I felt really stupid. And the fact that last night had almost happened—that near kiss—just made the pain keener.
I pulled off the gloves, threw them down, then walked to the edge of the roof and stared out at the city. Slate roofs, black balconies, gaps of broken buildings and rubble that stood out like missing piano keys. And in the distance, the glowing hulk of Devil’s Isle, of the prison I was trying to avoid.
Somehow I’d backed right up against it.
I put my elbows on the parapet, watched the river slink by. For just a minute, I let myself indulge in fantasy. I thought of grabbing my go bag and making a real exit this time. Starting over without the Quarter, Containment, Quinn. I’d give myself a new name, maybe cut and dye my hair. My gun was in the safe, extra bullets. I could use that to hunt what game was left, find a place to camp out. Or maybe find some of Nix’s friends, a roaming band of “good” Consularis Paras to hang out with, to avoid Containment with.
I sighed, wiped my cheeks. It always came back to Containment. As long as you were in the Zone, Containment would be there.
I stood up again, shook off the self-pity. It wasn’t attractive, and more important, it wasn’t useful. Running when I didn’t think I had a choice was one thing. But right now I had choices.
I also had a few questions for Mr. Quinn.
• • •
He walked in at six o’clock, a smile on his face, and even more stubble. He wore a couple of fitted, layered T-shirts today, jeans, and boots. The shirts were snug enough that I could see the bulge of his gun. If I hadn’t been so pissed at him, I’d have said he wore the entire ensemble very, very well.
Liam took in the top, skirt, tights, and boots I’d worn today since the weather had cooled a little, offered a friendly smile. “You look nice. You gonna be all right if you get the ensemble a little scuffed up?”
The smile couldn’t compete with the tension between us, or my anger. Ignoring the question, I walked to the front door, locked it. I didn’t want to be interrupted.
His smile had vanished when I turned around again. “What’s wrong?”
“I want the truth. About everything.”
Liam put his hands on his hips, frowned. “The truth about what? What are you talking about?” He paused, uncertain for once. “Is this about last night?”
My cheeks warmed. “No, it’s not about last night. A Containment agent came to see me today. And he wanted to talk about you.”
Liam froze, gaze narrowing at me like a predator ferreting out his prey. Or maybe vice versa. “Which agent?”
“Jack Broussard.”
His face didn’t register surprise or anything else. “I see.”
“Are you going to tell me?”
Liam watched me as silence fell heavy around us.
“Did you investigate my father?”
If I’d surprised him, he didn’t show it. But then again, he wouldn’t have. And he didn’t answer, which only made my fury bloom hotter.
“Was this all a ruse? Your being here in the store that night? Helping me get into Devil’s Isle? Are you trying to get information about Sensitives? Is this some sort of sting operation?” My mind spun, trying to make sense of the web he’d woven, the complications, the details.
“No,” Liam said, the word forceful enough to snap my gaze to his. His eyes gleamed like hot sapphires. “No, damn it. It wasn’t any of that. It’s not any of that.” He ran a hand across his mouth, jaw. “Sit down, Claire.”
“Tell me.”
When I stared back at him, he closed his eyes, looked like he was praying for guidance. He wasn’t the only one.
Liam pulled out two chairs at the table. “Please sit down, Claire.”
I sat down, but Liam didn’t. Not yet. He walked back to the kitchen, and I heard drawers opening and closing. Dizziness had settled in, just enough to make my hands shake. When he came back with a bottle of cold water, I twisted off the cap, gulped.
He sat down in the other chair, angled it to face mine, and ran his hands through his hair. Then he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and looked at me.
And he told me his story.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
“I’m twenty-seven,” Liam said. “I was twenty when the war started. A junior at Xavier. I’d planned to go to law school, mostly because that’s what Eleanor expected.
