The Beyond (A Devil's Isle Novel)

by Chloe Neill

  “Depends. What’s the prize?”

  I leaned up and kissed him. “I love you. And that’s mine to give.”

  “Good,” he said.

  “Now that we’ve cleared that up, I want to tell Gunnar good-bye.”

  “Okay. I’ll wait in the lobby.”

  We parted ways, and I went back to Gunnar’s room, found him alone, staring out the window at the falling rain.

  “Where is everyone?” I asked.

  He looked at me. “Cameron went to check on his dog. Cantrell went back to the house. We’re getting reports about flooding, so I made them go.”

  “You’re getting reports?”

  “Plenty of work to do. Especially now.” He patted the bed. “Come here.”

  I sat on the edge of the bed, tried to find somewhere to put my hands in this awkward position, and settled on my lap. “Is this when you declare your undying love for me?”

  “It’s when I ask about you and Liam.”

  “Me and Liam? You were nearly killed by Paranormals, and you want to know about my love life?”

  “I want to know if you’re okay. You seem . . . strained. Or you did.”

  I didn’t think it had been that obvious. I guess I’d been wrong. “Growing pains.”

  “Because you’re commitment-phobic.”

  I narrowed my gaze. “Excuse me?”

  “I mean, aren’t we all a little commitment-phobic? Consider where we live, what we do. Things change quickly. Hard to commit when you don’t know what’s coming next.”

  “Yeah,” I said, and felt better that I wasn’t the only who felt that way. “That’s about it. He said he’d stay in New Orleans because of me.”

  “Of course he will.”

  “What do you mean, ‘of course’? We just talked about it.”

  Gunnar just looked at me. “You really should have dated more in high school.”

  “I would have gone to homecoming, but there was suddenly this paranormal war, so I had to change my plans.”

  “Ha ha.” He put a hand on mine, squeezed. “He loves you, Claire. And he’s already decided to stay. He sent Eleanor away, probably would have sent Gavin, too, if he could have. But he stayed. And, sadly, I don’t think he stayed for me.”

  I pointed at him. “Hands off.”

  “You know, if you weren’t dating him, I’d probably take a stab.”

  “I am dating him, and he’s straight.”

  “I like to think of sexuality as”—Gunnar drew his hands apart—“a spectrum.”

  “How come you only say that when we’re talking about my boyfriends? And how come I didn’t know about Cameron?”

  His cheeks actually turned pink.

  “So you do have a thing,” I said.

  “It’s the beginning of a thing. We’ve only been talking. And I didn’t want to jinx it.”

  God, we were too much alike.

  “I like him, Claire.”

  I smiled. “I like him, too. He stayed all night. Your father in one chair, him in the other.”

  “No constant vigil from Claire-Bear?”

  “There were no more vigiling chairs,” I said. “When we have time, I want details about how you met, his IQ, how he treats waiters, what he looks like under those clothes.”

  “Work, high, no idea, hopefully great.”

  “That’s just the table of contents,” I said, rising.

  “Claire, do me a favor.”

  I looked back at him.

  “Like I told Cantrell and Cameron, don’t come back today; it’s too risky. Stay inside. If anything happens, Lizzie will get word to you.”

  I didn’t want to agree with him, but knew he was right. “I will if you’ll get some rest, because we’re going to need you. And I need to see a girl about a war machine.”

  But first, I needed to see a girl with a store.

  * * *

  • • •

  Liam and I left the clinic in Scarlet and drove through driving rain toward the Devil’s Isle gate. By the time we made it across the neighborhood, I was pretty sure she’d cracked a shock on the trip from Belle Chasse.

  When all was said and done, she was going to deserve a good pampering.

  I slowed down when we reached the gate to give the guards time to open it, but it was already open, as a dozen people in ponchos and rain jackets or just holding blankets over their heads waited in line to get into Devil’s Isle. Most looked older. One was in a wheelchair. Another woman had two small children, who splashed in the water in bright yellow rain boots.

