by Chloe Neill
Liam put his hands on his hips, glanced around, squinting in the sunlight. “Maybe this fire was an answer to Ezekiel’s signal. Not an attack per se, but a way to get a response over the walls.”
“Signaling what?” Gunnar asked.
“That the fugitives are alive, that they’re ready to start some plan of their own . . . or that they’re starting.”
“Starting what?” Reece asked.
Like instant confirmation Liam had been right, a scream split the air to our left, and then a gunshot did the same from our right. Two more gunshots fired somewhere in front of us.
Liam put out a hand in front of me, like a parent protecting a child in an imminent car crash.
Gunnar pulled a communication unit from his belt as Containment agents around the building looked around, trying to figure where to go and what to do.
“This is Landreau!” he called out, gaze on the towers that marked the corners of the prison. “What the hell’s going on out there?”
The response was staticky, but clear enough.
“Attacks . . . Reveillon fugitives . . . All positions report . . . All positions report!”
“To your positions!” Gunnar yelled, and the agents immediately pulled weapons, began to head in all directions. “Reveillon is attacking Paras!”
“Not Paras!” the voice shouted over the comm unit. “Humans.”
My stomach twisted as I glanced at the letters etched by fire into the side of the building: TRAITORS.
I thought of our time in Camp Couturie, in Ezekiel’s tent. He’d called me and Liam the same thing, said we were betraying our fellow humans because we supported Paranormals. Because we supported Containment.
“Containment agents killed,” I said. “Humans attacked. Ezekiel is targeting humans he believes are traitors to his cause.” I looked at Gunnar. “How many humans live in Devil’s Isle?”
“Only a handful,” he said, frowning. “A few agents, a couple of people who staff the clinic.” And then he paled. “And Liam’s grandmother.”
Fear coated my belly. Reveillon knew Liam lived in Devil’s Isle. If the fugitives had seen him, followed him, or even just asked around, they might have learned about Eleanor, or even seen her.
Fear and fury crossed Liam’s face in equal measure. “I’m going.”
“I’m with you,” I called out, and fell into step when he dashed in the direction of his grandmother’s town house.
“Reece?” Gunnar asked, pointing at us, and got a nod. When Reece fell into step beside us, Gunnar yelled at two agents nearby. “Smith and Valentine. Go with Reece, Claire, Liam to the civilian’s home.”
Inviting Containment into Eleanor’s home wasn’t a great idea—she had magical objects, and she had Moses. But it couldn’t be helped. We’d just have to do our best to keep things from getting worse.
—
The town house was only a few blocks away. Unfortunately, after the mile-long run to Devil’s Isle, my ankle throbbed like a bad tooth.
We passed two clusters of people along the way, Containment agents administering help to wounded or Paranormals who screamed in a language I didn’t understand. A man was on the ground near one of them, arms and legs covered in pale linen and unseeing eyes open to the sky. He was a Reveillon fugitive, and I couldn’t muster up any remorse that he was dead.
By the time we reached Eleanor’s block, it was empty of guards and people, and much too quiet.
The gate swung open in the breeze, and the door was cracked. There was no sign of Foster, or the Containment guard Gunnar had promised. Liam didn’t waste any time running inside. I didn’t waste any time following him, the others’ footsteps echoing behind me.
Pike and a man I didn’t know, probably the guard, lay on the floor, eyes closed.
I cursed Ezekiel under my breath. But Liam had already disappeared up the stairs; he’d need backup, so I had to delegate.
“Reece, please,” I said, pointing to them, and headed for the stairs.
While he crouched by Pike, checking his pulse, I took the stairs two at a time, and could hear Foster’s low and warning growl echoing down from the second floor.
I rounded the corner, stopped short in the threshold of Eleanor’s room.
It had been ripped apart—paintings on the floor, rugs pulled up from the hardwood floors, objects from Eleanor’s large bookshelf tossed around. Eleanor lay on the floor near the windows, her petite body looking impossibly frail. Moses crouched in front of her, ferocity in his expression.
