by Chloe Neill
We sat quietly for a moment, thinking about the scene.
“A beach vacation would hit the spot right now,” Burke agreed. “Man, or even just zoning out in front of the television.”
“Best way to spend a weekend afternoon,” Gunnar agreed.
“What about you, Claire?” Tadji asked. “What do you miss?”
“Oh, I got this,” Gunnar said with a grin. “She misses cheese, good tea, and air-conditioning.”
“Nearly nailed it,” I said, raising my glass to him.
“Sweet tea?” Burke asked.
“Earl Grey, if I can get it.” I looked at Liam, lifted my eyebrows. “I understand you may have a supplier.”
“I am a man of many talents,” he said with a grin, which made Tadji whistle.
“You know why she loves Earl Grey?” Gunnar asked, shifting in his seat to look at me. “She discovered something awesome.”
“And what’s that?” Liam asked, smiling at me.
“It’s silly,” I said, “but if you put honey in Earl Grey, it tastes a little like Fruity Rockers.”
“The breakfast cereal?” Liam asked, and I nodded.
“Saturday mornings with television and Fruity Rockers,” Burke said. “Now, that was bliss.”
It had been bliss for me, too. Were we possibly better off without sugary cereals and zombifying television? Maybe. But it would have been nice to have the choice to ruin myself. If I could have gone back in time—something I thought about a lot at the beginning of the war—I’d have smacked my younger self for not appreciating the small conveniences.
“That’s not the only thing I miss, though,” I said. “My grandmother was a Peretti. Very Italian, but also very Southern. She’d lived in Mississippi before she came to New Orleans. I didn’t know her very long—I was only five or six when she died—but we’d go to her house on Sunday for lunch. She’d make this enormous Italian-Southern meal. Fried chicken, fried okra, mashed potatoes. That would all be one half of the table,” I said, using my hands to illustrate. “And on the other side would be this Italian feast. Ziti with sausage, and red gravy. Mussels. Carbonara. There was so much of it, and it was all phenomenal. I mean, honestly, it was an obscene amount of food. Not that anybody was complaining about it.”
“What about you, Liam?” Burke asked. “What do you miss?”
There was a pop, and the overhead lights blinked, buzzed on. Without missing a beat, Gunnar leaned forward, blew out the candles.
“So much for the romantic evening,” he said with a grin, settling back again. “We’ll assume consistent power is one of the things Liam misses.”
“It didn’t hurt,” Liam said. “I miss Abita beer. A cold beer on a humid day was pretty remarkable.” He was quiet for a moment, lost in the memory, before he tipped his chair back again. “My family had this place on Bayou Teche. It was a cabin, and hardly that, but it snugged up next to the bayou, or at least as close as you could get. Had a dock, and you could sit out, watch pelicans land, see gators slinking through the water while you drank a beer. It was pretty damn exceptional.” He smiled at us. “Not that this fine feast you’ve assembled isn’t spectacular. Because it is.”
The compliment was interrupted by hurried pounding on the store’s front door. Liam, Gunnar, and Burke went on immediate alert.
I stood up, and Liam did the same. I walked toward the door, could feel him moving protectively behind me. I held up a hand to call him off, unlocked the door.
It was Campbell, Gunnar’s blond, lanky cousin. And he looked absolutely panicked.
“Campbell,” Gunnar said, rushing around furniture to the door. “What are you doing here?”
“It’s Emme.” That was Gunnar’s younger sister. “She was attacked by wraiths.”
“Jesus,” Gunnar said, putting a hand on Campbell’s arm. “Is she all right?”
“She’s got a couple of pretty bad lacerations. Your father was at home when she was attacked. He stitched and bandaged her, gave her morphine. There was a Containment patrol in the neighborhood, so we flagged them down. I knew you’d probably be here.”
“Can I get you a bottle of water or something, Campbell?” I asked.
He shook his head. “I’m good. Thank you.”
“She’s at the house?” Gunnar asked.
Campbell nodded. Without cell phones or landlines in the Zone, the only way to communicate quickly was to play Paul Revere—you hauled ass to wherever someone was and then you hauled ass back again.