  I cranked down the window, squinted into the rain at the guard. “Everything okay?” I asked, nearly yelling over the roar of wind and water.

  He wore a plastic poncho over his fatigues, and looked generally miserable in the blowing rain. “The community gardens are washed out and food’s running low.” He had to raise his voice over the rain. “And there’s already flooding in Lakeview and Gentilly, and there’s a shuttle running humans down here. They should have taken the damn caravan.”

  I made a noncommittal noise and rolled up the window, waited for a gap in the traffic, moved through the gate, and waved at the people who waited in line.

  “New soldiers,” Liam said ruefully, rubbing his forehead as he gazed out the side window. “They were sent here because we needed personnel, and they don’t get New Orleans. They don’t get the people, or why they’d want to stay even in a crisis. Or that some people simply have nowhere else to go, and the idea of leaving is incomprehensible.”

  It became more comprehensible as we moved through the Quarter. The edges of the streets had begun to fill, but water hadn’t yet reached the sidewalk. The curb was sloped away from the middle of the street to keep water moving toward the collection basins. But if the pump system wasn’t working, that would be the sticking point. Literally. And this wasn’t even storm surge, not yet. Just rainwater that hadn’t yet made it into the broken pump system. We’d see how far it rose.

  The store was open, but looked empty from the outside. We found a note taped to the door.

  ATTENTION RESIDENTS:

  Due to hurricane warning, 8:00 p.m. curfew is now in effect.

  Due to limited fuel supplies, mandatory blackout will begin at 9:00 p.m.

  It was going to be a long night.

  We walked inside, found Tadji behind the counter. She was the only person in the store, and she looked up when the door opened. “What’s happened?”

  “Curfew and mandatory blackout,” I said, handing her the note. “And Gunnar is awake and says hello and he loves you.” I actually couldn’t remember if he’d said either of those things. I was exhausted.

  She looked at the ceiling, blew out a breath. “Thank God.”

  “His parents apologized to me.”

  “Has hell officially frozen over?”

  “Ha! That’s what Gunnar said.”

  “And the official answer is ‘no,’” Liam said. “But it’s still raining.”

  “Thank you for that insightful weather report, Burt.” Tadji pretended to tap documents on the countertop.

  “You’re welcome, Jenny.”

  I smiled at the byplay. “How’s it going here?”

  “I’m worried about the storm, and the power’s definitely going to go out, and we’re just about out of MREs. So, you know, par for the course.

  “I rounded up every candle and jug I could find.” She pointed toward the community table, which was now stacked with candles and bottles of water. Larger jugs were stacked on the floor. “There are blankets on the third floor and a few more candles. Who knows if anyone will actually show up, other than the core group, but we’ll be ready if they do.”

  “The core group,” I repeated with a smile. Our strange little human and Para family. If we were going to have to wa
it out a hurricane, I didn’t mind waiting it out with them.

  But I was going to need some energy if I was going to wait anything out. I grabbed a protein bar from the kitchen. I barely had the plastic wrapper off before I began to chew.

  “When was the last time you guys ate a meal?” she asked. “You look worn-out.”

  I blinked. “I have no idea.”

  “I could heat something up,” she said. “We might as well use the food while we can.”

  “This is fine for now,” I said. “Have you heard from Malachi? Or Darby?”

  “Malachi, no, but Darby, yes. I forgot—she asked you to come by when you can. You know, because the Seelies are intent on destroying us.”

  “Because of that,” I agreed. “Did she say whether she’d made progress?”

  “She did not.”

  I looked at the door, not especially eager to go back out in the storm. But I didn’t really have a choice.

  “Hell of a thing,” Tadji said quietly. “If this is about Aeryth losing her sister, I sympathize, but she could have gone the Taj Mahal route.”

  “No kidding,” I said, and ignored the twinge of regret. I hadn’t done anything to Callyth. And for all we knew, my mother hadn’t, either.

