by Chloe Neill
“I didn’t know he made it out,” Moses said, voice tight with concern.
“Me, either.” I hadn’t seen Pike during the battle or in the brief time after that I’d been in the Quarter, and I hadn’t been back inside Devil’s Isle since. If he’d been on the streets the entire time, I hadn’t seen him there, either.
I didn’t know Pike well. If Liam trusted him, Pike was smart enough to be careful. But Containment had ways of finding people. I glanced up and around, looking for the magic monitor, found it hanging on a light pole across the street. The light blinked green. The power was on in this sector of the city, and Pike had done something magical, which tripped the alarm.
I started forward, but Moses’s fingers tightened on my arm. I tried to shake him loose, but he held firm. He may have been small, but he had plenty of strength.
“Let go,” I said. “I have to help him.”
“You can’t just run out there. We’re outnumbered.”
“I can use magic.” I could clear a path for Pike, get the agents out of his way, and put him somewhere safe—as long as I could do it quickly. I could use only so much magic without having to manage its side effects.
“Okay,” Moses whispered, “let’s assume you get out there and kick some ass with your magic, and they don’t take you into Devil’s Isle. Gavin already told you they’ve moved you up the most wanted list. You do this, you definitely can’t risk going into the bayou.”
And wasn’t that a shitty choice? I felt angry, guilty, helpless. “We can’t just let them take him.”
“He’ll go back inside,” Moses said. His voice was quiet. “There are worse places for him to be.”
“Even if freedom’s the other option?”
“There’s a time and place,” he said. “And out here on the street, in broad daylight in front of operational magic monitors ain’t either of those.”
Pike hadn’t stopped struggling, so the agents forced a jacket on him—a special restraint usually used to control wraiths—and moved him into the back of the vehicle.
A moment later, they climbed inside and were gone. When the neighborhood was quiet again, the birds began to chirp.
“We’ll talk to Lizzie,” Moses said. “Make sure she’s got an eye on him.”
Right now that didn’t feel like much consolation.
• • •
It had been a gas station—a corner business with atomic-era architecture and a couple of garage bays. It was now a bunker and a secret archive of banned magical objects. And my home sweet home.
Inside, there were long wooden tables and shelves along the walls, each holding priceless and completely illegal weapons, books, masks, and other items. My father had hidden them here to keep them away from Containment bonfires.
For now, I was outside and above the magic. I lay on a blanket on the roof, where the low walls gave me cover from Containment patrols.
Tomorrow would be the first night I’d spent out of New Orleans in years. My father had refused to evacuate, even when the city was bombarded. We’d lived together in a house until he died, and then I moved into Royal Mercantile. After the Battle of Devil’s Isle, I’d walked to the gas station and spent the first of many nights here. It had become my home, my new piece of New Orleans.
Tonight I watched the sun sink in the west, sending streaks of brilliant orange and purple across the sky. The sight was beautiful enough that I could nearly pretend the world was whole again. But nearly wasn’t enough. Nothing—and no one—in the Zone was whole anymore.
The gas station sat on what had been a busy road. But in the weeks I’d been here, I’d seen fewer than a dozen people nearby. An older couple lived up the street in a double camelback. A man lived two blocks up in the kingdom he’d made of a former Piggly Wiggly. Everyone else had been moving: passersby, nomads, Containment officers.
“I understand I missed some excitement.”
I jumped at the sound of Malachi’s voice, sat up to find him standing behind me, his body a dark silhouette against the brilliant sky. “You have got to stop doing that.”
His wings retracted, changing his shape from Paranormal to human. “You have got to listen harder.”
I shouldn’t have been surprised; Malachi had a habit of visiting me at night. Darkness reduced the chance he’d be seen, and I think he enjoyed the company and the quiet. I hadn’t let him inside the building—too many secrets there—but I’d given him the address. I knew I could trust him to keep the location secret, and I didn’t have to worry about his evading Containment if they somehow found out about it.
