While I stood in the checkout line, I had time to consider Quince Randolph, aka Rand. That would be Rand, my non-husband, newly minted member of the Elven Synod and clan leader of the Tan, the fire elves. Blond, blue-eyed, with broad shoulders and good cheekbones, Rand was the prettiest elf in this world or any other, with an ego matched only by his ambition. And tied to me by a blood bond for the rest of our miserable lives.
A tingle of fear zipped up my spine and across my scalp. I had to be careful. Since the bonding, Rand could no longer read my thoughts or influence my moods, but he would know if I got freaked out or frightened. He could also communicate with me mentally, although I’d gotten adept at ignoring him. I didn’t want him picking up any stray fear or tension and feeling the need to sniff around to see what had me upset.
I began slamming up mental barriers as fast as I could visualize them in my head. Ramparts, moats, and thick stone towers, all ringed around my thoughts. I set my brain inside the virtual stronghold of Mount Doom, surrounded by mental orcs dripping green saliva off their fangs and poison off their bow-strung arrows. If Quince Randolph turned his sneaky mental radar in my direction and picked up even a hint of freak-out, we’d have a problem before I could get back to Eugenie’s with the pregnancy test to find out the status of the potential elf spawn.
Mental note to self: Do not refer to the child as elf spawn in front of Eugenie.
Rand also could both read Eugenie’s thoughts and influence them if he was touching her or got close enough. Thank God he’d been cocooned in his house since the cold weather struck, or so Eugenie claimed. Even his mental pings to me—sort of a text message without the text or the device on which to read it—had become less frequent since the temperature dropped.
But the cold wouldn’t last forever. Eugenie might have to move. The wizards maintained a facility for criminal and mentally challenged magic-makers in a remote corner of Greenland. Rand would never brave the frigid weather in Ittoqqortoormiit.
Breathe. Nothing’s certain yet.
I’d finished paying and was lugging my bags out the door when my pocket vibrated with Pink’s “So What.” The song reflected my pissed-off mood most days now. I’d ditched my mellow Zachary Richard ringtone the day after both Alex and I had been shot, thanks to a power-mad elf and a necromantic wizard who’d sold his skills for a big payday. The day after the undead pirate, scoundrel, thief, and blackguard Jean Lafitte had proven himself both loyal and incredibly brave.
The day after I learned wizards could be every bit as treacherous as elves, vampires, and other species my kind thought of as monsters.
My cell phone screen popped up Alex Warin’s name and photo. I set the bags down on the sidewalk. “Hey.” I wedged the phone between my ear and shoulder and waved furiously across the parking lot, where Arnie appeared to be napping in his cab. “Are you home?” He’d been on some secret mission for the Elders.
“Yeah, want to go to Celebration in the Oaks tonight? Maybe grab dinner at one of the restaurants doing Reveillon?” Alex sounded pumped, his deep baritone more buoyant than its usual tones of sexy silk or grumpy caveman, depending on his mood. Whatever he’d been doing for the Elders, it had been successful. I’d find out over dinner.
“Definitely. Why don’t I come to your place about seven?” I needed to spend some quality time with Eugenie and a petri dish, or whatever one used to take a pregnancy test.
Arnie had apparently awakened, because the black-and-white United Cab lurched to a stop in front of me a few seconds later. “Hang on,” I told Alex, and piled my bags in the back seat of the cab. I nodded in response to Arnie’s stage-whispered question of whether I wanted to head back to Eugenie’s house on Magazine Street. “Okay, I’m back,” I told Alex. “Seven sound okay?”
His voice dove closer to caveman territory. “What the hell are you doing?”
Since my relationship with Alex had gone from professional to personal, I’d been trying to be mature and tamp down the instinct to dish the crap back to him when he got territorial and bossy, which was way too often. So I refrained from making a snippy comment about my vehicular drought and his lack of help.
“I just picked up some soda and am taking a cab back to Eugenie’s.” I paused. “Because, you know, she has heat.”
Okay, so I hadn’t perfected the whole mature thing yet.
“Ah … yeah, sorry. I’ll get you some heat this weekend.” Caveman slid into sexy. “I can keep you warm till then.”
I smiled. “You certainly can … after dinner and the Oaks.”
His low, sexy chuckle made my toes curl involuntarily. “Okay, see you soon.”
“That’s a man-smile, that’s what it is.” Arnie watched me in the rearview mirror, and I bit down on my lip to wipe the man-smile off my face. I did not want to be the kind of woman who had a special man-smile. “So, Miss DJ, you think we gonna get snow tonight? I sure don’t like to be drivin’ in da snow.”
I was the last person to ask for weather advice. When Hurricane Katrina made landfall, I was still insisting it would take a last-second turn and hit Florida. “I hope not. I’m ready for spring.”