“We’ll go,” I said, putting a hand at Gunnar’s back. “We’ll go to your house, make sure she’s all right.” I glanced at Liam, who’d moved behind me, watched with a serious expression. “Maybe you could come, too?”
His expression had gone serious. “Already planning on it.”
Gunnar looked back at Liam, nodded. “I’d appreciate it. You’ll know more about them than any of us. And you’re welcome to the bounty if you can find them.”
Liam shook his head. “Don’t worry about that. We’ll make sure your sister is safe, and go from there.”
“Why don’t I stay here,” Tadji suggested, “get things cleaned up? I can lock up the store or stay until you get back.”
“I could stay, too,” Burke said. “I’d be happy to help.”
I could see Tadji’s internal war—she’d rather be alone than deal with an uncomfortable assistant—but she was gracious enough to know that this wasn’t about her, but Gunnar and his family. And it probably wasn’t a good idea for her to be here alone, just in case.
She nodded. “That’d be great, Burke. Thank you.”
So as Burke and Tadji began to clear things from the table, we worked out the transportation. Campbell had driven, so he’d take me, Gunnar, and Liam to the house.
For now, that was plan enough.
• • •
Campbell had an old-fashioned, military-style jeep. Two seats in front, a bench in back, the doors open. The vehicle had been stripped of most electronics since they weren’t reliable anyway. It wasn’t pretty, but it was as solid as you could get in the Zone.
“Tell us what happened,” Liam said when we’d climbed into the back, and Gunnar and Campbell had taken the front.
“Emme was on her way home from school. She’s a sophomore at Tulane,” he added, glancing in the rearview mirror to meet our gazes.
“She has a car, gets home around the same time most days, and Zach keeps an eye out for her.”
“Zach?” Liam asked.
“My younger brother,” Gunnar said.
Campbell nodded. “He checked the window, saw them—two male wraiths.”
Liam and I exchanged a glance. It didn’t take much to imagine they were the same wraiths I’d fought the night before. But we wouldn’t know that for sure unless we found them.
“They attacked her when she got out of the car. Zach ran out to help her, used a flare gun to scare them off, but not before they got violent.”
Flare guns were popular in New Orleans during and after the war. When phones didn’t work, you could send up a flare to signal emergency or to alert Containment crews.
“He got her inside, and your father helped her.”
Campbell turned the vehicle onto St. Charles Avenue. Before the war, St. Charles had been the primary street on the New Orleans star tour—the street where the famous writer had lived, the actor, the chef, the former senator. They’d celebrated their money with architectural grandeur, not that it was worth much now.
It was a four-lane road separated by a median of streetcar tracks, what we called the “neutral ground.” Both sides of the street and the neutral ground had once been lined with trees, including tons of live oaks planted after the storm. Some had been knocked down in battle. Others had died when magic seeped into the soil, or when humans had cut them down to make firewood.
The neighborhood’s mansions, businesses, and high-rises hadn’t fared much better. Many had been leveled, especially near Lafayette Cemetery No. 1, where
there’d been heavy fighting during the Second Battle.
“What happened to the wraiths?” Liam asked.
“I don’t know,” Campbell said. “I guess Zach scared them off?”
If it was the same two wraiths that I’d seen in the Quarter, that was two nights in a row they’d attacked and been scared off. I didn’t think we’d stay that lucky for much longer.
The Landreau house was two stately stories in creamy yellow fronted by porches and marked with columns. The main house had once been surrounded by palm trees, so tours had referred to it as the “Palm Tree House.” I’d passed it a dozen times as a teenager. I hadn’t known Gunnar then, but I’d known the house. Now the trees were mostly gone, and so were most of the Landreaus’ neighbors.
We parked and climbed out of the jeep. There was a Containment vehicle at the curb, a few agents milling around. Even the sight of them made me nervous.
“You’ll be fine,” Liam murmured. “They’ll have already interviewed the family.”
Gunnar jogged to one of the agents, nodded at whatever information he got, then joined us again.