And in front of them were two Reveillon members—a man and a woman in their dirty linens.
She stood on Eleanor’s high-backed chair, cornered like a treed raccoon by a snarling and snapping Foster.
Liam had already engaged the man, and they exchanged blows on the other side of the room.
Fugitives momentarily contained, I ran to Eleanor. But Moses still crouched protectively in front of her, his horns gleaming like lacquer as he watched me with murderous eyes.
“Moses,” I said, firmly, even while my heart was frantically thumping. “I need to check Eleanor.”
He bared his teeth, his pupils narrowing to slits.
I didn’t know what would bring him back, remind him that I was a friend. And since Eleanor wasn’t moving, I didn’t think I had time to figure it out.
“Fine,” I said, taking another step closer. “Gore me if you need to. But she needs help, and I’m going to check on her.”
Mustering every ounce of confidence, I walked past him like this was just business as usual.
I knelt beside Eleanor and put a hand against her forehead, then her neck. Her forehead was cool, her pulse slow but steady. There were bruises already gathering at the thin skin on her arms, and a lump on her forehead. We needed to get her to a doctor—or get a doctor to her, although Lizzie probably already had her hands full . . .
I looked up, around, spied her shawl on the back of her overturned wingback chair, then jumped up and grabbed it, offered it to Moses. “I don’t want her to go into shock. Can you cover her with this?”
I hoped that allowing him to help her would help him in turn, bring him around.
Sure enough, the red haze in his eyes seemed to dim as he swung the blanket over her, tucked it in.
“Thank you,” I said. “Thank you for protecting her.”
He gave me the tiniest nod, which was progress as far as I was concerned.
Maybe thinking I’d dealt with Moses, the female fugitive made a move to get down, but Foster jumped, nipped at her leg. She cursed at him, kicked wildly. Foster was smart enough to avoid her feet, and jumped in front of her while trying to sink teeth into her shins.
Much as I wanted him to bite her—and as much as she deserved it—I didn’t want him hurt in the process.
“One minute,” I said to Moses, jumping to my feet and walking to the chair where she perched. “Foster, sit,” I demanded, in a tone that said I was the alpha female.
Surprising both of us, he sat down, ears back and teeth bared, as he watched our mutual enemy.
The woman looked from him, to me, and her eyes went sly. She had a military look—short hair, cut cheekbones, serious eyes—and I recognized her. She was the other woman who’d walked beside Ezekiel at the protest, who’d been in the lead with him as they moved down Bourbon Street. I wondered if there was a reason for that—and if that reason was why he hadn’t made her carry explosives.
She stepped down from the chair, fury in her eyes. “Traitor.”
“You guys do like that word, don’t you? Ironic, though, since you’re the one who walked into someone’s home and attacked her. You think that makes you a savior? You’d be wrong.”
“She’s a traitor.” Her eyes narrowed. “And I know what else she is. I’ve seen them come and go, the Paranormals. I know why she’s here.”
>
Part of me wanted to be afraid for Eleanor—fearful this woman had somehow figured out her magic—but that seemed unlikely, so I didn’t have to fake my confusion. “What else is she?”
“A Sensitive.”
I rolled my eyes. “No, she isn’t.” She wasn’t—not technically, anyway.
“You lie to protect them, but that doesn’t matter. We know now. Ezekiel knows now.”
Every cell in my body wanted to stop the action in the room, run to Liam, and relay that Ezekiel now believed Eleanor was a Sensitive. That Liam’s grandmother—a woman Ezekiel already believed was a traitor—had magic. Instead, I had to play it off.
“Since you’re wrong, he’ll be sorely disappointed,” I said, trying to sound bored.
“You’re lying. Why else would she live in this hellhole, near them? Why else would they visit her, talk to her, if she wasn’t like them?”
“Did it occur to you that maybe she likes talking to Paranormals? That they like talking to her?”
“That would make her a traitor like you. You’ll end up on the wrong side of history,” she warned. “We’ll end this reign of terror, and we’ll end it now.”