  But how many interrogators did Containment have?

  No, I told myself. I’d wasted enough mental energy on Laura Blackwell for one lifetime. Her crimes, whatever they might be, couldn’t be my burden.

  “I’ll go see her,” I said, then stuffed the last of the protein bar into my mouth.

  “While she’s gone,” Tadji said to Liam, “could you move a couple of sandbags to the back? It’s getting a little soggy back there.”

  “I can.” Liam glanced at me. “You okay talking to Darby alone?”

  “He’s asking if you can swim if necessary,” Tadji said.

  “I can.” I put a hand on his chest, stretched up to kiss him. “I’ll be fine. Thank you for helping with the store.”

  “I’m trying to woo the owner,” he said. “It’s a bribe.”

  “Oh, speaking of bribes, I nearly forgot.” I pulled the wrapped bark I’d brought from Elysium from my backpack. “Can you give this to Moses?”

  “What is it?” she asked, lifting her head to keep the bark out of nose reach. Which was a good move.

  “Disgusting,” I said. “He’ll love it.”

  * * *

  • • •

  I pulled on rubber boots and a plastic Saints poncho—musts for every hurricane kit—for the walk to the museum, and probably would have enjoyed the splashing if it hadn’t been for the torrential, horizontal rain and punishing winds. The rain slapped so hard I half expected to find bruises when I pulled the poncho off again.

  Palm trees bent in the wind, and unsecured shutters knocked against walls. A gust pulled one away as I watched, sent it spinning through the air like an awkward Frisbee.

  Chartres Street was a little higher than Royal, since it was closer to the river and the city dipped in the middle. I passed Napoleon House, which sat on the corner, in order to get to the museum. The antique building was more than two hundred years old, and had definitely seen its share of New Orleans history. It was looking worse for wear today—shutters hanging from their brackets, windows shattered, and rain-exfoliated stucco peeling away from the walls. It probably wasn’t going to get any better over the next few hours.

  I found the museum’s door locked, pounded on it. “Darby! It’s Claire!”

  I peeked through the window, straining to hear anything in the whistling wind. Finally, after a good minute, there was a scrape, and the door opened.

  “Sorry,” she said, waving me inside. “Wind kept blowing the door open, so I had to block it.”

  With a grunt, she pushed to close it again, then scooted a low metal cart in front of it, locked it.

  Darby had paired cutoff denim shorts today with a snug T-shirt that showed off her curves, and red rubber boots. Her face was bare, her dark hair pulled back in a kerchief. Like the rest of us, she looked tired.

  She blew out a breath. “Freaking miserable out there.”

  “Yeah, and it’s only going to get worse. Landfall later tonight.” I pulled off the poncho, hung it over the cart. Not that it had done much good. I was soaked through.

  “I know,” she said. “Current path shows it moving quickly with landfall over Bay St. Louis, but who knows how the Seelies will screw with that? How’s Gunnar?”

  “Awake and doing better. How are you?”

  “I’m ready for a break,” she said.

  “Where’s Lowes?” I asked as I followed her to the soda fountain.

  “Back in Devil’s Isle. Apparently has a bit of hydrophobia.”

  “Well, that is inconvenient in New Orleans. On a related note, have you seen Malachi? I haven’t talked to him since we got back from the Beyond.”

  “He came by this morning with Rachel to see how we were doing.”

  My eyes widened, matched by my smile. “With Rachel? Like, on purpose?”

  Darby grinned, which lit her pale face. “Yup. They weren’t holding hands or anything, but they weren’t fighting, and they did seem to be more in sync, if that makes sense.”

  “It does. She was really good on the trip. Can definitely handle herself.”

  “Yeah, she seems like the type. And here we go.”

  Without segue, and skipping the preliminaries, she waved her hand at an—“amalgamation” seemed the best word—of metal and stone that sat on the counter. A cast-iron skillet had been wedged into an antique silver toast holder. The Abethyl had been wedged into the skillet, and the Inclusion Stone wedged into the nook in the Abethyl.