Campbell’s wife, Sloane, met us at the front door. Gunnar embraced her, and we followed them in silence through the house.
It looked, as it always did, untouched by war. No soot on the walls, no smears from magical fire on the antique carpets. The furniture was expensive and immaculate, the crown molding pristine, pretty little art objects and framed photographs on nearly every surface. The house blazed with lights, and the air was frigid. The Landreaus had two generators, and they’d donated several dozen to the city’s remaining schools. They’d also paid a small fortune to repair their house after the war. But the city needed it. We needed normalcy. We needed hope. That was, after all, why we’d all stayed—because we believed regular life in New Orleans would be possible again someday.
We walked into the living room, where beautiful lamps cast shadows along walls papered with toile. Emme lay on a long sofa in the living room, her skin pale, white bandages across her neck and forehead. She was tall, nearly six feet of slender girl, but tonight she looked as small and delicate as a doll.
Liam stood beside me a few feet away, and I felt his body jerk, probably with the sharp and painful memory of his sister. I reached out, squeezed his hand. That made him jerk, too, so I pulled my hand away again and focused on standing there awkwardly.
“Damn it,” he murmured. “I’m sorry.”
I shook my head. Of course he didn’t want sympathy from me. I was a Sensitive. If it wasn’t for people like me, his sister would still be alive.
I tried for a nonchalant smile, but I wasn’t sure if I pulled it off. I made myself focus on what was in front of me.
Gunnar knelt on the floor beside the couch, replacing Zach, who stood up, wincing. I guessed he’d been there for a while. He walked toward us. He was clearly a Landreau, with his crooked mouth and dark hair. Tonight, he looked exhausted.
He reached out, gave me a hug.
“How are you doing?”
“Not great.”
I nodded. “I’m so sorry. She’s stable?”
Zach nodded. “For now, yeah. Dad has her on some pretty stiff painkillers.” He rolled tension from his shoulders. “I never saw a wraith before. It was—not good. I was here during the war, and I’m not sure I’ve ever been so scared.”
“They’re pretty horrible,” I agreed.
His gaze fell to Emme again, heavy with guilt. “It took me a moment to move—if I’d gotten there faster, maybe . . .”
Zach suddenly realized Liam was standing there, blinked. “Who are you?”
“God, I’m sorry,” I said. “Zach Landreau, this is Liam Quinn. I don’t know if you heard, but I happened upon a wraith attack last night. Liam helped me. He’s a bounty hunter.”
Gunnar looked back at me. “The wraiths you saw—weren’t there two of them?”
“Two males,” I said with a nod. “They were headed uptown.”
“So it could be the same ones,” he said.
Liam nodded. “It’s a possibility. They could have bedded down in the meantime, then gone out again tonight.”
“And had Containment done a damn thing to stop them, this wouldn’t have happened.”
The voice was deep, Southern, and very, very angry. Cantrell Landreau stood in the beautifully arched doorway, fury and worry warring on his face, in the deep lines around his mouth and eyes. He’d been a handsome man, was still handsome in his way, but the war had taken a toll on him, put bags beneath his eyes. But he still wore pressed khaki pants, an immaculate button-down shirt. He wasn’t a man to let war come between him and the finer things—things he’d undoubtedly worked hard to achieve. And a house in the Garden District was a long way from a cinder block motel.
Gunnar’s mother, Stella, stood behind him. She had dark, frizzed hair and wore a belted robe over long pajamas. I guessed she’d woken up to find her daughter injured.
“Dad,” Zach said, moving to intercept Cantrell. “Not tonight. This isn’t the time or the place.”
“It’s my house,” Cantrell said. “And if not tonight, when? We gave this city to Containment. We gave it to them because they promised to make things normal again. Because they promised to give our city back to us. Bullshit. What has Containment done? Squandered it. Let Paranormals roam free.” Gunnar might have been on his knees on the floor beside his injured sister, but Cantrell didn’t care.
Gunnar’s expression was nearly mutinous. “If you think we don’t try to stop this, try to prevent it in every way that we can, you’re insane.”