“You know, the last time someone decided to mow down people to create a new world, they ended up in Devil’s Isle.”
Logic evaded her. “You’re helping Paranormals destroy the Zone.”
I gestured to the room she’d trashed. “You’re destroying the Zone, literally. You’re killing people, destroying more of a city that can’t afford it.”
“We’re working for a better world.”
I thought of Eleanor on the floor, of Moses in shock, of the screams and gunshots, of the fires and lost Containment agents, of the death and fear and pain.
And I couldn’t help myself. I balled my hand into a fist and rammed it into her pretty face.
She hadn’t expected me to do it, and hadn’t even raised her guard. She wobbled, and then her eyes rolled back. She hit the floor with a heavy thud.
“Bitch,” I muttered, then shook my hand, tears springing to my eyes. I’d known it was going to hurt, but not this much. It felt like I’d rammed my knuckles into a steel panel. “Ow.”
There was a crash of wood. Liam’s man had fallen backward onto a low table. On his back on the floor, his eyes fluttered closed.
Chest heaving, Liam lifted his gaze, searching for the other agent, found her sprawled out. He looked at me, the hand I cradled, and a smile crossed his face.
“Did you knock her out?” he asked, walking toward me.
“Yeah.” I opened my hand, flexed my fingers, which shot pain through them. “Maybe not my best idea.”
“Reckless,” Liam said with a shake of his head, but the comment didn’t diminish his smile. He held out his hand, and I placed my fingers in his. He touched each bone gingerly, as if checking for breaks. “Right cross?”
“Sure?”
“I think you’re all right. Bruised it, but I don’t feel anything broken.” He turned to Moses and his expression became serious again. He crouched beside him and Eleanor, put a hand on Moses’s arm. “Status?”
“Fuckers moved fast. Fast and quiet. We didn’t even hear Foster, Pike, or the guard make a noise, and then suddenly they were upstairs.”
“They could be ex-Containment or ex-military,” I said.
“Yeah,” Liam said with a rueful nod. “And that’s not real comforting.” He squeezed Moses’s arm. “You kept her safe. I owe you for that.”
“Kept her safe? She’s lying on the floor, unconscious.”
Eleanor opened one eye. “I’m not unconscious. I was just pretending.”
“You were what?” Moses turned his angry stare on her. “You think I have time for nonsense like that? For pretending? Scare a body to death. Half to death, anyway.”
“Reckless,” Liam said again. “Both of them. Where are you hurt?” He put a hand behind Eleanor’s head to help lift her up, but she winced, shook her head.
“Chest. My ribs. But only when I try to breathe,” she said, trying for a smile.
“Guy knocked her down,” Moses said. “Knew she couldn’t see—at least not the way humans usually do—and pushed her right out of the chair. Kicked her, the asshole.”
“I try not to use such language,” Eleanor said. “But he was definitely an asshole.”
Liam closed his eyes on a laugh. I tried to bite one back, as a laugh seemed really inappropriate under the circumstances. But Eleanor turned her pale gaze toward me, fumbled for my hand, squeezed it.
“Laugh,” she said. “Always choose to laugh.”
“And give ’em a good right cross,” Moses said, pointing at me. “Yours isn’t too bad, girl.”
Well, that was something, anyway.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Liam situated Eleanor on her small bed while Moses and I put away Eleanor’s magical effects. He slipped into the next room when the agents came upstairs. There was no point in complicating things further.
Reece walked inside, Smith and Valentine behind him.
“Pike?” Liam asked quietly, to avoid disturbing Eleanor.
“He’s been taken to the clinic,” Reece said, “along with Agent McNally. He had a bump on the head, as far as I could see. The fugitives must have surprised both of them.”
“They’d need some skills for that,” Liam said.
“She has the look of ex-military,” I said, gesturing to the woman whose eyes rolled back as Smith turned her over, cuffed her.
“That was my thought, too,” Liam said. “They’d have needed skills to stay hidden for so long. Maybe disgruntled war vets.”