“When the house was destroyed, we lost everything that mattered to us. We still had money, but what good would that have done in the Zone? There was nowhere to spend it, and we’d missed the exodus by two weeks, and they’d started closing borders to keep the war contained. So we weren’t leaving, and I had to keep my family safe. I walked into the Cabildo—that was when the army was still set up there—and they hired me as a contractor.”
“What did you do?”
“We had land, and I liked camping, hunting, was a pretty good shot, good tracker—not as good as Gavin, but pretty good—and knew my way around southern Louisiana. So I did pretty much whatever they wanted that would pay the bills. I escorted convoys, worked as a scout, hunted when a convoy couldn’t make it in. This is when I met the gardener—that Sensitive I told you about.”
I nodded.
“About six months into the war—this would have been April—Containment got worried. We’d lost battles at Shreveport and Vicksburg.”
I nodded, remembering. We’d had a shortwave radio in the store—that was when stations were still broadcasting in the Zone—and we’d listened to the reports. The reporter had cried when giving the casualty numbers. There were apocalyptic cults carrying signs through the Quarter, promising the end of the world had been coming. I’d been terrified, and barely more than a kid. But eventually the tide had turned, and we’d closed the Veil.
“Containment was aware that I was pretty well-known in New Orleans. Connected, I guess.”
“Because of your family? Because you’re an Arsenault?”
He nodded, linked his hands together, stared down at the floor. “New Orleans had always loved magic—hell, half the tourism in the Quarter was built on it—ghosts, vampires, voodoo—and Containment wanted to know if any residents were sympathetic to the Paras. If they might do anything that would subvert our defenses, or help the Paras.”
He wet his lips, looked up at me. “Do you remember the Hanlon family?”
I frowned. “The ones involved in the cult?” They’d decided the end of the world was coming, and they wanted to be at the front of the line. They killed two human soldiers as a “sacrifice,” began funneling food and supplies to the Paras.
“Yeah. I investigated them . . . and then I turned them in.” He shifted in his seat. And when he couldn’t get comfortable, he rose, walked to the windows in the front of the store, looked out at the city.
“I investigated them because they were on a list Containment gave me.” He turned, looked back at me. “Your father was on the list, too.”
My heart seemed to stop beating. “So you spied on my father? On me?”
“I kept watch on him,” he said carefully. “Containment wasn’t interested in you.”
That didn’t make it any better. “You were watching him because he might have been a traitor. Because Containment thought he might be a traitor.”
“We were in the middle of a war.”
“Damn it.” I stood up, paced across the room, then paced back again. “He died in the war,” I pointed out when I was facing Liam again. “Because he was fighting for us. There was no reason at all for him to be on any list.”
“It’s not that simple.”
“How isn’t it simple? Your investigating my father as a traitor? That seems pretty simple.”
“Because I should have turned him in. Your father was a Sensitive.”
I stared at him. “What? No, he wasn’t,” I said, my voice barely competing with the roaring in my ears.
“He was. He hid it very well. From you, from everyone.”
“No. No, that’s a mistake.” I pointed at him
. “You’re wrong. He would have told me if he was a Sensitive. We were really close, Liam. He would have told me.”
“I’m sure he wanted to protect you. To keep you away from all this. From exactly this conversation we’re having right now.”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “This isn’t right.”
But wasn’t there evidence to the contrary? “The insulation,” I quietly said, staring at the brick wall. “He must have had a friend. Another Sensitive, or a Paranormal.”
“Maybe,” Liam agreed. “I didn’t know the building was insulated until last night. Anyway, I had already begun to learn that not all Sensitives had to become dangerous. He wasn’t the only one I didn’t turn in. Containment didn’t know that I wasn’t turning Sensitives in, of course, because there was no incriminating evidence that any of them were actually Sensitives. But my handler didn’t like it. He believed, and apparently still believes, that I was disloyal to the city, to the country. He terminated my contract.”
The pieces fell into place. “Jack Broussard was your handler.”
He nodded. “He’s had it in for me since then.”
