“Someone’s trying to open the Veil,” Liam said, “and they’re looking for Sensitives who can help them. They have a list of Sensitives, people who they’re interrogating to get that information. And we think they’re making them wraiths so they can’t report about that interrogation.”
Phaedra’s brows lifted. “I don’t see what this has to do with us.”
“You’re both on the list,” he said. “We think you’re next.”
The words fell like thunderclaps in the quiet room.
The sisters’ fingers tightened. “We haven’t left the bayou in years,” Phaedra said. “We couldn’t be on any list.”
“We’ve seen it,” Liam gently said. “You’re on it.”
Tadji stood up. “It’s too dangerous for you to be here without help, without support. They could come for you, and no one would know it. You could come back to New Orleans with us.” She looked at me and Liam.
“We have friends you could stay with,” I said. “You’d be safe there until we can make sure the threat is gone.”
Tadji nodded. “Yes. Exactly. The three of us rode down here together. I can drive back with you in the sedan.”
“Nonsense,” Phaedra said, crossing one leg over another. “That’s nonsense. We’ve done no one’s business but our own for years.”
“But you did someone else’s business at one time, Mrs. Dupre?”
All eyes turned to Liam.
“You helped Containment during the war. And when you discovered they lied about immunity, you disappeared. Maybe after that, you’ve done favors for friends, used your magic. Become known as women who could help?”
Phaedra’s chin lifted again in that proud, defiant way. She was definitely Tadji’s mother. “It’s a difficult life out here. You work hard for it, and you get to know the folks who help you. We’ve done right by our neighbors. It’s what anyone would do.”
Liam sat down on the arm of the chair, his eyes fixed on Phaedra. “I don’t doubt that one bit. But when you help, word spreads about who you are, about where you are, and about what you can do. The fact is, you’re on the list, and they know where you are.”
“Even if what you’re saying is true,” Phaedra said, “we aren’t going anywhere. This is our home. We aren’t going to leave it.”
And then, suddenly, they didn’t have a choice.
It started as a low throb of sound, a drumbeat in the distance. And then it grew louder. Thuck. Thuck. Thuck. Thuck.
You didn’t often hear air traffic over the Zone—it was too risky to fly when you could suddenly lose power—but I remembered what a helicopter sounded like.
I stood up, my heart pounding as loudly as the rotors. I thought, hoped, that we’d managed to get here in time. It didn’t look like that was the case.
“Stay here,” Liam said, and walked to the window, used a single finger to slip back a curtain and looked out. He let out a low, growling curse as it passed over the house, and then he looked back at me, nodded.
Liam shifted his gaze to Phaedra and Zana. “It’s a ComTac copter. That’s the defense contractor we think is trying to open the Veil—the ones who have the list with your name on it. They’ll look for somewhere to land, and then the operatives will come here, and they’ll come for you.”
Phaedra’s eyes and expression had gone flat. “They’ll get the encryption over my dead body.”
“The encryption?” Tadji asked, glancing between Liam and her mother. “What does that mean? I don’t know what that means.”
“Damn,” I murmured.
“It means your mother’s not just a Sensitive,” Liam said. “She’s one of the seven Sensitives who closed the Veil. ComTac wants her to help get it open again.”
Tadji’s eyes grew large, her gaze jumping from Liam to her mother and back again.
“We’ll get into the details later,” Liam said, “when everyone is safe. But for now we need to get out. We don’t have much time.”
“We don’t need protecting,” Phaedra said, standing. “The sun is setting. We can get into the bayou, hide. We’ve got provisions there.” She looked at her sister, who nodded. “We stored them, just in case. They won’t be able to find us.”
Liam looked at Tadji, who looked completely out of her element. And for good reason—this was precisely the element she’d been trying to avoid for years.
But it was too late for regrets or questions. We had to move.
“Let’s go,” Liam said, gesturing toward the door. “Lead the way, Mrs. Dupre.”
• • •
Back to the porch, down the stairs, around the house to the back. The bayou began about fifty yards away, with stubbly grass and a small shed in between. With Tadji in front, Liam behind, we ran for the shed.
