by Chloe Neill
“Okay. So what will I be doing?”
She smiled. “You’ll be making home visits with me.”
“Oh,” was all I could think to say. I’d happily deal with not going to the clinic, but I’d have to reconfigure my expectations.
“That a problem for you?”
“No. Will it be a problem for Paras? That I’ll be walking into their homes?”
“We’ll find out,” she said. Which didn’t instill a lot of confidence.
—
Our first house was a Creole cottage, the walls bright pink with white-shuttered windows. The paint on both was peeling, but there were potted plants on the small porch and a few worn toys near the door.
“You can leave the box on the steps,” Vendi said, pointing to a spot.
I put down the box and stood behind her, trying not to fidget while I waited. I had no idea what I was going to see or hear inside, which made me equally uneasy and excited.
Vendi knocked on the door. “It’s Vendi from the clinic,” she said. “I’m here to check on Thora.”
The door opened and we were swept inside on a wave of chatter and noise. Three small girls with squat bodies, smooth, green-gray skin, and dark hair surrounded us, talking animatedly to Vendi in an unrecognizable language. They looked like goblins from a child’s book of fairy tales, but they darted and chatted just like children.
The cottage was small, and the front room was an equal cacophony of sounds, of scents, of colors. The air was fragrant with something smoky and warm, and the walls were covered in posters of American movies, record covers, flags, and Mardi Gras beads. Every other surface was equally colorful—rugs on the floor, blankets and tapestries across couches, cloths on tables.
“Vendi!” A man of short height, wide girth, walked into the room, his skin the same color as the girls who flitted around Vendi.
“Hello, Nedra,” Vendi said, offering her hand. “This is Claire. She’s helping me today.”
“A guest!” Nedra said, and led me to a chair covered in quilts and blankets. I sat down, and a thimble-small glass of liquid was thrust into my hands.
“Appa,” Vendi said. “A traditional greeting beverage.”
I sipped it, was pleasantly surprised by the peachy flavor and warm burn. “That’s delicious, thank you!” But I put a hand to my throat when the burn only intensified. Suddenly, it was like drinking Tabasco sauce.
“That has a kick,” I wheezed as Nedra took my glass, placed it on a side table.
“Like a mule,” Vendi agreed. “One is usually enough.”
A woman walked in, smaller than Nedra, larger than the girls. She used a cane, favored her left side.
“Hello, Thora,” Vendi said. “How are you feeling?”
“Good,” Thora said, her voice lightly accented. “It aches today.”
Vendi nodded, guided her to a chair. After pulling on gloves, she began to remove bandages from Thora’s right leg.
There was a horrible gash that reached nearly from knee to ankle, the edges red and swollen.
“Cold iron,” Vendi said, glancing back at me. “A wound she received seven years ago. If it doesn’t kill, it permanently injures.”
I didn’t know what to say. Both sympathy and apology seemed indulgent. So I nodded and did what I was here to do. “Can I help you with instruments or anything?”
Vendi shook her head. “I’ve got this,” she said, and applied a salve to Thora’s still-wounded leg, replaced the bandage. “The salt didn’t help?”
Thora shook her head. “Not with the pain.”
“Claire has brought us some new salt, so maybe we’ll get lucky.”
Thora looked at me, nodded. “It is appreciated.”
Maybe thinking I had connections, Nedra looked at me. “You know about this Reveillon?”
“I know some.”
“Tell us about it.”
I glanced at Vendi, who smiled. “Tell them what you think they deserve to know.”
If I was here—and the possibility existed that I would be—I’d want to know every single damn detail. So I gave them the truth.
“There’s a small army of humans who believe magic is ruining the Zone and everything in it. They believe the only solution is to kill all Paranormals, dismantle Containment, and kill every human who’s involved with Containment or Devil’s Isle.”
The questions started immediately, were thrown at me like darts. How many were there? Was Containment trying to find them? Would there be more attacks?