  “This is . . . an interesting setup,” I said.

  “You’ve brought me two rocks, but not the stand. I had to improvise.”

  I hadn’t even thought about the stand. “Sorry about that.”

  “A good scientist makes do.”

  As I got closer, I realized there was a little bit of green liquid in the skillet. “And what’s the liquid?”

  “Electrolytic solution intended to stabilize the effect.”

  “You made an electrolytic solution, too?” I asked, impressed.

  She smiled. “It’s Gatorade.”

  “Wow.”

  “If I was Cajun, I’d call it Cajun ingenuity. I’m not, so let’s just say I’m resourceful.”

  “So how does it work?” I asked, and tried not to hide my disappointment at how accidental it looked. It didn’t look like The Thing That Would Save Us.

  Darby pointed to the Abethyl. “This bad boy pulls out the magic, nullifies it.” Then she pointed to the Inclusion Stone. “Blackwell told us the truth. This one rotates within the Abethyl, and in doing so, it spreads the Abethyl’s effect. That’s the tricky part.”

  “Because?”

  “Because getting the right spread is what determines whether you’re sucking the magic out of just the bad guys—or out of every Para in the vicinity. And it’s testy.” She pointed to the Inclusion Stone’s interior crack. “It comes down to how the inclusion is aligned within the Abethyl. And a millimeter difference creates a really big difference.”

  “How are you testing the effects?”

  “Moses’s old socks.”

  I just looked at her. “What?”

  She lifted a shoulder. “They’re magically imbued—and also disgusting, but they served their purpose. Basically, I made a grid out of them, tested the Snare at different alignments. Moses was my gauge—telling me how much magic I’d actually managed to pull out.” She frowned. “Or he just liked sniffing his socks.”

  Another vote of nonconfidence for this janky weapon.

  “It sounds like you’re making progress.” There was a metallic scream outside, and we looked out to see a strip of metal
rippling down the sidewalk. “We’re going to need to nail this down,” I said. “And real soon. By tonight.”

  “Yeah, that’s actually where you come in.” She looked at me. “Testing on objects only goes so far. In order to see that I’ve gotten the alignment correct, I need to test on a person. I need to aim it at you and see what happens.”

  “To see if I suddenly lose my abilities?”

  “Pretty much.”

  “Oh.”

  I looked at the Devil’s Snare, then down at my fingers, not sure how I felt about the idea of losing my magic in the flash of a Consularis weapon. I hadn’t been “just” human in a long time.

  On the other hand, what other choice did we have? Malachi, Moses, Lizzie—they were all inherently magical. It was part of who they were, part of their DNA. My magic was a castaway. An interloper. A freak trick of nature. What right did I have to make them test the weapon instead of me?

  “I guess I’m the best person for the job.”

  She just looked at me for a moment. “Do you want to try to say that with conviction? ’Cause the first try wasn’t convincing at all.” Her smile was kind. “It’s okay to be glad you have magic. And to worry about losing it.”

  I nodded. “I’ve gotten used to having it,” I admitted. “To being a Sensitive with a capital ‘S.’ I don’t want to give it up.” I looked at the windows, at the building storm. “Especially not now.”

  “When they’re waiting for us.”

  Frowning, I turned back to her. “What did you say?”

  “When they’re waiting for us.” She gestured toward the storm. “Basically weather Paras, right?”

  “When they’re waiting for us,” I said quietly, and walked to the window. “When was their last attack?”

  Darby followed me, frowned. “I don’t know. I don’t think they’ve hit anything since before you left. Since the pumps.”

  “Since the pumps,” I murmured.

  “Are you going to keep mysteriously repeating what I’m saying, or tell me what you’re thinking?”

  “They’re waiting,” I said, looking back at her. “They destroyed a lot of houses, then Seabrook, then the pumps. And then nothing, for nearly two days.”