The yelling started just before we dodged behind old wood.
Either they’d found a landing spot for the copter and hurried from it, or they’d had vehicles on the ground, too. ComTac wanted its Sensitive. And ComTac was prepared.
We peered through the worn wood at the house. Operatives in black fatigues spilled like termites around each side of the house, carrying very large weapons. They formed a human barrier on both sides, preventing us from running back the other way and toward the cars. It was the bayou or Devil’s Isle. And that was only really a choice if we assumed they wouldn’t follow us through the swamps. Unfortunately, these guys—and they were all men—looked like hard-bitten warriors. Big muscles, lots of ink, faces that seemed to have taken plenty of abuse from Paras or otherwise. They wouldn’t just let us go.
“We seem to have a problem here.”
A man stepped through the line of men, walked toward us. He was tall, probably in his late sixties. He had closely cropped hair in a military style, wore fatigues in the old brown and green camouflage style the military hadn’t used in a decade. His face was long and haggard, jowls sagging on each side of his face. And there was hatred in his eyes.
“Come out, come out, wherever you are.” There was a Southern lilt to his voice.
Liam looked at me, and I shook my head. “Don’t even think about it,” I said.
“No other choice,” he said, pulling the keys from his pocket and pressing them into my hand. “You can drive?”
I nodded.
“Get them to the truck. They’ll be followed through the swamp. Get them to New Orleans, to Gunnar or to Gavin. That’s your best bet.”
“No,” I said, grabbing his arm. “You are not going out there.”
“I am,” he said. “ComTac killed Gracie. ComTac might not have held the weapon, but ComTac built it. It’s time they acknowledge what they’ve done. What they’ve started.”
We looked at each other. His eyes blazed with fury and rage, but behind them was grief. He was haunted by Gracie’s ghost, and needed to help her now in the only way he could.
“Be careful,” I said, knowing that he needed to fight this battle.
His eyes widened with surprise, that I hadn’t tried again to stop him. He looked at me for another moment, then stepped out from behind the shed, hands raised.
Terror speared through me, sharper than any Valkyrie weapon.
“You’re trespassing,” Liam said, his voice utterly calm.
“At the home of suspected enemy combatants,” the man said.
Phaedra’s lip curled, and she opened her mouth to protest, but Tadji clamped a hand over it, shook her head fiercely. “Stay quiet.”
“I didn’t get your name,” Liam said as we watched.
“You can call me Rutledge.” He gestured back toward the operatives. “These are my men.” He tilted his head. “And you’re Liam Quinn. Former Containment contractor. Now a bounty hunter, with all the glamour of that particular job.”
“More bounties these days,” Liam said. “More wraiths. But you already know about that, don’t you?”
It was a test, to see if this had been the man who put the plan in place. And when Rutledge’s features drew tight, I guessed we hadn’t been
far off the mark.
“My sister was killed by one of your wraiths, Mr. Rutledge. She was seventeen when she was attacked. Her death was needless.”
Some of the soldiers around Rutledge exchanged glances. They might not have known about the collateral damage.
“Civilian casualties are unavoidable. I regret the necessity, but not the operation.”
Liam’s eyes hardened. “We aren’t in a war.”
“Oh, but we are.” He took a step forward. “The war didn’t end, Mr. Quinn. The war was paused. Do you think there’s any chance the Paras won’t come back again if the Veil splits? Do you think they aren’t planning to try to break the encryption? And do you think we’d be prepared for a surprise attack? Or that the Paras in Devil’s Isle wouldn’t rise against us if that happened? Don’t be fooled, Mr. Quinn, by the theory some of these monsters are our friends. They are not.”
“So you think forcing the Veil open is a better option?” Liam asked. “Forcing war again, when it nearly destroyed the South the first time around?”
This time, Rutledge looked surprised. He hadn’t expected us to have gotten so far, to have understood so much. “Better to be proactive than to wait for certain death. Don’t dismiss what you don’t understand, Mr. Quinn. Now, we’re here to speak with the Misses Dupre. If you could request they come out from their fairly obvious hiding space, we can all be on our way.”
