by Chloe Neill
I’d felt Malachi’s magic before, when we’d snuck Moses out of Devil’s Isle and when he’d begun to train me to better use my magic. We’d managed a few more lessons in the last few weeks, and I’d sensed it then, too.
Here in this hot and dusty barn, as his magic unfurled around us, I realized that those had been mere glimpses of the breadth of it. Like looking into a greenhouse and seeing shapes and petals through a filter of fogged glass.
This was like standing in a field of brilliant crimson poppies.
Malachi was a master of control, and he often seemed distant because of it. But his magic was wild the way wolves were, untamed like the staggering peak of a snowy and rugged mountain. And it was strong—the strongest magic I’d ever felt from a Paranormal. It was like the torrent of a raging river. This was real magic, not the pale frost that I could access.
After a few minutes of steady movement, Cinda appeared to relax, and her breathing calmed again. Malachi slowly lifted his hands, then stepped away as Anh rushed back in.
“We’re ready,” she said.
At Malachi’s nod, Djosa picked Cinda up, limp in his arms, and carried her out of the barn.
We waited for a moment in the humming silence, while the other workers went back to their tasks.
Malachi led me and Gavin outside, then pointed toward a stand of trees about a hundred yards away. “The trail begins there, and it’s blazed. Follow it to the woods.”
“You want us to leave?” I asked.
“I want to be sure she’s comfortable, and she doesn’t need an audience for that. We also don’t want to wear out our welcome, as we’ve yet to get information about Liam and the others.
“Get started,” he continued. “The trail forks a quarter mile into the woods. Go left when you reach the fork. You’ll find a creek about twenty yards down. The water’s potable, and there’s shade. You can fill your bottles and wait there. I’ll meet you when I’m done.”
“All right,” Gavin said, glanced at me, and I nodded.
“Be careful,” Malachi said, then turned and strode toward the house.
“Are you okay?” Gavin asked when we were alone. “Your pupils are still dilated.”
My cheeks warmed. “He’s got powerful magic.”
“I bet,” Gavin murmured. “Let’s get moving.”
CHAPTER FOUR
The trail was hard dirt that skimmed between a sugarcane field on one side and a treelined creek bed on the other. The woods were in front of us, a dark wall battling back oppressive sunshine. The temperature dropped ten degrees the second we stepped into shade, but the trees and foliage quickly formed a canopy over the path, closing in the humidity.
“It’s like trying to breathe through a wet blanket,” I said, wiping my brow.
“Yeah,” Gavin said, pausing to inspect a tree along the trail—and the small symbols carved into it.
“Para trailblazing?” I asked.
“Yeah. I don’t know the meaning, but at least we know we’ve hit the trail.”
We walked until trees surrounded us on all sides and we could no longer see the fields open behind us.
“Creek’s nearby,” Gavin said as the sound of moving water grew louder.
A few seconds later, the trail spit us out to a short bluff over the narrow creek, which flowed invitingly between tree-covered banks. “Steps” had been worn into the sharp drop to the water, held in place by roots that popped up through the dirt.
“And here we are,” he said. We took off our backpacks, pulled out our bottles, and headed down the bank. Gavin went first, sliding a little in the slick mud, and turned back to offer me a hand when he hit the bottom.
“You want help?”
“Not going to say no to that offer,” I said, taking his strong fingers and easing my way toward the water. I ran-skipped the final few feet, then grabbed a tree limb to keep from pitching into the creek.
“Momentum’s a bitch,” Gavin said with a grin, uncapping his bottle.
“Yeah.” But the view was nearly worth it. The water wasn’t deep—only a foot or so—but it was crystal clear, moving quickly over a rocky bottom. A tree limb dipped nearly to the surface on the opposite bank, and Spanish moss hung like lace above the ribbon of water as it flowed past.
Except for the gurgle of water over rock, the world was completely silent. If anything else moved in the woods, the sound was muffled by the stream. That was a reason to take a minute to relax—and a reminder that we needed to be aware.
“It’s beautiful here.”
