Alex didn’t deserve bonus information.
“You’ve been stewing all the way across town and back,” Eugenie said, pulling her coat around her more tightly. The high temperature today was supposed to be twenty-five but at least it was sunny and the sky was a rich shade of blue. I’d reluctantly donned my orange and purple nightmare of a coat. “You might as well tell me what’s bothering you so I can reassure you and tell you it doesn’t matter. Then I can enjoy visiting Jean Lafitte. I’m so excited I can’t stand it! So tell me now.”
I blew out a frustrated breath and swiveled in the seat to face her. “I might be wrong. I hope I’m wrong, but I’m pretty sure Alex is telling Willem Zrakovi about the baby. That’s why I wanted to get you out of the house—in case Zrakovi decided to pay you a surprise visit.”
Eugenie blinked, her eyes clear and guileless. She was such a good person; I hated to even think of her getting drawn into the messy world of prete politics. “Zrakovi’s the wizard boss, right? I mean, that’s okay, isn’t it? He seemed like a good guy the one time I met him, although I didn’t know he was a wizard.” She paused. “Anyway, I don’t know why he’d care, but you always say you like him. So it’s okay for him to know, right?”
I willed my tight shoulders to relax. I shouldn’t assume the worst of Zrakovi. He’d always been fair. But he also had his potential First Elderhood on the line, so caution was in order. “I’m sure it’ll be fine. I just wanted you to come with me today in case he got the bright idea to pop over and take you by surprise.” I tried not to think about Alex’s assessment that Zrakovi would assume he had a say in whatever Eugenie decided to do. Might as well not worry about that unless it happened.
“Zrakovi will be interested in how you decide to handle things with Rand because the elves and wizards aren’t always on the best of terms,” I explained. Talk about putting lipstick on a pig.
Eugenie shrugged and opened her car door. “Well, I’m feeling good for a change and I’m tired of being sick and scared. What Quince Randolph doesn’t know won’t hurt him, at least not today. I want to visit the pirate’s lair and I’m not going to let that stupid elf or your paranoid wizards ruin it.”
Maybe she understood more than I gave her credit for.
I got out, pressed the button to activate Alex’s alarm, and stuck the keys in my bag. If he came and got the SUV before we returned, we’d have to take a cab back to Eugenie’s. I could break in the Elders’ credit card. This whole visit to the Beyond was Zrakovi’s idea anyway.
“Tell me what to expect. Does Jean Lafitte live in a house in the swamps kind of like a fishing camp?” Eugenie stuck her hands in her coat pockets and hunched her shoulders. I had found a pair of buttery soft black leather gloves in Alex’s backseat and had stolen them, even though they made my ugly coat look even shabbier.
“Jean’s not a fishing camp kind of guy,” I said. Most of the fishing camps around South Louisiana were simple wooden houses built on piers over the wetlands or bayous. Not the Frenchman’s style. “Jean’s pirate lair is a two-story house overlooking a narrow stretch of beach on the Gulf side of Grand Terre Island,” I said. “In our time, nobody lives there and most of the island has gone underwater.”
“I’ve been to Grand Isle a few times.” Eugenie sidestepped a local shop owner sweeping the sidewalk in front of his door. “Jake’s living with Jean now, right?”
“Actually, there are a bunch of people who live on Grand Terre. You know, people Jean remembers from his human life.” Specifically, a bunch of undead pirates, fueled by Jean’s memories. Their village of thatched-roof cottages lay adjacent to his mansion, as big an inequality in the afterlife as in the actual life. But only one guy in Jean’s real life had ever challenged his authority, and the guy didn’t live very long.
“Oh-em-gee.” Eugenie practically danced across Decatur Street. “A bunch of pirates. Do they sit around and drink rum all day? Are they all French? Are there women there? What do they wear? Are all the pirates as hot as Jean?”
Oh boy.
“Jean prefers brandy to rum.” It struck me that I probably knew a whole lot more about Jean’s likes and dislikes than was good for me. “The pirates are all nationalities, I think, but they mostly seem to speak French and not English. There are women there, but I don’t know how many. Jean dresses a whole lot better than the average privateer—for God’s sake, don’t call them pirates in front of him. And no, most of them are not the least bit hot.”