“They are humans, and you have no right to detain them.”
“We have the right to retain enemy combatants, including Sensitives, which they are. And if they come out now, we’ll promise not to kill the daughter.”
Phaedra slipped out of Tadji’s grip, and she was moving before we could stop her. She stepped next to Liam. Fury seemed to swirl around her like a queen’s cape.
“You touch one hair on my daughter’s head, and you will regret it for the rest of your very short life.”
Go, Mrs. Dupre. And she meant business, too. I could feel the tendrils of magic moving past me, blowing my hair as she spindled her magic and prepared to strike. I knew from the list she could “conduct magic,” but I had no idea what that actually meant, or how to plan for it.
Hatred bloomed across Rutledge’s face in ugly red splotches. “You are tainted with magic. And since we have considerably more numbers than you, and better weapons, I suggest the rest of your friends come forward now so we can all go about our business.”
“You’ll need to recalculate your numbers,” said a voice behind us, and we all looked back.
They emerged through the trees like spirits—a dozen Paranormals with weapons in hand. There was no gold armor this time. Instead, they wore what looked like worn and discarded human clothes.
Half of them were angels—tall and uniformly beautiful men and women with skin in a rainbow of shades, from ghostly pale to gleaming brown-black. Their eyes gleamed gold, just like the tips of their wings, which disappeared as they silently touched the earth.
The rest of them were an assortment of creatures. They were a small and self-made army, clothed like humans, but very definitely Paranormals. And they stood behind Malachi like his dedicated troops. Burke had gotten word to them, thank God.
Rutledge took in the sight, and his eyes gleamed. “This isn’t your fight.”
Malachi stepped forward, stood beside Liam. “Since you’d wreak hell upon us all, of course it is.”
Malachi’s voice dropped. “Disable and disarm the operatives,” he said quietly to his battalion.
He raised his bow, which gleamed gold in the falling darkness.
I was struck blind by memory, of a glint of light off the armor, the weapon, of the Valkyrie who’d come to kill me. Of the red-brown stains across her mouth and lips, and the hunger in her eyes. For death, for blood. I’d never been afraid like that—I’d never experienced fear that had slunk through my muscles and bones like freezing water, leaving me staring at her, my heart racing, pounding in my ears.
I’d had nightmares as a child that a stranger stood at the end of my bed. I’d seen him, but couldn’t scream. I was terrified, but had no voice. I felt just as defenseless when she stared me down.
Sound rushed back like a wave. “Claire. Claire.”
I looked down, found Liam’s hand on my arm, the gripping fingers white with effort. He and Phaedra had moved behind the shed again.
I looked back. The Paras were rushing forward on one side of the wall of men, weapons raised for battle. They’d funneled together on the left, forcing the operatives to regroup, and leaving the right side of the yard open for us. If we could get around the house, we might have a chance to get out alive.
ComTac began firing. Gunshots sang through the air, zipping past the angels and zinging off their weapons. They launched their own onslaught of arrows.
“Let’s move,” Liam said, and pulled me toward the other side of the house, the Dupres behind us.
My adrenaline surged, but my body wanted nothing more than to hunker down until the fighting was over. But I wasn’t seventeen anymore, I reminded myself. I was an adult, with my own power.
We ran for the house, edged to the side of it, and neared the front yard. But Liam stopped short, held up a closed fist to make us stop, too, as he evaluated our options.
He looked back at me. “I’m going to have to draw them off. Wait until I’ve gotten them away from the truck, then run to the vehicle. Get them to New Orleans. And no heroics.”
“I’m not going to just leave you.”
His expression was fierce. “Yes, you are. Do what needs to be done, Claire.”
And then he was gone. He ran past the truck, and two ComTac operatives who’d been assigned to watch gave chase.
Damn. I didn’t want to leave him, but I didn’t want to waste his bravery. And I had to get the Dupres to safety. I had to keep the Veil closed.