“Yeah,” Gavin said, taking a drink from the bottle he’d already filled. “There’s a reason I don’t spend much time in the city. Out here, it’s easy to pretend the war never happened. That everything’s peaceful again and you’re alone in paradise.”
I looked at him. “You like going solo.”
“I’m used to it,” he said, but didn’t elaborate. A tender spot, I guessed.
I dipped my bottle into the stream until it was full again, took a long drink. The water was sweet and cold, probably untouched by humans since the war.
That was one of the few benefits of the battles that had racked Louisiana. Most humans and industry were long gone, and nature had reclaimed the land in their absence. A few years ago, pesticides probably would have made the creek water undrinkable. The world had, in some ways, healed itself.
I screwed on the bottle cap again, then splashed water on my face and dried it with the bottom of my T-shirt.
Back on the bluff, which was easier to get up than climb down, I looked it over for enemies—snakes, spiders, ants—and took a seat.
“I’m going to take a moment,” Gavin said, gesturing into the woods. “A private moment.”
“I don’t need the details,” I said, holding up a hand. “Do what you need to do. I’ll be right here.”
“Stay put,” he said with a warning glance. “We don’t know who or what’s roaming around these woods looking for Liam or you.”
“Not a problem,” I said, patting the log. “Me and Mr. Tree will hang out right here.”
With a nod, he wandered back down the trail.
He’d been gone less than a minute when I heard his footsteps behind me. “Found the little boys’ room already?” I asked.
It took me a moment to realize they weren’t Gavin’s footsteps.
And that was a moment too late.
• • •
The hand that clapped over my mouth was thick and callused and smelled of dirt and gasoline.
“Keep ya mouth shut, and you’ll be fine.” His voice was over my head and to my right. He was tall, and the spread of heat radiating at my back indicated he was wide as well. His other hand was clamped on my shoulder.
“You got her?” The second man stepped out from behind a tree. Average height, average weight, average looks, dark hair, pale skin. He wore a T-shirt, jeans, and boots. No uniform, which meant he wasn’t a Containment agent. Or he wasn’t on duty as one, anyway.
“I got her,” the man behind me said.
My heart was pounding so fiercely it might have broken through my chest. But panic wouldn’t help me, so I made myself stay calm and hoped they might let their guard down.
“Let me go,” I said, when he moved his hand away from my mouth. But he kept his meaty hold on my shoulder.
“Oh, we can’t do that.” The second man’s voice had a rough edge, as if he’d dragged each word over a serrated blade. “You appear to be Claire Connolly, and I know plenty of Containment agents who’d like to question you. And what’s more, my research says you know one Liam Quinn. He’s right at the top of my list, and I understand he’s been seen in these parts.”
“We aren’t gonna hurt you,” the man behind me said. “Just take you into New Orleans.”
Not a trip I wanted to take today, and certain
ly not with these two. But before I could object, Gavin stepped onto the trail, his eyes wide, an apple halfway to his mouth. If he was alarmed to see me in my current position, he hid it well.
“Well, hello there,” he said, crunching into the apple, as he looked from man to man and then to me. “I am not sure what I’ve come across here, but I don’t want any trouble.”
“True enough, friend,” the second man said. “This is Containment business, so just be on your way.”
“Containment business?” Gavin looked excited. “That’s actually really great. I don’t suppose you gentlemen have any matches to trade? Mine got soaked, and I’ve been looking for someone on the trail for two hours.”
“Your name?” the second one asked.
“You can call me Lafitte,” Gavin said, naming the most famous pirate in the history of New Orleans. “I’m not aiming to make friends.” He held up his hands. “You don’t have what I need, I’ll be on my way.”
The man behind me let me go, giving me a look at his face. He was older, easily a hard-earned sixty, with long, frizzy gray hair and a mustache of the same color that fell well below his chin. He wore jeans and a T-shirt with a leather vest covered in patches.
He reached into his pocket, pulled out an old Altoids tin. And from that, he extracted three thick matches.