Vendi whistled shrilly, which quieted the noise.
“I don’t know much,” I said, “except that everyone is looking for them. They’ve hurt a lot of people, and they want to hurt many more. I think it’s fair to say they’re Containment’s priority.”
That didn’t stop the questions, of course. I didn’t know how much I could or should say, but I tried to keep to the basics, repeating the company line. And when I realized I was repeating the company line—the Containment line—I stopped.
I held up a hand. “I don’t work for Containment. I own a store in the French Quarter, about a mile from here. We sell food and supplies. But I know people who work for Containment. Maybe you could give me a list of questions, and I could make sure my friend gets them? I could ask him to make sure you get the answers.”
“Paper,” Nedra said, clapping his hands together. “And a pen! Find them!”
—
We went from cottage to cottage, from Para to Para, meeting individuals and families, checking the conditions of some who were ill or injured, making sure others were getting sufficient nutrition. Every family received an allotment of food and Devil’s Isle tokens, but they hadn’t all adjusted well to human food.
Vendi seemed comfortable in every home, able to navigate each family’s unique culture and circumstances. She didn’t hesitate to direct them to me when they asked questions about Reveillon. Some were as gracious as Nedra’s family had been. Others were quiet, suspicious, obviously angry. I wasn’t sure whether that was because some were Consularis and others Court of Dawn or if my being human made them equally cross.
“We’re done,” Vendi said after a few hours, when we’d made our way down one side of the street and back again. “I’ll take the box to Lizzie, and you can be on your way.”
“Thank you for the experience,” I said, handing it over. “It was very educational.”
Vendi smiled. “Good. You did a passable job for a human.”
I decided to take that as a compliment.
—
I crossed the neighborhood to Liam’s building and went up the stairs to his apartment, then knocked on the door.
And when no one answered, I knocked again.
The door swung open, and a woman stared back at me.
She was trim and about my height, with short, dark hair in a bob that angled down toward her sharp cheekbones. Her eyebrows were dark slashes, her eyes luminously hazel, her lips a bee-stung pink against pale skin. She wore a white tank top and jeans, showing off the black and silver tattoos that covered her arms and chest.
She looked me over, one perfect eyebrow lifted in amusement. “Yeah?”
“Who’s at the—” Liam began, then stepped into the doorway, pulling a T-shirt over his planed abs, then running a hand through his hair to straighten it again.
“Door,” he finished, stepping beside her.
I wasn’t entirely sure who this woman was, or why she was answering Liam’s door while he was getting dressed. Nor was it any of my business. But that didn’t stop the hot spike of jealousy that buried itself in my chest. I felt like I had a claim on him, and a better claim than the woman draped casually in the doorway.
My first thought was that she was revenge for Malachi’s maneuvering the night before. That Liam, in some kind of “I’ll show you” ra
ge, had found a woman, come back to his apartment, and given her a very nice wake-up call. And that made me absolutely furious.
“Claire,” Liam said, “this is Blythe.”
Wait. I’d heard that name before . . .
She smiled lazily, draping herself in the doorway. “Pleasure.”
“Sure,” I said.
“Come in,” Liam said, and Blythe turned to the side, hands in the air, and waited for me to pass.
The memory surfaced—the first time I’d met Eleanor, she asked about Blythe, who I’d assumed was Liam’s girlfriend. He hadn’t said anything about her then or since, and I’d never seen any sign of her.
“Claire owns Royal Mercantile,” he said, closing the door again. “Blythe is a bounty hunter. She’s also the woman I hired to keep an eye on Eleanor and Moses.”
Of course she was, I thought, and felt a stirring of relief. That explained why she was standing in Liam’s doorway. Except . . . “If she’s here, who’s at Eleanor’s?”
“Gavin,” Blythe said. “He relieved me a few hours ago.”
“He’ll go with us back to the store,” Liam said. “He wanted to be along for the ride, just in case. How was the clinic?”