“Wait, so how did you become a bounty hunter? I mean, if Broussard had it in for you, and terminated your contract, how did you get Containment to pay your bounties?”
“Those family friends in PCC that I mentioned,” he said. “As you’ve seen, Broussard’s not especially worried about pissing people off. He hasn’t always towed the PCC line, so he has plenty of enemies inside and outside the agency. I had a good record, and there wasn’t any evidence your father was a Sensitive. He was extraordinarily careful.”
“If he was careful,” I said quietly, “how did you know?”
Liam looked at me. “I saw him one night. I was watching the store. The power was out, but I saw a flash of light.”
“Candles or something,” I suggested.
Liam shook his head. “There was a glow in the air, like a sphere of light. And when he moved, when he walked, it followed him. It only lasted for a few seconds. He was probably looking for something in the store, didn’t think about what he was doing.”
Something in my heart softened, warmed. “My father could make light?”
Liam nodded. “I get that wraiths are dangerous and any Sensitive can become one. And I saw the result of that. Gracie saw the result of that. But I don’t understand why Containment won’t help Sensitives. Why they won’t acknowledge it can be done. Ignoring it just feeds the problem, puts more monsters on the street.”
I flinched at the word.
Liam made a frustrated sound, ran his hands through his hair. “Damn, Claire. I’m sorry Broussard’s dragged you into this. I guess he does believe in the sins of the father.”
I nodded, walked back to the table on wobbling knees, sat down. I needed to pause, to think. I pressed my fingers against my eyes, like I could block out the world. Like I could change history altogether. But that was an impossible dream. A child’s dream. And I hadn’t been a child for a really long time.
I heard him move back toward me, felt the air change as he took his seat again. “Why did Broussard come to me now?” I asked, opening my eyes.
Liam shook his head. “I don’t know. Containment has seen us together twice, three times if anyone saw us at the Landreaus’ house. What did he ask you about?”
“He asked how well I knew you. He said you were obsessed with wraiths because of Gracie.”
“He’s not wrong.”
No, he wasn’t, I thought. “Broussard will be back. If he thinks he can use me to get to you, or vice versa, he won’t stop.”
“You’re probably right.”
Silence descended.
“I’m sorry,” he said again. “I should have been honest with you. I just—I didn’t want to hurt you. And if he hadn’t told you, I wasn’t sure I should be the one.”
I nodded, looked up at him. “Thank you for not turning him in. I wish you’d told me—but I’m more pissed he didn’t tell me himself. That—that hurts,” I admitted. “A lot.”
And all my father’s talk about keeping my head down. Was that what he’d been doing? Hiding who he was? He couldn’t have been hiding completely. Not if he’d known someone well enough to get the building insulated, presumably so he could practice his magic. And knowing that he’d shared himself with someone else didn’t help.
Liam made a sound of agreement. “I’m not thrilled with your father, either. Even if he hadn’t known you’d become a Sensitive, he could have let you see that side of him. That might have made your last eight months easier.”
“I’m sure he thought he was protecting me,” I said, but I couldn’t muster much enthusiasm. “Just like you did.”
Liam nodded. “And we can see how well that turned out. From now on,” he said, gaze on me, “no more omissions. We both deserve better.”
“Yeah. We do.”
I was suddenly exhausted. I wanted nothing more than to climb into bed and stay there for a week. But we still had work to do.
I stood up. “We were going hunting.”
Liam’s gaze snapped up. “You still want to go?”
“The wraiths who hurt Emme are still out there. And there’s no chance Containment is going to change its position about Sensitives if wraith attacks are getting worse. Figuring out what’s happening is the only way to ensure that it doesn’t happen to me.”
Liam stood up. “You’re pretty remarkable, Claire Connolly.”
“Thanks,” I said. But still, potentially, a wraith.
