The Veil

by Chloe Neill

  I bit back a grin. It was fun to watch Liam Quinn get the business for a change—and nice not to be on the receiving end of it.

  “I wasn’t implying. I was asking. Wraith behavior is changing. There are more of them, and they’re acting more intentionally.”

  Gunnar frowned, crossed his arms. “You’re talking about evolution?”

  “I don’t know,” Liam said. “But I’d bet you’ve got more access to information than nearly anyone else in New Orleans, including me. It would be worth your time to check it out. It would be worth Containment’s time.”

  Gunnar slanted me a glance before looking back at Liam. “Because you’re apparently friends with Claire, I’ll spare you the lecture about bounty hunters telling me how to do my job. Instead, I’ll just say I appreciate the heads-up.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. I don’t see anything here.”

  “Check around the house?” Gunnar suggested, and Liam nodded. He swung the flashlight back and forth across the road; then we moved into the front yard.

  “I’ll check the side yard,” I said to them.

  “Be careful,” Liam said. “Yell if you need us.”

  I promised I would.

  There was a stone patio on the side of the house beneath a pergola still covered in leafy vines. Once upon a time, the patio would have been decked with flowers, surrounded by blossoming shrubs. And on a warm night like this, probably fancy people in fancy clothes holding even fancier drinks. But that was all gone now.

  I walked around to the side lawn, then the back. It was big for New Orleans, with plenty of space on the sides between the neighbors’ houses. Patches of grass were black where magic had struck like lightning, but a few live oaks had survived the war. They were gorgeously creepy, Spanish moss hanging down from long, gnarled branches.

  Fog swirled in a sudden shift in the wind, rising in a column that spun like a dervish until it sank to the ground. And in that moment, before the fog lifted again, I saw a dark figure move across the lawn between the arching branches of the oaks.

  My heart began to pound. I hadn’t actually expected to see anything out here. Not after my run-in with the wraiths, and the fact that Zach had chased them off tonight. And maybe it was nothing. My very overactive imagination. Or someone from the family who wanted fresh air.

  But what if it wasn’t? I ran through the possible options. One, a wraith, waiting for another chance to attack. Two, a nosy neighbor. Three, someone else doing their own investigation about the wraiths who’d attacked Emme.

  I thought about yelling for Liam, but that might have scared the person off. And I didn’t want to do that. If someone was spying on the Landreaus, or if the wraiths had come back for another bite, we’d need to know.

  My boots, thankfully, were silent and soft, and didn’t make a sound as I snuck around and into the grass. I darted to the closest tree, waited for a moment in case I’d made too much noise, ears straining for sound.

  I knew I wasn’t as scared as I should have been. It wasn’t that I thought I was invincible; I wasn’t naive. But I was being careful, and I figured the odds were better that whatever was out here would run away as soon as it saw me.

  As slowly and quietly as I could manage, I looked around the trunk of the tree I’d been sheltering against. There, at the other end of the alley of oak trees, maybe forty feet away, stood a man. He was tall, broad-shouldered, with light hair. The darkness had dulled colors to black and white and gray, so I couldn’t tell much else.

  Then the wind shifted again, moving fog and shadows, and revealing the arch of wings at his back.

  I froze, and my bravado wavered. There was a chance it was an innocuous Para—a cloud nymph, maybe, what we’d have called a Nephele.

  But most things with wings were things to be avoided. Angels with their golden bows, Valkyries with their deadly spears. Both were ferocious fighters.

  Memories rushed me, made my hands shake with adrenaline and fear. But like I’d done so many times before, I put them away. There wasn’t time to be weak, to be afraid. Especially not if one of them had managed to avoid Devil’s Isle and was hunting again.

  I shook my head. After last night, I didn’t have the right to assume all Paras were enemies anymore, no matter how terrifying. I had to be more open-minded. And I had to be very, very careful.

  I moved around the tree, took one step forward, then another, until I stood in the middle of the trees, nearly in line with him.

