Jean smiled, a hint of the old playful twinkle returning to his cobalt eyes. “Such flattering words, Drusilla. I will become overfull of myself.”
Like he needed help with his ego. I laughed and took a seat on the end of the settee nearest him. “I hate that you got hurt again.”
He shrugged, then winced. “One grows weary of pain, but it is a temporary thing. However, as pleased as I am to see you once again in my home, to what do I owe the real nature of this visit?” He paused. “Have Etienne or his treacherous Vice-Regent been found? Does your First Elder remain free?”
I nodded. “So far they’re all unaccounted for, but the Elders are meeting as we speak. They’ll remove Hoffman as First Elder and appoint someone else to take his place, at least on a short-term basis. Maybe Zrakovi.”
“Très bien. Willem is a fair man, although he is also a man of ambition.” Jean reached toward the side table to pour himself a brandy, but I could tell each movement brought a jolt of pain. His movements were too careful, too slow.
That I could help. “I almost forgot. I brought something to make you heal faster.”
While he poured some brandy into a glass, I dug in my messenger bag for the jar of sweet olive and clove ointment that had been infused with magic. Wizards’ physical magic didn’t work in the Beyond, but potions and charms—nice, geeky Green Congress stuff—seemed to work fine. “Spread this on the wound, and it should cut the healing time by about two-thirds.”
Jean sipped his brandy, studied me a moment, then set the glass aside. “Perhaps you might assist me, Jolie.”
He stood up and slowly unbuttoned his tunic, and I wasn’t sure where to settle my gaze. He wanted me to look at him, and I wasn’t falling for it. Even though my eyes itched to check him out.
I studiously examined my cuticles, which really needed a good manicure. Maybe I’d treat Eugenie to a nice, relaxing mani/pedi on the Elder Express card when we got back to New Orleans.
Jean’s soft laugh drew my gaze upward and there he was, shirtless and sexy, the white bandage wrapped around his belly and a ragged scar on his left biceps only accentuating the tanned skin and firm muscle. He was 230 years old, damn it, and I was in a committed relationship. Never mind that most of Alex’s and my commitment seemed devoted to arguing right now.
“Would you tend to my needs, Jolie?”
I gasped. That was outrageous, even for Jean. I cleared my throat and hazarded a fierce look at his face. He was grinning, which sent laughter bubbling through my sore ribcage and I snorted like a pig, which made me laugh harder.
Finally, with some effort, I got myself under control.
“You have a charming laugh, Drusilla. I hear it too seldom.” Jean picked up the jar of ointment, unscrewed the lid after some finagling, and sniffed it.
Come to think of it, I’d laughed twice since arriving in Old Barataria. I don’t remember the last time I laughed in New Orleans; the years since Katrina had been a somber shade of black. Maybe I should visit the Beyond more often.
Or not.
“Turn around,” I told him. “I’ll tend your wound since it’s hard for you to see. But the rest of your needs are on their own.”
He handed me the jar and feigned a hurt expression. “One cannot blame a man for his desires, non?”
“Whatever.” I waited while he pulled the bandage away from the stab wound and turned to the side so I could get to it better. The skin around it flamed red and angry, but he didn’t flinch as I spread the mixture over the worst of it. The rich, tangy scent of cloves and sweet olive filled the room and blended with the rich scent of tobacco and exotic spices that seemed to accompany the master of the house.
I replaced the lid and set the jar on the side table. “Put some more on it in a few hours. By morning, it should be mostly healed, although you’ll probably be sore for another day or two.”
“Merci. I had planned to return to the city this very evening, and your gift will ease my passage.”
Well, we’d see how the rest of my news eased his passage. “I’m also here on an official visit, to ask your plans toward Etienne Boulard, and toward the others involved in Lily Aleese’s takeover attempt last month.” Never mind that the person who actually killed him was me.
Jean remained silent for a few moments, and I let him consider his answer while I cleaned my hands at a corner basin. When I turned around, he’d retrieved his glass of brandy and was staring at the rich brown liquid.
He looked up when I returned to my seat. “Are you certain you wish me to answer honestly, Drusilla?”
Which pretty much answered my question. He was going after Etienne, and I couldn’t really blame him. The vampire had taken his trust and trampled it like yesterday’s garbage.