“Thank God,” Gavin said, relief clear on his face. “I’ve got MREs, an extra knife, some wire and rope I found up the way. Any of that interest you?”
“All of it,” the younger man said, “if you want the matches.”
Gavin’s gaze narrowed, jaw working as he considered. “Price isn’t worth it for me. Two MREs, wire, and rope.”
“You aren’t exactly in a bargaining spot.”
Gavin’s brows lifted. “I’m not?”
“You don’t seem to know who we are.”
“I can’t say that I do.”
“Hunters,” said the older man. “And lots of people want to talk to her.”
Gavin looked at me doubtfully. “About what? She doesn’t look like much of a threat.”
“She did something that pissed off Containment,” the older man said. “The details ain’t no business of mine.”
“I guess I can’t argue with that.” Gavin took another bite of the apple. “Bounties make for good work? I haven’t gone that route yet, prefer staying outside New Orleans—which is Gomorrah if you ask me—but I’m always looking for viable employment.”
“It’s viable,” the younger one said, “if you’re skilled.”
“Sure,” Gavin said, eagerness in his nod. “Of course.”
“Biggest bounty is for Liam Quinn,” the older one said, excitement coloring his words. “Biggest bounty Containment’s issued in three years.”
There was a hard knot in my stomach. Gavin’s eyes shifted quickly to mine, a warning in his gaze that told me to keep my mouth shut.
“Jimmy,” the younger one said, “zip it.”
Jimmy pursed his lips. “Sorry, Crowley.”
Crowley was the older one. He nodded, looked at Gavin again. “We’ve got business now. If you want the trade, let’s get on with it.”
“Sure thing.” Gavin took a final bite of the apple and tossed the rest into the woods. Then he wiped his hand on his pants, pulled his backpack off his shoulder, and set it on the ground. “Shit,” he said, wincing as he yanked at the zipper. “Damn thing’s stuck again.”
“Let’s go,” Crowley said, after Gavin had wrestled with it for another solid minute.
Gavin looked up, held out the bag. “You want to give it a go?”
Crowley stepped forward, and Gavin took his chance. He used the bag like a baseball bat, slamming it toward Crowley. But Crowley dodged at the last moment, so the bag only smacked his shoulder.
“Son of a bitch!” Crowley yelled. He took a knife from the leather holster on his belt and sliced down, aiming for Gavin’s chest. Gavin, who still held the bag in one hand, spun it again, this time knocking the knife away so it disappeared into the foliage. Crowley growled and charged, pushing them both to the ground.
His hand still around my arm, Jimmy yanked me back down the trail toward Vacherie. I tried to pull away, but he outweighed me by more than a hundred pounds and didn’t mind dragging me.
“We have to make a damn living, too,” he muttered, his uneven fingernails digging into the skin on my arm.
“Everybody does,” I said neutrally, my gaze darting around the narrow trail, looking for something I could use.
Since he wasn’t sure why Containment wanted to talk to me, I didn’t think it was a good idea to call up magic and clarify that for him. So unless Gavin got to me first, I’d have to deal with Jimmy on my own.
And when I saw what I needed, I made my move.
“Ow!” I cried. I leaned down, touched my ankle gingerly, then hopped a bit for good measure. “I stepped on something wrong. I think I might have sprained it, maybe?” I let my voice do a simpering little whine.
“Freaking women in the woods,” Jimmy muttered. He dragged me over to a chopped-off cypress stump and pushed me down onto it. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”
When he leaned over to look at my foot, I brought my knee up hard against his chin.
Kneecap slammed into jaw and sent pain ricocheting up my leg. Jimmy howled and stumbled backward, his momentum stopped by a tree on the other side of the trail.
“Son of a bitch!” he said, his words muffled by the hand he’d slapped over his mouth.
While I scrambled to my feet and snagged a thick branch that lay beside the stump, he pulled his fingers away, and his eyes went hot with anger at the sight of the blood on them.