“Then why did my daughter nearly die tonight?” Cantrell asked. “Containment certainly didn’t stop this.”
I knew he didn’t mean Gunnar personally, but since Gunnar was the only Containment agent in the room, it would have been difficult not to take the remark that way.
I’d seen arguments like this all the time during the war. People wanted to believe there was a reason for everything horrible that happened. There was no such thing as being in the wrong place at the wrong time; everything was someone’s fault, traceable back to that bad person or bad decision.
Life didn’t usually work that way. But since Liam was on the same type of quest, I had to hope he’d have better luck.
“You know there aren’t enough people to have a Containment agent on every block. That just couldn’t happen. But they’re here now, investigating, and so am I. I’ll do everything I can,” Gunnar replied.
When they started yelling over each other, Liam put two fingers in his mouth, whistled. The crowd quieted, heads snapping to him.
“I’m very, very sorry for what’s happened,” he said. “It’s a horrible thing. But blaming each other isn’t going to help.”
“Who the hell are you?” Cantrell demanded.
“He’s a friend,” Gunnar said. “A friend with experience.” That Gunnar had called him a friend so quickly made me want to reach out and hug him.
Cantrell spat out a curse. “If Containment isn’t responsible, then who is? Who else got us in this situation, hurt my daughter?”
“I’m not sure,” Liam said. “And that’s what I’m trying to find out. But there’s no reason to believe it was your own family.”
Gunnar looked as grateful as I felt for the words.
Emme stirred. “Gunn . . . ,” she said, voice hoarse, and Gunnar turned back to her.
“I’m here, Emme. You all right?”
“The monsters.”
“They’re gone. Zach took care of them, and he took care of you. You’re in the house, and safe now.”
Her eyes were still closed, but her lips curved upward. “Zach did good.”
“Yeah,” Gunnar said, smiling at Zach. His body shifted, relaxed with Emme’s forgiveness. “He did real good.” He’d done what he could, and gotten Emme to safety.
Now if we could just keep her there.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Gunnar, Liam, and I walked outside t
o take a look around. The air was thick and still and nearly silent, fog softening the house’s hard edges, hiding what remained of the landscaping. The Containment vehicles were gone. Either they hadn’t found anything or they hadn’t bothered to check very hard. But as Liam had said, if Containment thought wraiths were animals, why bother?
“Remind me what we’re looking for,” Gunnar said as we took the sidewalk toward the street.
I didn’t answer. I wasn’t sure how much Liam wanted Gunnar to know about his suspicions, and figured it was better for him to make that decision for himself.
“Indications of intelligence, complex thinking.”
Gunnar stopped. “What?”
“Does Containment track wraith attacks?” Liam asked.
Gunnar stopped in the junction between the sidewalks, where the Landreaus had planted smaller palms in giant terracotta urns, faced Liam, then looked at me, gaze thoughtful. I’d asked Gunnar almost the exact same question, and he’d have realized there was something bigger going on.
“Why?”
“Because I do track them,” Liam said, letting the cat out of that particular bag. “Attacks have been increasing, and wraiths’ behavior seems to be becoming more developed.”
Gunnar’s eyebrows lifted. “Elaborate.”
Liam didn’t answer, but checked the street for traffic (there wasn’t any) and jogged across to the neutral ground. We followed him, watching as he pulled a small flashlight from his pocket, began checking the ground.
“Recent patterns suggest they pick their victims, track them, and possibly coordinate their attacks.”
“We haven’t seen any evidence of higher-level thinking.”
Liam glanced at him, his face bland. “Haven’t seen it? Or weren’t looking for it?”
“I wasn’t aware there was anything to look for.”
“There could be evidence they camped out, waited for her.” His beam flashed back and forth across the ground, but didn’t settle. After a moment, he flipped off the flashlight—all the better to save the batteries—and glanced at Gunnar. “Are you good at your job?”
Gunnar’s look could have iced over Lake Pontchartrain. “Not at all. You just have to walk in and smile to be the Commandant’s chief adviser.”