I looked back at Tadji, handed her the keys, looked at her mother and aunt. “On three, we run to the truck.” The fighting was loud, and I had to shout for my voice to be heard over gunshots and the clang of weapons. “Tadji drives. Phaedra and Zana in the front. I’ll get into the truck bed. Okay?”
That, I hoped, would let me use whatever power I might be able to gather if someone chased us. Could I move a helicopter? Didn’t know. But I might need to try. And it seemed safer to do that from the back of the truck than from the front.
“I don’t want any of this,” Tadji said. “I don’t want any of this.”
I looked back. Tadji’s eyes and pupils were wide. She was getting shocky. I had to keep her calm.
I snapped my fingers until she focused on me. “Tadji, I know you’re freaked out, but right now we have to move. Okay?”
She swallowed thickly, nodded.
“On three,” I said again. “One . . . two . . .” I made like a sprinter, crouched and ready to run—but then Zana Dupre screamed.
I turned back, found a black-clad Containment operative, face smeared with camouflage, holding her arm, a bowie knife in hand.
“You’ve got the wrong one,” I said. “I’m the Sensitive.”
He looked at me, was just unsure enough to hesitate. Zana kicked him in the shin, and the surprise put him off balance. He stumbled a few feet away but got his balance again and lunged at me, leading with the knife. I dodged, then kicked up at his elbow to get him to drop the weapon.
It actually worked. He yelped, and the knife slipped from his hand. He fell to the ground to retrieve it. But Zana was faster. She got to it first, kicked it into the underbrush.
The man realized his error fast enough. He pulled out his gun, aimed it at the Dupres, prepared to fire.
Not on my watch, I thought, and began gathering magic, moving toward him to close the distance, improve my aim.
Unfortunately, I hadn’t noticed Phaedra Dupre doing the same thing. She aimed the burst of magic at the man just as I stepped in front of him.
Her shot hit me with the heat of a thousand suns.
The shot would have knocke
d out a human. But I was a Sensitive. My body absorbed magic, wanted magic, all the magic it could find. And it had found the mother lode. I guess this was what the list had meant by Phaedra’s ability to “conduct magic.”
I rolled away, arms and toes curled in pain. Every inch of my body—from head to fingertips to toes and everything in between—felt on fire. This was bad.
“Go,” I said to Tadji, voice hoarse and suddenly parched. “Go. Now.”
I wasn’t fine. Wasn’t close to fine. But I couldn’t fix myself and take care of them. Tadji looked at me, made a decision, and pulled her mother and aunt toward the truck.
Fire balled in my stomach, tears springing to my eyes. This was what being a wraith felt like, I thought, and knew I had to get rid of the magic. I moved to my knees, searched for something I could funnel it into. To my left, there was a stand of tangled trees, a finger of the bayou that edged the back of the property. And on the leading edge, the stump of an ancient cypress, long since cut down, maybe to build the house, maybe for firewood.
I crawled toward it, one excruciating knee at a time, my arms and legs shaking with the effort, sweat pouring down my back, shots firing in the distance. I reached inside, began pulling the magic together one hot and miserable thread at a time. Every time I thought I’d managed to corral all the magic that had buried me, I found another hank of it hiding in a dark corner of my psyche.
Just as the magic had rushed me, it poured out again. Cold surrounded me, seeped in where the magic had vacated. I felt like I’d been thrown from the equator to the Arctic Circle, my teeth and hands chattering with the sensation.
I coughed, and my throat felt parched. But I had to bind the power. I had to bind it or my body would seek it out again, and I’d be back at the start.
I put my hand on the cypress, begged the magic to bind itself, to sink in and find its home. But the buzzing continued, a hornet’s nest inside my head.
Tears of frustration slipped from my eyes. I flexed my fingers again, put my palm back on the stump. I couldn’t ask it; I had to demand the magic be bound.
I imagined the conversation I’d like to have with Rutledge, what it might feel like to push a little magic into him, let him feel what it meant to be “contaminated” or “tainted” with it.