Free Pirate's Alley by Suzanne Johnson

second with reinforcements.
    With much grunting and swearing and trash-talking in French, Etienne and Jean engaged in a bit of knife play a few feet to my left, doing a lot of thrusts and parries with wicked-looking blades. Jean seemed to be holding his own, so I pointed the staff at Hoffman. Did I dare make a sentinel’s arrest of the First Freaking Elder?
    “Don’t move a muscle.” Did my voice sound squeaky? I lowered it an octave. “I’m officially detaining you, under my authority as sentinel of the New Orleans region.”
    I’d never gotten to use those words before, although I’d practiced them in front of the mirror. Not in my wildest nightmares had I imagined I’d ever use them on the First Elder.
    He crossed his arms over his chest and raised one dark eyebrow. “Who the hell do you think you are, you meddling little half-breed?”
    I was not a half-breed. I was at least eighty percent wizard. Fortunately, my other twenty percent could wield an elven fire staff in the Beyond and have it work.
    “I’m the person who’s taking you back to New Orleans. The Interspecies Council can decide what to do with you.”
    I wished Zrakovi would get his robe-wearing ass here. My arm was getting tired, and I could swear my bullet wound had reopened. Either that or I’d learned to sweat from one shoulder.
    “You troublemaking bitch. I’m supposed to be afraid of you?” Hoffman climbed to his feet and raised himself to his full height, which was considerably more than mine. I backed away, but my hand on the staff was steady. I had the better firepower here, or at least I hoped I did.
    Without warning, Hoffman flung a finger toward me and, on instinct, I threw myself to the ground and rolled to the side, bracing myself for a magical hit. My heart rate returned to a steady gallop when only a few sparks flew from his fingertips.
    Thank God. I knew physical magic didn’t work well in Old Orleans or Elfheim; apparently it didn’t work in Vampyre either. Hoffman must not have gotten the memo. He cursed and flung his hand at me again.
    I got back to my feet, propped one fist on my hip, and grinned at his expression of outrage.
    My enjoyment ended when a train, or at least it felt like a train, hit me from behind. My body flew in one direction, the staff in another. I landed with a jolt, my chin cushioned by a puddle of mud. I guess it rained in Vampyre.
    What had hit me? Damn it; I had to find the staff. I crawled in the direction it had flown, and finally spotted it. Then I looked over my shoulder to see what had derailed me—or who. It sure wasn’t Hoffman; the First Elder had disappeared.
    It had been Jean. A few feet behind me, finally bested by Etienne’s vampire strength, he lay on his back, panting. Etienne knelt over him with one hand on Jean’s throat, holding him in place. The other held a knife above Jean’s chest.
    Jean struggled, but Etienne only pressed harder on his windpipe. “You might not die forever, Jean, but this will hurt like hell while you’re healing.”
    Damn it, Jean was about to get himself killed again.
    I clutched Charlie more tightly and rolled to my knees, pointing the staff at Etienne and willing it to fire. A heavy rope of red flame shot from its tip and ignited the grass to Etienne’s right.
    He jerked his head up but didn’t release his hold on Jean’s throat. Jean’s breath had turned to a definite wheeze and he’d quit struggling. I had to save him this time. I shifted the aim of the staff to the left. That had been a warning shot. Even I couldn’t miss from here.
    “Move. Away.”
    “To hell with you. Everybody knows your aim is worse than that of a blind man.” Etienne gave me defiant flash of fangs and plunged the knife into Jean just as I released my pulse of elven magical energy.
    From this range, I could hit anything. The flames of fire wrapped themselves around Etienne, burning into his clothing and reaching skin within a fraction of a second. His screams echoed