I gave myself a half second to be offended, and another half second to be grateful. Then, because I still had a firm grip on Charlie, I zapped him with a nice shot of elven fire, right in the ass.
He rolled off me, hissing, fangs bared, and my skin stung with the power flowing off him. I’d thought Etienne gave off a lot of power, but he was an infant compared to Melnick. The guy might look like a fun-loving, playful man who should be wielding a mean electric guitar and screeching indecipherable lyrics, but he wasn’t the Vice-Regent of Vampyre by accident.
Still, my first vamp feed had been disappointing. “And you hurt like hell. I thought vampire bites were supposed to feel good.”
Pointing the staff at Melnick, I climbed to my feet in time to sidestep a pair of flying pirate boots. Jean sailed past me and landed heavily, still holding his cutlass with its wicked curved blade. Etienne had tossed him like a football spiraling downfield on a Hail Mary pass.
“You’ll pay for crossing me, Drusilla Jaco.” Melnick’s words dripped with melodrama, but his delivery sent another wash of power across me. I did not want to see him and his pointy fangs again. Ever.
He faded into the shadows of the arena—more arena than amphitheater, I’d decided, with stone columns rising on multiple levels along three sides. The fourth edge seemed to drop off into a black abyss.
With Melnick gone, our odds had improved. It was now Jean and myself against Hoffman and Etienne, and Hoffman had been sitting on the ground looking stunned since we landed. All I had to do was buy a little time. Zrakovi should be materializing in the transport at any second with reinforcements.
With much grunting and swearing and trash-talking in French, Etienne and Jean engaged in a bit of knife play a few feet to my left, doing a lot of thrusts and parries with wicked-looking blades. Jean seemed to be holding his own, so I pointed the staff at Hoffman. Did I dare make a sentinel’s arrest of the First Freaking Elder?
“Don’t move a muscle.” Did my voice sound squeaky? I lowered it an octave. “I’m officially detaining you, under my authority as sentinel of the New Orleans region.”
I’d never gotten to use those words before, although I’d practiced them in front of the mirror. Not in my wildest nightmares had I imagined I’d ever use them on the First Elder.
He crossed his arms over his chest and raised one dark eyebrow. “Who the hell do you think you are, you meddling little half-breed?”
I was not a half-breed. I was at least eighty percent wizard. Fortunately, my other twenty percent could wield an elven fire staff in the Beyond and have it work.
“I’m the person who’s taking you back to New Orleans. The Interspecies Council can decide what to do with you.”
I wished Zrakovi would get his robe-wearing ass here. My arm was getting tired, and I could swear my bullet wound had reopened. Either that or I’d learned to sweat from one shoulder.
“You troublemaking bitch. I’m supposed to be afraid of you?” Hoffman climbed to his feet and raised himself to his full height, which was considerably more than mine. I backed away, but my hand on the staff was steady. I had the better firepower here, or at least I hoped I did.
Without warning, Hoffman flung a finger toward me and, on instinct, I threw myself to the ground and rolled to the side, bracing myself for a magical hit. My heart rate returned to a steady gallop when only a few sparks flew from his fingertips.
Thank God. I knew physical magic didn’t work well in Old Orleans or Elfheim; apparently it didn’t work in Vampyre either. Hoffman must not have gotten the memo. He cursed and flung his hand at me again.
I got back to my feet, propped one fist on my hip, and grinned at his expression of outrage.
My enjoyment ended when a train, or at least it felt like a train, hit me from behind. My body flew in one direction, the staff in another. I landed with a jolt, my chin cushioned by a puddle of mud. I guess it rained in Vampyre.
What had hit me? Damn it; I had to find the staff. I crawled in the direction it had flown, and finally spotted it. Then I looked over my shoulder to see what had derailed me—or who. It sure wasn’t Hoffman; the First Elder had disappeared.
It had been Jean. A few feet behind me, finally bested by Etienne’s vampire strength, he lay on his back, panting. Etienne knelt over him with one hand on Jean’s throat, holding him in place. The other held a knife above Jean’s chest.
Jean struggled, but Etienne only pressed harder on his windpipe. “You might not die forever, Jean, but this will hurt like hell while you’re healing.”
Damn it, Jean was about to get himself killed again.
I clutched Charlie more tightly and rolled to my knees, pointing the staff at Etienne and willing it to fire. A heavy rope of red flame shot from its tip and ignited the grass to Etienne’s right.