Pirate's Alley by Suzanne Johnson

Author:Suzanne Johnson
Language: eng
Format: azw3, epub
ISBN: 9781466852846
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

CHAPTER 16

Call me suspicious, but I had no doubt Truman Capote’s only purpose in being at the Carousel Bar with Jean Lafitte was to serve as his alibi. Probably the other guy, too.

“Well, if it isn’t Cat Woman,” Capote drawled.

“You remember me, then.” Good. Not having to explain who I was made things simpler.

Capote had been part of the William Faulkner dustup after Katrina. A bunch of historically undead New Orleans authors had come across the border and broken into Faulkner House Books near Jackson Square, where the man himself had lived in his human life for a while. They proceeded to get drunk until I’d done a nifty bit of magic, turned them all into cats, rounded them up, and sent them back to the Beyond in boxes. As I recalled, Capote had turned into an oversize Maine coon.

“I’m not likely to forget such an experience.” He took off his dark glasses and signaled the waiter for another drink. The historically undead Capote was middle-aged and cocky, his neck draped in a pastel-striped scarf whose purples and pinks looked unsettling next to his somber black suit and fedora.

I was ignoring Jean Lafitte and his knowing little smile, so I held out a hand to the auburn-haired guy. “DJ Jaco. You look awfully familiar. Have we met?”

“We have.” He took my hand and pressed it to his lips in an old-world, courtly way that reminded me of the pirate I was ignoring. “I am Christof, the Faery Prince of Winter and, I hope, next in line to the monarchy. We’ve met twice, I believe.”

“But…” The eyes were the same, green and slightly almond-shaped. But he’d had dark hair slicked back at the council meeting and tousled at Jean’s—and not nearly this long. His title finally sank in. “You’re the Winter Prince? And why do you look different?”

“Perhaps you should give Drusilla a demonstration, Christof.” Jean stared at me a moment and suppressed a broad smile. What was that about?

“Of course. Excuse me for a moment.” The Prince of Winter got up and made his way out of the bar, disappearing into the lobby. I swear, I needed a vacation. Life had grown too bizarre.

The waiter brought a fizzy drink and set it in front of Capote, who took his little plastic spear, stabbed a cherry, and held it out to me. “Suck it. Let’s see those tongue skills,” he said.

I choked on my French Double-O-Seven. “I beg your pardon?”

Jean’s smile widened into a full-out grin. “One should not wear such clothing if one does not wish to receive such invitations, my pet.”

Huh? I looked down at my sweatshirt for the first time. I’d grabbed the first thing I saw in the gift shop and hadn’t even pulled the price tags off. A line of gold crawfish claws danced across the front, with lines of enormous purple type above and below that said “SUCK DAT HEAD” and “PINCH DAT TAIL.”

Gah. “It’s talking about crawfish, not sex. If either of you had been alive in the last twenty years, you’d know that.

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