I narrowed my eyes. Jean stayed awfully well informed about prete politics, and often told me things the Elders hadn’t yet learned. I suspected this might be one of those things. “How do you know all this?”
He shrugged. “A wise man watches as if he were un aigle and listens as if he were un faucon.”
Eagles and falcons. Both predators. Appropriate.
My French predator leaned toward me slightly and twined a strand of my hair through the fingers of the hand he’d stretched along the sofa back. I steeled myself for the wandering fingers or the smarmy comment, waiting to see which would arrive first.
“You should wear your hair up as the women of my time often did, Jolie. I enjoy seeing the graceful neck of a woman.” He smoothed the strand of hair away from my neck, then frowned and grasped the crew neck of my sweater, jerking it aside and almost pulling me facedown on the sofa. “Mon Dieu, explain this. Tout de suite.”
I slapped his hand away and straightened up. “Stop it.” How did I seem to always attract bossy men? “It happened last night in the transport. Garrett Melnick decided to have a taste. You were preoccupied.”
He frowned. “My apologies. Your protection should have been my first concern.”
Oh please. Who did he think he was, Alex? “I can take care of myself, thank you. Besides, he said I tasted vile.”
Jean laughed, which made me laugh. Again.
I tried an experiment. “You also missed seeing First Elder Hoffman trying to fry me before remembering his magic wouldn’t work in the Beyond. He was not a happy wizard when he flung a spell at me and nothing happened.”
Jean’s smile widened into a grin. “I should have enjoyed seeing his face. He is a specious toad.”
See? I knew it was funny.
The laughter faded as my thoughts returned to the fae and the worsening relations among all the pretes. I needed to do some faery research along with my elven-reproduction research. I didn’t know a damned thing about the fae except what I’d learned from Gerry’s sketchy history lessons. At least I still had my collection of black grimoires—the only thing among my personal possessions that had made it through the house fire unscathed. Apparently, the books of black spells and illegal magic were protected with so many dark charms that even a couple of grenades detonated by an undead serial killer couldn’t destroy them.
Male and female voices sounded from outside, accompanied by footfalls on the verandah. “Sounds like Eugenie’s back.” I got to my feet. “Let me know when you get to New Orleans. I’ll be living in the Monteleone, in the room across the hall from yours. You know, so I can keep an eye on you.”
He smiled again. “You could keep both of your eyes on me”—great, he’d learned a new modern phrase—“if you resided in my rooms alongside me. Madame Eudora Welty would not object, nor would I.”
Uh-huh. Madame Eudora Welty would probably mind a great deal that an extremely expensive and lavish hotel suite had been named after her, only to have it occupied long-term by an undead French pirate.
“Thanks, but you probably snore in French.”
The front door opened, sparing me what was probably going to be an outrageous comeback, judging by Jean’s animated expression.
Eugenie and Collette came inside, chatting like they’d known each other forever. Two men walked in behind them. One I knew very well. The merman Rene Delachaise and I had once done a highly illegal and ill-advised power exchange to solve a murder case. The case had been awful and the power exchange had been freaky, but we had ended up friends. Whenever I came up with a harebrained idea and needed backup, Rene was my man. He was fearless and didn’t bother himself too much with the ramifications of whatever scheme we might be undertaking.
The other guy looked familiar, but I couldn’t place him. About six feet, well built, dark hair flopping over green eyes, LSU T-shirt and jeans. Maybe I’d seen him with Rene.
“Well, if it ain’t my favorite wizard.” Rene pulled me into a hug, and I absorbed the happy vibes of his shapeshifter energy. Like most of the water folk, the merpeople hated wizards for past misdeeds, so I was proud of the friendship Rene and I had forged despite all our species baggage.
“And I am Christof,” his companion said, smiling.
“DJ.” I smiled back but inside I was racking my brain, trying to place him. I also didn’t detect any aura on him, and a quick scan of his visible body parts didn’t reveal any peridot jewelry—often used by pretes to hide their species. There was quite a black market for wizard-bespelled peridot on eBay, as I’d learned from Quince Randolph, a frequent buyer. Oh well, I’d call Rene later and ask him to dish on Christof.