“Nice shot. Do you feel better?”
“Bah.” Jean turned back and smiled at the sight of St. Louis Cathedral draped in snow and ice, which I had to agree was a pretty spectacular sight. “It would prove more enjoyable had I been able to strike the arrogant toad himself.”
No love lost between the pirate and the president, apparently. Alex said Jackson had been banished to Old Tennessee after causing such a public stink over the election-cheating incident that it threatened to expose the historical undead to humans.
“Can we go inside the cathedral for a few minutes?” I was so cold my blood seemed to be coagulating inside me. “I’m freezing.”
Jean gave me a sidelong glance. “It is not so very cold, Drusilla. Perhaps it is your elven ancestry.”
Huh. So he knew about that little elven quirk. Of course Jean seemed to know all the prete secrets; he could’ve probably filled me in on elven pregnancies.
I tugged his arm toward the church. “Maybe, but that doesn’t make me any warmer. Just for a couple of minutes.”
He stalled. “Perhaps we should return to the hotel, Jolie. Cold weather has dire effects on elves, and, pardon, but you do not look well. Your health and comfort are my greatest concern, as always.”
Something was getting deep around here and it wasn’t just the snow. Never bullshit a bullshitter, as my friend Rene would so eloquently put it.
“Look, I know you’re trying to ditch me, and it’s not going to work.”
Jean frowned as he tucked my hand around his crooked arm again and began a very slow stroll back toward the Monteleone. “Qu’est-ce que c’est ditch?”
I didn’t even dignify that with an answer because he knew exactly what I meant. Besides, I wasn’t sure I could talk anymore; my teeth were chattering too violently. My whole body was chattering violently. I had tolerated the cold up to a point, but now I seem to have turned some type of elven corner.
My pirate tour guide had changed tactics. Instead of his earlier breakneck clip, he now walked so slowly I could’ve outpaced him on hands and knees—all the better to freeze me out.
As we walked, Jean kept up a running commentary on the ice formations hanging from the shop awnings (“I am reminded of a deep cave I once visited in Cartagena”); merchandise available for sale, particularly sex toys and lingerie (“The fondness of your modern folk for such scandalous items and clothing is most distressing”); and snowstorms he had known (“You do not realize the treachery of hoisting anchor on a vessel whose deck is coated in ice, Jolie”).
Fortunately, he seemed to require only an audience and not a partner in conversation.
I kept my eyes on the white ground in front of me, willing one foot at a time to move me forward. The world around me blurred, and I saw only the toes of my black boots crunching on white. Again and again.
My thoughts had frozen as well, but Rand’s voice came through loud and clear. Dru—what the hell are you doing? Get inside.
With effort, I raised my head and looked around. “Freaking elf,” I muttered. In my head, I tried to form words. Babysit pirate.
Get out of the cold, you stupid wizard. You have my blood in you now; you’ll spontaneously hibernate if you get too cold.
Huh? “Bear?” I asked.
Jean frowned down at me. “Qu’est-ce que c’est bear? Drusilla, you do not look well, and we do not yet reach the hotel for two additional thoroughfares. We must walk in haste now. Tout de suite.”
“Elf,” I said, trying to make Jean understand. But he pulled me along too fast, and my elven feet stopped moving.
The world tilted as I watched the snowy sidewalk shooting toward my face at an alarming pace, or was I moving toward the snow? Was Jean shouting at me, or was it Rand?
Sleep. The word filled my head as I rested my cheek on a cold, white, fluffy pillow.
CHAPTER 14
DJ, are you awake?
Freaking elf. “Go home, Rand.”
I am home. Where are you?
I frowned and burrowed my face into the soft down pillow. Which was very different than the pillow I remembered falling into.
Holy crap. What had happened?
I sat up and took in several observations at once, none of which made sense and all of which sent my heart rate jack-rabbiting so hard I could feel my blood pressure zooming into the ozone.
First, I was lying beneath a heavy bedspread woven in a rich blue-and-cream print. The bed was an elaborate confection made to look like an antique half tester, and a brass chandelier hung overhead.
I recognized the Monteleone. I recognized Jean Lafitte’s bedroom in the posh Eudora Welty Suite in the Monteleone. I didn’t have a clue as to how I got here.
Second, I wore only a bra and panties. My clothes were thrown across a chair in the corner. I had no recollection of removing them.
Third, the pillow next to mine still held the clear indentation of a head, and there was water running behind the closed bathroom door.