“I never got there, but the home visits we did instead were fine.”
“You want something to eat?” Liam asked. “Something to drink?” He looked at me while he asked, but it was Blythe who walked to the kitchenette on the other end of the room.
“I’d love something—thanks,” she said.
She pulled a bottle of water from the fridge, bumped the door closed while she uncapped the bottle and took a drink. “So, this is Saint Claire?” she asked, crossing her arms as she leaned back against the window ledge.
Slowly, I turned my gaze to Liam. “Saint Claire?”
“My words, not his,” Blythe said, pushing off the window. “She’s pretty,” she added, looking me over.
“She’s in the room,” I pointed out.
“Blythe,” Liam warned, but she ignored him, smiling as she walked toward me and sized me up again.
“It’s all right, Liam. We’re both grown-ups. Aren’t we, doll?”
“Yes, we are,” I said, and took the bottle from her hand, drank, and handed it back to her. “And I prefer Saint Claire to doll.”
Blythe smiled appreciatively. “Well played.”
I ignored the compliment, slid my glance to Liam. “Are you ready? It’s time to go.”
“Ah yes,” Blythe said. “Time for the big, noble plan.” She walked to the bar, picked up a worn leather jacket that had been tossed onto a stool and exchanged the water for rum. “That would be my cue to exit.”
I found it curious that he’d told her. But then again, he’d trusted her with Eleanor.
“You aren’t going to help?” I asked.
She pulled on the jacket, raised flat eyes to mine. “I work for a living, and I like working and living. I’m not out to make an enemy of Containment. But you two have fun.”
She walked to Liam, pressed a kiss to his cheek. It looked chaste enough, but the fingers she dug into his chest said she was ready and available for more. “Maybe next time,” she said to him with a wink and disappeared, closing the door behind her again.
The silence that fell between us prickled against my skin. I was bristling when I looked back at him. Claim or not, I didn’t like being baited.
“She seems . . . ,” I began, but couldn’t think of a very nice adjective.
“Blythe is very good at her job,” Liam said, but his voice was tight and his jaw was clenched in irritation. She hadn’t just been baiting me; she’d been baiting him. Teasing him, maybe, about our relationship.
“Is she trustworthy?”
“Interpersonal skills aside, I trust her completely.”
I’d let him do the trusting. “Good,” I said, and walked to the door. “Because Malachi left me a note this morning, and we’re a go.”
I stopped and put a hand on his chest, batted my lashes the way Blythe had. “Maybe next time,” I said, then walked into the hall.
“Saint Claire, my ass,” was all I heard muttered behind me.
—
By the time we walked outside, an oversized golf cart was parked in front of Eleanor’s house. Three rows of plastic, cushioned seats for our treasonous pleasure.
Inside, Foster guarded the first floor. He padded slowly and carefully into the living room when Liam opened the door, verifying us before trotting forward to say hello.
It hadn’t occurred to me that we’d be leaving Foster alone in the house, and the thought of him pacing around an empty house made me unbearably sad.
“Gavin’s going to take him,” Liam said, crouching to scratch Foster’s chin. “He’ll be okay alone for a few hours until we can get Mos and Eleanor settled.”
“Good,” I said, when Foster padded to me, brushed his muzzle against my leg like a cat. “I’m glad. Maybe he can teach your brother some manners.”
Liam snorted. “He fought a goddess of war, and lived to tell the tale. There’s no saving him now.”
We took the stairs to the second floor and the hallway to Eleanor’s room, which had been mostly reset after yesterday’s incident. She sat on the bed, her delicate feet propped on a chair, all of her covered in a blanket despite the heat.
She looked a little better than she had yesterday. Still pale, and with a wrap around her wrist, but some of her color had come back. Her cheeks were pink with what looked like excitement.
Moses stood in the middle of the room, an old-fashioned buckle suitcase on the floor beside him, its leather a vibrant, pukey green.
Liam walked to Eleanor, kissed her forehead. “Where’s your other grandson?”