“Containment agents found Pike,” I said. “They took him in.”
He walked toward me, sat down on the edge of the blanket. His body was big and warm, and he smelled faintly like woodsmoke. “Moses told me.”
I stared hard at the horizon, guilt punching through my chest. “I should have helped him.”
“There’s a time and a place.”
“That’s what Moses said.”
“He was right. We have to pick our battles. They aren’t all winnable.”
I glanced at him. His face was inscrutable, his golden eyes shimmering in the fading light as he scanned the horizon, as if keeping watch for marauders. “Is that a lesson you learned here, or in the Beyond?”
“Here,” he said thoughtfully. “In the Beyond, we were in power and took much for granted.” He glanced at me. “I’ve told you it was an orderly society. Rigidly so. If it hadn’t been so rigid—if we’d been able to evolve, to change—perhaps we’d have been able to prevent the war.”
“Maybe,” I said. “Or maybe the Court would have been dissatisfied with everything you offered to do. Sometimes the ones who cry loudest for war don’t really want change. They just want the fight and the power.”
He nodded. “Humans and Paras are very similar in that respect.”
I sat up, crossed my legs. “You didn’t object to Gavin’s request—to leaving New Orleans and traveling into the wilderness. Is that a winnable battle?”
“I don’t know. But I’ve been in that particular wilderness before. There’s a lot to recommend it.”
“I don’t like snakes.”
Malachi smiled, ran a hand through his tousled curls. “Then the bayou may not be the best place for you.”
“What is?” I asked. I didn’t really fit in anywhere right now. “What’s the real story about Broussard?”
“I don’t know anything beyond what Gavin said. But whatever it is, Liam seems to be the key.”
“The key to what?”
“I don’t know. Something important enough to kill a Containment agent for. Or something important enough to frame Liam for. Or both.”
I looked up at the stars that had begun to pierce the settling darkness. “Life is never simple.”
“Death is simpler.” He smiled a little. “But too simple for most.”
“At least everybody gets a turn.”
He lay back, looked up at the stars. “That’s one thing we certainly all have in common.”
CHAPTER THREE
I sat on the floor. It was just dawn, and sunlight would have filtered through the windows if they hadn’t been painted over to shield the magical goods inside from prying eyes. I still wore pajamas—a V-neck T-shirt and shorts. I hadn’t yet begun to pack for the trip.
I’d committed to going. And I was going. But in the meantime, I was having seriously cold feet.
I knew why Liam had left. Understood well the fear and doubts he’d have had about gaining magic. I’d had doubts, too, and I hadn’t had a sister who’d been killed by wraiths, by magic gone bad. Having gained magic, he would have to deal with those complicated feelings.
And it was probably worse for him, because he didn’t clearly fit on the human-Sensitive-Paranormal scale. Unlike me, he and Eleanor hadn’t just absorbed m
agic; they’d gotten it through strikes by magical weapons.
But five weeks still felt like a long time. A long time with no messages, no checking in, no making sure that I was all right. Maybe it was selfish of me, maybe not. But the silence hurt. Maybe, like Gavin had warned me, Liam’s feelings had changed.
If they had, what was I going to say to him? How was I going to face that down?
I shook my head. At least I’d find out one way or the other, I reminded myself, and ignored the hollowness in my chest. I wouldn’t have to wait, and I wouldn’t have to wonder. Plus, I’d get out of New Orleans for a little while. I’d spend time with Malachi and Gavin, who were usually entertaining, and I’d see parts of Louisiana I hadn’t seen before. If we found them, I’d see Eleanor again.
We hadn’t even left yet, and I was lining up the consolation prizes.
“Way to be brave, Connolly.” I muttered it to myself, but climbed to my feet, then took the small back staircase to the basement.
I walked to the far wall, grabbed one of the hanging backpacks that was already half full of emergency supplies my father had decided we’d needed, and began adding to it.