• • •
On the way toward the door, I grabbed another bottle of water and a granola bar, then stopped at the counter. While Liam glanced back, I opened the safe, pulled out the black handgun my father had given me, confirmed the safety was on, careful to keep my finger away from the trigger.
Liam walked back. “That’s the gun?” He didn’t need to say it—it was the one I’d killed Paras with.
I nodded, pulled back the slide, checked the chamber. It was empty. I popped out the magazine, checked it. It was full, so I snapped it home again.
“How’s your aim?”
“I can hit the side of a barn.” I was better with tiny gears than faraway targets. But I was good enough to be safe.
“Can you shoot a wraith?”
I looked down at the gun. “There’s no way to bring a wraith back. To make them whole again. So yeah, if lives are in danger, I can.” I didn’t want to consider whether it would be better to kill it or leave it alive for a never-ending term in Devil’s Isle.
I pulled out the waistband holster I kept with it in the safe, clipped it into the waistband of my skirt, situated the gun, and looked up at him. “You ready?”
His eyebrows were lifted in amusement. “I am, Annie Oakley. Allons.”
“And once again in English?”
“Let’s go.”
That I could do.
• • •
We locked up the store, walked outside, an entirely new awkwardness settling between us.
I hadn’t noticed how Liam had gotten to the store. It wasn’t pretty. A mostly rusty pickup truck, the paint that remained a chalky green. It hadn’t aged well.
I climbed into the passenger side, slammed the door to close it, and still wasn’t entirely sure I’d closed it all the way. “This is quite a vehicle.”
“She gets the job done. Outfitted to require as little electricity as possible. But yeah, she’s not gonna win any beauty pageants.” Liam turned the ignition, and the truck rumbled to life.
“Where are we going?”
“Garden District. That’s the last point of contact for the wraiths. I want to see if we can find them again.”
I nodded, rolled the window down, letting in the breeze. Liam rounded through the Quarter to get back to Canal, and I watched the sun set behind burned-out buildings and palm trees. There were no people in sight.
Starving, I pulled out my granola bar, peeled down the wrapper. I broke off
a chunk, held it out to Liam. “You want some?”
He glanced down at it, then me. “You sure?”
“Positive. But don’t get too excited.”
He accepted the chunk, popped it into his mouth, grimaced. “Damn. This is not good,” he said over a mouthful of stale crumbs.
“No, it isn’t,” I said, chewing my half. “Probably old,” I added, but I didn’t dare check the expiration date. We were a little looser with expiration and “best by” dates these days. Most of the time, that was fine. Other times, you ate a granola bar that tasted like glued-together dust.
“Speaking of not good, I think your seat’s just about out of cushion.” I squirmed, trying to find a comfortable position. It was like sitting on a concrete block covered in marbles.
The truck backfired, bouncing us in our seats and sending a cloud of blue-gray smoke behind us.
“And she’s easily offended,” I said, then patted the dashboard. “I don’t fault you. I fault your lackadaisical owner.”
Liam grunted, turned down St. Charles, slowing as he reached the Garden District proper, rolled down his window. The truck wasn’t exactly quiet, but without streetcars or planes or the sounds of urban people, we could still hear crickets chirping in the grass, taking advantage of the extended summer.
We passed the Landreaus’ house, the lights on and warmly glowing. Gunnar was probably having dinner with them, keeping an eye on Emme to make sure she was all right.
Liam drove slowly, eyes peeled for the wraiths, just in case they’d been nesting near the house. But there was no sign of them.
He turned southeast onto Fourth Street. It was one-way in the opposite direction, but that hardly mattered now.
The houses ranged in size, but most had been well cared for before the war, with wrought-iron or brick or vine-covered fences to separate their kingdoms from their neighbors’. Almost all the houses that remained were dark, the surviving trees and grass overgrown, the batteries in the cars long since dead. The asphalt was cracked, as were the sidewalks that alternated between concrete and brick. It had been a long time since the neighborhood got TLC.