He roared and jumped up again. I waited until he was close, then dodged to the side, lifted the branch, and brought it down across his back. He stumbled forward, hit the cypress stump, then rolled over it to the ground. He was up in a second, clothes striped with mud and moss and plenty of piss and vinegar in his glare.
I raised the branch again, but he was on me before I could swing. He grabbed it and tried to pull it away, but I put my weight into it, and his mud-slicked fingers lost their purchase. He cursed and I stumbled and hit the ground. The branch skittered off.
Jimmy wiped blood from his face. “You couldn’t just go quietly?” He stalked forward, and I scrambled backward, trying to give myself enough space to get to my feet. “You get into trouble with Containment, that’s your fault. Man has a right to make a living out here, damn it.”
Since Liam and Gavin were hunters, too, I didn’t object to the principle. But I objected to being anyone’s prisoner. “I don’t have anything to say to Containment.”
“That’s not what Containment says.”
I finally managed to get to my feet, sweat snaking down my back from the heat, the humidity, and the fight. My heart was still pounding, my adrenaline high. “I guess that makes us enemies. Why don’t we both just walk away?”
“I don’t think so.” Jimmy reached out and swiped at me, but I managed to avoid him. Problem was, the path was narrow, bounded by swampy woods on both sides. Jumping into that mess wasn’t going to help me get away from him. “Why don’t you be a good little girl and come with me?”
“Because I’m not a good little girl.” I kneed him in the balls. And when he hit the ground, moaning and scrunched up with pain, I grabbed the branch from the ground and knocked him in the back of the head.
“Freaking women in the woods,” I said, chest heaving. Then I tossed the branch away.
There was clapping behind me. I looked back, found Gavin leaning against a tree and applauding me congenially.
“Thanks for the help,” I muttered, wiping my hands on my pants.
“Didn’t need my help,” he said. “You can handle yourself on your own.”
“Thanks,” I said dryly. “You ge
t your guy?”
“He’s out.”
I cocked my head toward the man on the trail. “I guess we’ll need to do something with him.”
“You wanna kill him?” he asked.
Once upon a time, that question would have horrified me a lot more than it did now.
Still. “No, I don’t want to kill him. I’d really like to get out of this trip without anybody dying,” I said. The fight did confirm this trip had been a good idea, though; Liam and Eleanor needed warning. And they needed it fast.
“Lafitte?” I asked.
“Beau Q. Lafitte,” Gavin drawled. “One of the identities I use on ops.”
“And nobody guessed ‘Lafitte’ was borrowed from ‘Jean Lafitte’?”
“It’s Louisiana,” he said with a grin. “Anyone who recognizes it wants to hear the backstory.”
“Which is?”
“He’s Beau’s grandfather, a dozen generations back. And in between, you’ve got your wenches, privateers, the illegitimate son of a U.S. senator.”
“That’s a lot of fake backstory.”
“I spend a lot of time alone,” Gavin said. “I made a chart.”
This time, I heard the flutter, saw the silhouette of wings against the sky as Malachi maneuvered through the trees and touched down on the trail with impressive grace.
He looked at Jimmy. “Bounty hunter?”
“Yep,” I said, then gestured down the trail. “There’s another one that way.”
“They’re going to wake up soon,” Gavin said.
“They won’t trail us to the others.” Malachi’s statement was as much warning as promise.
Gavin smiled. “I’ve got an idea about that. You know Montagne Désespérée?”
Malachi didn’t smile, but there was definitely amusement in his eyes. “I do.”
“What’s that mean? ‘Desperate Mountain’?” I translated.
“‘Hopeless Mountain,’” Gavin corrected. “Right off Bayou Black. And it’s not a place you want to be stranded. Which is unfortunate for them.”
• • •
Montagne Désespérée couldn’t have even impersonated a mountain, except by the standards of flat southern Louisiana. It was a hump of land about twenty yards across, like a man’s balding dome topped with scrubby vegetation and ringed by cypress knees and dark water. And it would be the temporary home of Jimmy and Crowley, whom Malachi and Gavin had hefted down the trail.