  If he’d had a bow and arrow, I’d be a straight and easy shot.

  “No,” I mouthed. I wasn’t allowed to think about that.

  I screwed up my courage, took a breath. “Who are you?” I called out.

  The man turned back to me. I still couldn’t see his face, but his eyes shifted golden in the pale light that sifted through the trees.

  “Golden eyes, better be wise,” went the war song that warned children to stay away from angels.

  There was a shift of light as his wings retracted, disappeared. That was one of the reasons angels had been so terrifying during the war: You didn’t know they were angels until they were preparing to fly.

  Darkness engulfed him again. I couldn’t tell if he was friend or foe, if he was waiting for a moment to strike—or looking for the same information we were. After all, the wraiths’ violent existence only strengthened the idea that Paranormals were bad, dangerous, and always our enemies.

  “Claire?”

  I jumped at the sound of Liam’s voice, glanced back in surprise. And when I looked at the tree line again, the man was gone. “Damn.”

  “What are you doing?”

  “There was someone out here.”

  His gaze shifted to the oaks, scanning back and forth. “Where?”

  I pointed out the spot. “I think it was an angel.”

  “I haven’t seen any angels outside Devil’s Isle. You’re sure you saw wings?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. And I’ve seen Nephelai and Valkyries. I know how to tell the difference, even in the dark.” Especially in the dark. “It was an angel.”

  “I’m not sure getting closer to it was a great idea.”

  “And you’d have let him fly away?”

  “Fair point.”

  “Damn right it is.” I walked forward, both of us searching for a clue about who the angel had been, and what he’d been doing here.

  Liam crouched, hands folded in front of him. “Here,” he said, pointing at a shoe print in an area just soft enough to hold the impression.

  “Why would he be out here?”

  “I don’t know,” Liam said, and I didn’t like hearing that tight, concerned tone. He was worried. He rose again, and we stood in the dark for a moment.

  “Thank you for coming here tonight. For Gunnar. And for me.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  “We should get back inside,” I said. But neither of us moved. We stood there together, the only sounds our breathing and the hum of cicadas, the soundtrack of a warm Southern night. When I started toward the door, Liam reached out and took my wrist.

  His skin was hot against mine, his eyes dark and intense, and just as heated. There was need there, I thought, but that wasn’t all. Need was a simple emotion. And there was nothing simple about the desire in his eyes.

  “You guys in there?”

  I blinked at the sound of Gunnar’s voice on the other side of the tree line. And just as the fog had lifted and rolled away, the moment passed. Liam’s fingers slipped away.

  “We’re on our way out,” Liam called back.

  • • •

  Cantrell might have had issues with Containment, but Stella ignored them. By the time we returned to the house, she’d put together a dish for us to take home. The meal wasn’t nearly as fancy as her house—MREs doctored into a casserole—but the thought was nice.

  Gunnar decided to stay the night at his parents’, so he borrowed Campbell’s jeep and took us back to the store. Liam and I didn’t say anything to each other for
the entire ride.

  Tadji and Burke met us at the door. A board game was spread out on the table. Tadji didn’t look overly irritated, so I took that as a good sign.

  “How is Emme?”

  “Conscious, so that’s good,” I said, placing the dish on the table. “And Mrs. Landreau gave us an MRE casserole.”

  No one volunteered to take it home.

  “What about the wraiths?” Burke asked with a frown.

  “There were two of them, males,” Liam said.

  “Same wraiths as the Quarter attack?”

  “We don’t know,” Liam said. “There’s no evidence that confirms that yet. Claire did see someone outside, and we found a footprint.”

  He didn’t mention the wings, so I didn’t, either. There was no telling yet if the winged individual was friend or enemy, so might as well not raise the alarm and put a target on his back until we knew more.

  “They were with the wraiths? Or watching the house?” Burke caught on quickly.

  Tadji crossed her arms, glanced between us with concern. “Why would someone be watching the house?”

  “We don’t know,” Liam said. “Could be another hunter looking for a bounty, trying to track the wraiths.”