Today, I was going into the bayou. I’d see Liam. And the shape of my future would become clear.
• • •
The sky was gray with clouds and humidity, and even the breeze was heavy and wet and carried the scents of earth and water. The scents of New Orleans.
The temperature would continue to climb and the humidity probably wouldn’t diminish, but we’d also be facing bugs of every variety, and God only knew what other crawling and flying horrors rural Louisiana would have to offer, so I opted for long cargo pants and a short-sleeved shirt, and folded a thin waterproof jacket into my pack in case of deluge.
In Louisiana, there was always a chance of deluge.
My travel mates stood together in the alley behind Moses’s house—one human and two Paranormals. Moses, in a shirt of screaming red that made him look more like an impish devil than made me comfortable, Gavin in lived-in jeans and a technical shirt, and Malachi in a V-neck and jeans. Gavin had the strap of an army surplus pack in one hand, a double-barreled shotgun in the other.
He looked at me, smiled. There was so much Quinn in that smile. “Looks like we’re all here. Would y’all like the good news first or the bad news?”
“I’d prefer there not be any bad news,” I said, adjusting my pack. “Is that an option?”
“No,” Gavin said. “I talked to Gunnar this morning. He doesn’t think Liam’s guilty, but the theory’s got legs within Containment. There are folks who think Liam had too much leeway dealing with Paras and got special treatment because of his family.”
Eleanor was an Arsenault, an old and wealthy Creole family connected to very powerful people outside the Zone—the people we’d been contacting in our efforts to bring to light the truth about magic.
“They sound like allies of Broussard,” I said.
“Yeah. They have no trouble believing this is Liam’s doing. And they’ve increased the amount of the bounty.”
“It’s only been a day,” I said, concern for Liam tightening my gut. “They never increase that quickly.” I’d done a little bounty hunting with Liam; it had been good cover for keeping an eye on Containment. Increases in bounties were rare, and happened only when time had passed without a lead on the particular prey.
“And what’s the good news?” Malachi asked.
“It’s not raining. Yet.”
We just looked at him.
Shameless, Gavin lifted a shoulder. “As leader of this particular mission, I figured you needed the stick and the carrot. Except I didn’t have any carrots. So I went with the weather.”
Moses shook his head, lips pursed. “You this good on all your missions?”
“There’s a reason I usually work alone,” Gavin said, shouldering the pack.
“Where, exactly, are we going?” I asked. There was no one else around, but I dropped my voice anyway. This wasn’t the time to attract attention.
“Houma,” Malachi said. “Vicinity of Erida’s last location.”
Houma was about an hour’s drive from New Orleans.
“There,” he continued, “we’ll meet some friends, see if we can get a sense of where she went.”
“Friends?” I asked.
“Paranormals with passes.”
I lifted my eyebrows. “I was actually beginning to think that was a myth. Since Moses didn’t get one, I mean. Or you.”
“I won’t request freedom I already own,” Malachi said. “And Containment isn’t in a position to give us passes from Devil’s Isle, since we’re already out.”
I couldn’t really argue with that.
Gavin gestured to the beat-up jeep at the curb. “The wheels will take us to Houma. Then we’ll leave the vehicle, travel on foot.”
“If we get to the Gulf, we’ve gone too far?” I asked.
“Something like that.” Gavin looked me over, took in the pants, shirt, shoes, and gave a nod of approval. “What’s in the bag?”
“Water, poncho, knife, atomic bug spray.” I might not have been out of New Orleans in a while, but I’d been in it long enough. I had a pretty good idea how to survive in the wet and the heat.
“Good,” Gavin said with a smile.
“I’ll meet you at Houma,” Malachi said.
“Wait,” I said, sliding him a narrowed glance. “What do you mean you’ll ‘meet’ us? You aren’t going with us?”
He smiled. “I mean I don’t need a ride.” He unfolded his wings, and twelve feet of ivory stretched out behind him, feathers gleaming in the sun.