“Making lemonade,” Gavin said, appearing in the kitchen doorway. He walked to Eleanor, handed her a glass.
“Thank you, darling. Claire, how are you this morning?”
“I’m good, thank you. How are you feeling?”
She smiled cheekily, an expression she’d probably passed on to Liam and Gavin. “Truth be told, I’m very excited about our adventure.”
I nodded. “I’m excited, too.” Nervous as much as excited, but there was no point in telling her that. No point in making her carry both my fear and hers.
“What’s that?” Liam asked, pointing at Moses’s suitcase.
Moses looked down at it, brow furrowed. “My valuables. The stuff I managed to salvage from the store after it burned to the ground.” He stuck up his chin. “If I can’t take them with me, I’ll just risk it. I’m spry on my feet.”
I doubted all three and a half feet of him had ever been spry.
“And you didn’t think your running around carrying a suitcase would look suspicious?” Liam asked.
Moses narrowed his eyes. “You sayin’ I can’t be careful? That I can’t dodge and weave with the best of them?”
“I’m sure you can,” Liam said. “But today we’re on a mission with a short trigger. If the guard at the gate decides he wants to search the suitcases, I imagine he’ll have a few questions about what’s in it and why Eleanor’s carrying it. And that will slow us down.”
Moses growled.
“You can’t take the suitcase this trip,” Liam said firmly. “But—but,” he added, when Moses bared his teeth, “if you leave it here, I’ll come get it later, make sure it gets to you. That way, I’m the only one taking a risk.”
Moses didn’t look convinced, and he moved a step closer to the avocado monstrosity. I couldn’t exactly blame him. His opportunity for freedom, or what he could find of it in a world where his very existence was illegal, meant leaving everything behind.
“How about this?” I said. “You can have an unlimited credit at the store for anything Liam loses or breaks.”
Moses looked suspicious. He was
a retailer at heart, and probably thought the offer sounded too good to be true. “You got cable? Wires and such?”
I smiled. “Dozens of spools.”
He considered. “Okay, yeah. That would work.”
“Crisis averted,” Liam said, moving the suitcase to the far wall under Moses’s gimlet stare. “Is Malachi in place?”
Malachi walked into the room in jeans and a fitted white T-shirt. “Yes, he is.”
We stared at him. The Consularis general had apparently walked right into Devil’s Isle. Of course, getting into Devil’s Isle had never been the hard part. The trick, as we were about to prove, was getting out again.
“How the hell did you get in here?” Liam asked.
“I walked in,” he said simply, stepping toward me with a warm smile, then looking at Liam. “We practiced last night, and we believed we managed to sync my magic and his invisibility. But we wanted a test inside the gates, just in case.”
The air shimmered, and Burke appeared beside Malachi.
Eleanor gasped, her eyes seemingly focused on middle distance as she looked at the magic only she could see. “How marvelous! You have such beautiful magic, both of you. A beautiful copper, which split into gold and blue when you separated. Absolutely stunning.”
“Malachi and Will Burke,” Liam said.
“A pleasure to meet you,” Burke said. “And thank you.”
She nodded regally. “It is truly my pleasure, young man. You are doing a very good thing for a very good man.”
Moses actually blushed.
Liam frowned, crossed his arms. “What did you learn with your testing?”
“We need proximity,” Malachi said. “Being outside Devil’s Isle—outside the wall or above the grid—isn’t enough. If I’m inside Devil’s Isle, and nearby, our combined magic can encompass us both.”
“We need it to encompass all three of you,” Liam pointed out.
“We can do it,” Burke said with a grin, then looked at me. “We hid half the stuff in the storage room last night.”
Too bad I’d been exhausted; I’d have liked to see that.
“Don’t worry about the magic,” Malachi said. “I also managed to keep us shielded from the monitors. But movement makes that tricky, and I’d rather not rely on it.” He looked at Moses. “Monitors?”