget the upcoming meeting and the baby crisis.
Almost.
“Does Eugenie’s reaction mean she’s really going to keep this baby?” Alex had at least noticed Eugenie didn’t take the abortion question well.
I filled him in on the child she’d lost, but only after he’d promised not to bring it up in front of her.
“What if it were you?” Alex dug into his fried oyster and rémoulade salad, but was so intent on my answer he probably didn’t even taste it.
“I honestly don’t know.” I poked at my own salad, picking out the oysters to eat and avoiding the greens. “I mean, normally, no, I wouldn’t consider ending a pregnancy. If it were your baby, for example, of course not. You’d just have to get over it, whether you thought we were ready to be parents or not.”
I shook my head. “But if it were Quince Randolph’s? I honestly don’t know what I’d do in that situation. Eugenie doesn’t truly understand what kind of power the elves have, or how politically strong Rand has grown now that he’s become chief of the fire clan and has a seat on the Interspecies Council. Don’t forget how new all of this is to her.”
Rand had ascended to clan chief when his mother, Vervain, the previous ruler, died at the hands of the undead serial killer who’d been trying to get at me. Chalk up one more death on the Typhoid DJ scorecard. It was a miracle anyone would come within a mile of me.
Alex waited as the waiter replaced our salad dishes with dinner plates artfully arranged with crawfish ravioli. Then he leaned across the table. “Don’t let Eugenie wait too long to figure out what she wants, DJ. Zrakovi will want a say in how we proceed.”
I chewed my ravioli and rested my fork across the edge of the plate with deceptive calm. Then I leaned across the table myself. “You are not to tell Zrakovi. You are not to tell anyone. This is not your news to share without Eugenie’s permission. However she proceeds has to be her choice, not the Elders’.” Or ours, for that matter.
Alex put his own fork down. “Eugenie isn’t in a position to decide who does and doesn’t know—not about this. There’ll need to be damage control.” He gave me a hard look. “You said it yourself—she doesn’t understand the ramifications.”
“Alex, seriously. Don’t tell Zrakovi. Not yet. Give it a few days at least.”
Willem Zrakovi was a member of the Congress of Elders, the wizards’ ruling body. He represented North American interests and I’d always found him fair and less stuffy than others I’d met among the wizarding elite. But he would stir the cauldron in whatever fashion best suited the Elders, not Eugenie.
Alex pushed his plate toward the middle of the table. I wasn’t feeling too hungry anymore either.
I took a deep breath. “Well?” He’d never answered, and I wanted his promise.
“I’ll keep quiet for now, but I reserve the right to change my mind after the Interspecies Council meeting. It depends on how things go tomorrow night. If the wizards take a hit and negotiations with the elves look shaky, I might have to tell him. We can’t let him be blindsided or have the elves find out some other way and accuse us of hiding it.”