“You’re going to fly the whole way?”
“Boy, will his arms be tired!” Moses said, waving a fake cigar.
Gavin’s eyes narrowed at me. “I hear you let him have a joke book.”
“He found it in an abandoned house, which made it fair game. I couldn’t exactly stop him from taking it.”
He shook his head. “Let’s hit the road. Every mile toward Houma is another mile away from jokes that start with ‘Two Paranormals walked into a bar.’”
“I need a minute,” Moses said to me, then moved a few feet away.
“I believe you’re being beckoned,” Malachi said.
“Evidently,” I said, and joined Moses. “You rang?”
“I want you to remember something,” he said, pointing a stubby finger up at me. “You’ve worked hard for the last few weeks, done some good around here. Whatever happens, no one can take that away from you.”
I lifted my brows, surprised at the emotion in his eyes. “You under the impression I’m gonna have a breakdown in the bayou?”
“I’m just saying, whatever he says or does”—he paused, seemed to look for the right words—“there’s more to the world than dames.”
I looked at him for a minute, appreciating the thought but confused by the message. And then I figured it out. “You didn’t just take the joke books. You took the detective novels, too, didn’t you?”
“They’re good,” he said with an embarrassed shrug that I found almost absurdly endearing. “I like this Sam Spade character. Straight shooter. Anyway.” He cleared his throat. “You be careful out there.”
“I’ll be fine,” I told him. “But I don’t like leaving you here alone.”
“You think I can’t take care of myself?” He pointed a thumb at his chest, which was puffed out a little. “I’m the one who’s been taking care of you—not the other way around.” But there was something soft and sweet in his eyes.
“You’re right. You’ll tell Lizzie why I’m gone?”
“That you’re taking a relaxing spa weekend? Sure thing.”
“Hilarious, as always.” I hugged him. “Be careful.”
“No need to get emotional,” he
said, but his arms were steel bands around me. “You’re only gonna be gone a few days.”
Assuming we found him and managed to make it back alive.
“We’ll be fine,” I said, trying to assure both of us.
“Damn right you will. Now get in that jeep, start your hunt, and claim your bounty.”
• • •
The clouds had burned off by the time we reached the edge of New Orleans, and the sun beat down on Highway 90 like a drum, sending up shimmering waves of heat. It was much too early to be this warm, but magic hadn’t just affected electricity; it had made our weather less predictable.
We stayed on the highway as long as we could, then veered off to Old Spanish Trail when Gavin caught sight of a Containment convoy—jeeps and trucks heading into New Orleans with goods and sundries to be distributed to stores around the city.
Royal Mercantile would probably be getting some of the freight. Bottled water, soap, maybe a few sticks of butter packed in dry ice for the trip. But that was Tadji’s responsibility now. She was my beautiful and brilliant best friend, the woman I’d given the choice to run the store or let it sit until I came home again.
She’d decided to enter the exciting world of postwar retail and was doing a damn fine job of it, based on what I’d seen the couple of times I’d managed to sneak into the Quarter. She’d apparently gathered up every volunteer left in the neighborhood to fix glass broken in the battle, to reorganize overturned furniture and scattered stock. From what I could tell, business was booming. Tadji might have been trained as a linguist, but she was really, really good at merchandising. Even in the mostly deserted Quarter, people had milled around, looking at the goods and making purchases.
I wondered if the convoy had skipped this road to keep from destroying the vehicles and the cargo. I had to grab the jeep’s handle as we bounced over pitted asphalt.
“Are you hitting the potholes on purpose?”
“Man’s gotta have a hobby,” Gavin said.
The narrow highway ran between railroad tracks on one side and the remains of stores, small houses, and mobile homes on the other. Rural parts of the state hadn’t been hit by Para attacks as hard as the urban areas, but there were even fewer services out here, and a lot of people hadn’t stayed after the war. Plenty of solitude, if that’s what you preferred, but the living was hard.