Valentine cuffed the man, and with the help of a couple more agents, the no-longer fugitives were taken downstairs.
“She thinks your grandmother is a Sensitive,” I said quietly.
Liam’s expression stayed calm, but his eyes tightened almost imperceptibly. He wondered why I was bringing it up in front of Reece. But I had a plan.
“I mean, she’s obviously wrong, but she thinks that’s why your grandmother lives here. She said Ezekiel knows it.”
Reece looked at Liam. “Why does your grandmother live in Devil’s Isle?”
“Because I live in Devil’s Isle. I wanted her close, because I thought I could keep her safe that way.” Liam’s tone turned snappish. “I was obviously wrong about that, and I don’t like being wrong.”
Reece nodded, and his empathetic expression seemed sincere. “She’d have been targeted today as a human living in Devil’s Isle, even if not a Sensitive.”
“She’s not a Sensitive. If she was, I’d have gotten her out of here a long time ago.” He’d basically done the same for me by not taking me in.
“That would be illegal,” Reece said.
“It would,” Liam said. “And I’d have done it anyway. Containment’s handling of Sensitives is moronic and shortsighted. Lizzie’s a very good physician. But not allowing Sensitives to deal with their magic—to avoid becoming wraiths—is unconscionable.”
I wondered if it took willpower not to look at me when he said that. Because I had a hell of a time keeping my gaze on Reece.
Before Reece could respond, there was a thump and cursing downstairs. Reece took a heavy breath. “I’ll go escort our Reveillon friends to the brig in the Cabildo, make sure they’re safely put away.”
“Thank you for your help,” Liam said, and Reece nodded before leaving us again.
When the front door had opened and closed again, Liam glanced at me. “‘She thinks your grandmother is a Sensitive’?” he repeated.
“Containment could hear it either from us now, or from the fugitive during interrogation when we aren’t there to respond. If we get it out here, talk about it, it lessens the impact.”
“She’s right.” Eleanor’s voice was quiet but clear.
>
Liam moved to the bed, put his hands on his hips as he looked down at her. “I guess you’re still awake.”
She stared blankly toward the ceiling. “Of course I am. I’m entitled to listen when people are talking about me in my own home.”
Liam smiled a little. “Fair enough.”
She looked in my direction, smiled. “That was a very clever plan.”
“Thank you, Eleanor.”
Liam shook his head at both of us, and then his expression went serious again. “Eleanor, I think Reece is right. I think it’s time to get you out.”
Eleanor sighed heavily. “I’m not sure I’m in a position to disagree.” She looked toward Liam. “But I’m not going without Moses.”
“Bullshit,” Moses said from the doorway, then strode toward us with his stiff gait. “You will damn well go without me. You will go today.” He looked up at Liam. “You’ll take her out today.”
“Moses, now—”
He reached Eleanor, put a stubby hand over her delicate one. “I’m just one of the crowd, Eleanor. One of the Paras incarcerated here. That girl may have been wrong about you being a Sensitive, but the truth won’t matter much. Not if Ezekiel wants to believe it.”
“Exactly,” Liam said. “Which is why we need to get you out.”
“I’m a grown woman fully capable of assessing risk,” she said. “I lived through the war, after all.”
“Eleanor—” Liam and Moses said simultaneously, prepared to make their arguments.
I held up a hand. “Stop arguing. We’ve established Eleanor is amenable to leaving, but she won’t leave without Moses.”
I thought of what Malachi had said, of the importance of giving Paranormals some authority over their own lives, and looked at him. “If we could figure out a way—if we could make it work—do you want out?”
He looked at me for a long time in silence that Liam and Eleanor didn’t interrupt.
I wondered what he was thinking about, what considerations he was weighing. The stability of prison versus being out there on the run? The freedom of it, faced against the possibility of being dragged back into Devil’s Isle?
And there was something more there. He looked at me, into me, like he was assessing, evaluating. Like a man who wanted to offer up his hope—a delicate and fragile thing—and wanted to be sure the recipient could care for it.