  “Poor Gunnar,” she said. “And what a nightmare. That’s two nights in a row of wraith drama.”

  “It’s not been my favorite week so far,” I agreed. “And it’s late.” I gestured to Gunnar, still at the curb, busily making notes in his tiny notebook. Undoubtedly making Containment plans for tomorrow. “He’s going to give you a ride home.”

  Tadji nodded. “Good. I’ve got three interviews tomorrow. I’d like to be awake for them.”

  Tadji and I exchanged hugs, and then Burke moved in for one. He might have been new to the group, and maybe wasn’t a match for Tadji, but he certainly wasn’t giving up easily.

  The long night ended again with wraiths on my mind and Liam Quinn at my store again. But tonight, there was a new emotion layered over it. A new kind of interest.

  “This is becoming a bad habit,” I said, moving to the table to put game pieces back in the box. “Me and you and wraiths.”

  “Yeah. It’s the world we’ve got, I guess.”

  “I guess. Not an optimistic thought, though.”

  “No, it isn’t. I’m sorry about Emme. If you find out anything else, or if she remembers any other details . . .”

  “I’ll let you know,” I promised. I put the top back on the box, walked back to its shelf, and stayed there for a moment. “If this was my fault—if she was hurt because I didn’t kill them—”

  “You don’t control their behavior,” Liam said. “They could just as easily have attacked you, killed you.”

  “Yeah, but if I’d killed them last night—”

  “Don’t,” Liam interrupted, moving closer. “Don’t ever wish you’d killed something.”

  I turned back to face him. “I have.”

  I hadn’t often said the words aloud. I said them because I knew he’d understand. Because killing shouldn’t be easy or expected or just part of life, just part of the chain of war. Because I didn’t think he’d judge.

  Because I wanted to feel something.

  Liam’s expression softened. “How?”

  I paused. “I was home alone. School had been canceled by then, but I was seventeen. A Valkyrie came in through the front door—threw it off its hinges. A handful of Containment soldiers had been chasing her. She was probably looking for a place to hide. She said something—I didn’t understand the language—and then gave me this ferocious smile. Her teeth were filed to points, and she wore that golden armor.”

  They’d all worn golden armor, the Paras who’d fought us. It was shockingly bright, polished to a high gleam, and absolutely effective. The military had spent a lot of money trying to figure out how to penetrate it. They eventually learned that iron cut through that particular Beyond alloy like butter. That had been another lesson that human myths—in this case, about the power of cold iron against supernatural creatures—often had a grounding in the Beyond.

  The fear rose, cold and biting. I swallowed it back, made myself finish telling him.

  “I had a gun. My dad had given it to me, taught me the basics of handling it.” I paused. “I killed her. She didn’t give me a choice. By that time, we were on the front lawn. Containment caught up, found me, and took her. A soldier named Guest, Sandra Guest, helped me clean up. Called my dad. I killed two more after that. Goblins or dwarves. I’m not sure which.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  I nodded. “Me, too. I know I did it because I had to. And I know I may have to do it again. But I don’t want to. I don’t want death to be normal. I don’t want death to be usual.”

  Liam crossed his arms. “My first Para was a Seelie. It was right after the Veil opened. The power was gone by then, but the house hadn’t been destroyed yet. We were all in the house—the extended Arsenault family—just waiting for something to happen.”

  “That was the house on Esplanade?”

  Liam nodded, crossed his arms. “Yeah. One of my cousins said, ‘There’s a girl on the lawn.’ I went to look, and sure enough, there she was. She was beautiful—so beautiful. Long limbs. Pale dress. I saw the streak of crimson across her face, but I thought she was human, that she was hurt. That was before they put out the Guides.”

  PCC had eventually created Guides to help us identify Paras, especially those who looked so human.

  “I went outside and asked if she needed help. She gave the signal, and they attacked the house. There were a dozen of them, maybe sixteen. I shot her, killed her. The Seelie were enraged. They torched the house before Containment arrived. We got everyone out, but that was the beginning of the end of the Arsenault kingdom in New Orleans.” His tone was rueful. Sad.

  “War is the worst.”

  I hadn’t been joking, but the sentiment made him smile. “Yeah, it is. It really is.”

  “So what do we do now?”

  “You keep working with Nix. I need to get back to work. I didn’t go out tonight, and we know how last night turned out. I’ll need to go out tomorrow, so I may not be around.”

  Liam meant wraith hunting. I made a quick—and potentially deadly—decision. “I want to go with you.”

  His brows lifted. “Why?”

  “Because they attacked me and my best friend’s sister. Because I believe you—that they’re changing. That something’s happening. And if there are more wraiths, if something is making more of them, that means I’m at risk, too. I can’t stand around waiting for that to happen.”

  Liam looked pleased that I’d offered, but not convinced. “You could get hurt.”

  “So could you. I could also help.”

  “You can’t use magic. Not with monitors around.”

  “No, but I know how to shoot,” I said grimly. “And I have what they want.”

  “Which is?”

  “Magic. The wraiths in the Quarter sensed it. It managed to take their attention away from the girl they were chasing.”

  “In fairness, you were also waving around a really big stick.”

  I couldn’t help but grin. “Effectively, I might add.”

  He chuckled, shook his head. “So basically you’re proposing to use yourself as bait?”

  I didn’t really like the way that sounded—“you’re proposing to be the fierce, redheaded warrior that you are” would have been better—but it was an accurate summary of what I’d said. “In a manner of speaking, I guess I am.”

  He took a step forward. “I said you were recklessly brave, didn’t I?”

  He was close enough that I had to look up to see his face. And God, what a face. I could have said Liam Quinn wasn’t the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. But that would have been a lie. And I could have said I didn’t want to step forward and sink into his arms. That would have been a lie, too.

  “Yes.”

  He stared down at me, brow furrowed. His eyes had darke
ned again, emotions warring against the background of deepest blue.

  And while he looked at me, while we looked at each other, time slowed, and the moment seemed to stretch in front of us, full of promise.

  Liam dropped his head, lashes falling as he moved toward me, stepped into me, his hands suddenly on my cheeks, thumbs stroking my face, the line of my jaw.

  My heartbeat stuttered, sped. I closed my eyes, lips parted with wanting, waiting for that moment of electricity, of connection. His lips hovered, only a moment away from mine. Anticipation and desire built, rose, spun together.

  He dropped his forehead to mine. “Jesus, Claire.” His voice was rough with desire, and I braced myself for the onslaught.

  But then he stepped back.

  My eyes flashed open. The loss of his body chilled me; I felt like I’d been doused with ice.

  He pulled a hand across his jaw, his breath rough with unsatisfied longing.

  “Liam?”

  He shook his head, but not quite steadily. “I’m sorry, but this can’t happen. I just can’t afford you. But if things had been different . . .”

  I stared at him. “What does that mean?”

  The clock struck two. Liam lifted his gaze to the clock, then looked at me. “It’s late. You need sleep, and I need to go. Now.”

  And with that, Liam Quinn slipped into the Quarter again.

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  So much of living after a war was adapting to what remained, figuring out how to build things you were familiar with out of what you had.

  There was a brass mail slot in the store’s front door. Since it was so hard to keep in touch without phones or computers, and mail delivery wasn’t exactly efficient in the Zone, I let folks use the slot and a vintage cubby to share messages, trade goods. Customers—and that was the one catch: They had to be customers—could put their names on the cards in the cubby’s metal label holders. It gave them comfort, a way to connect with people in a world that was so different from the one that had come before.

  So, the next morning, after a night of what could only loosely be called “sleep,” I picked up the messages and small packages that had been slipped into the slot overnight, and welcomed the handful of Containment agents who’d come by for provisions. Containment fed them, of course, but they’d buy an extra bar of soap or some sugar now and again.