by Chloe Neill
“Except I have a lot less vomit in my hair.”
Malachi’s eyes widened. “Why would you put vomit in your hair?”
“I don’t think it was put there on purpose,” Rachel said with a smile.
I patted Liam’s chest. “Have a snack,” I repeated, then pointed a warning finger at Gavin. “Chill out,” I said quietly, “or I’ll place the rest of the granola bar in a very uncomfortable place.”
Gavin’s eyes narrowed. “You wouldn’t.”
“You want to test me?”
He watched me for a moment, eyes cool and appraising. It was the same look, I bet, that he’d given the bounties he’d captured. “No,” he finally said. “Not because I think you’d do it, but because I don’t want to watch you try. And I ate all the granola bar.”
If only all conflicts ended so easily. But Malachi’s features were still drawn. And I read concern in that tightness.
“Why are you worried?” I asked.
Malachi glanced at me and away again. “I am not worried. But I’d rather keep moving. And quickly.”
“Because of winged monkeys, poppies, or twisters?” I figured wicked witches were a given.
He turned back to me, eyes wide. “Earth has monkeys with wings?”
“Not at present. But we aren’t in Louisiana anymore.”
“Might as well be,” Gavin said, slapping the back of his neck. “Bugs are fierce out here.”
“Maybe they just like you best,” Liam said. “I’m not having any issues.”
Then Gavin slapped his arm, his neck again. “What the crap, Beyond?” But then his gaze softened. “Oh,” he said, and I looked back.
No mosquito this time, but the tendril of one of the willow branches, long and lithe.
“Oh, wow,” Gavin said as the tip of the branch flicked and moved like the zig of a wand or the flick of a whip.
But magic pulsed in the air, and there was nothing friendly about it now. The trees began to rustle and shift, darkness falling over us as the branches overhead moved together, began to braid into a canopy that was no longer lithe and light dappled, but powerful and foreboding.
Magic began to ripple around us, warping the air like heat rising from an asphalt highway. The hair on my arms, the back of my neck, lifted in that magic, and the buzz in my head grew louder.
So much energy. So much power.
“Malachi,” Rachel said quietly, moving her weapon. “Are the trees alive? I mean, more than usual?”
“Move closer to me,” Malachi said by way of answer, the words low and careful. He dropped his backpack and extended his wings, the sound like the snap of a crisp linen sheet.
“So much magic,” Liam said, his voice dusky and low. I looked at him, found gold swimming in his eyes, and feared that his control would slip away in the rising current.
There was a quick whip of sound, and the branch of a willow twined around Gavin’s ankle like a shackle, hauled him into the air.
Liam cursed, pulled his knife out.
Another flick, and the knife was gone, too, held tight by the delicate green tip of a willow branch that spiraled around it.
Gavin screamed as another tendril grabbed his other ankle, bound them together, and pulled him higher into the canopy. His head was fifteen feet above the ground now, and he struggled—trying to rise up and loosen the ties at his ankles—but the willow bobbed and weaved so that he couldn’t get a grip.
“Stop moving,” Malachi told him, as we took shelter in the shadows of his wings.
“You stop moving!” Gavin said, wriggling as the branches moved up his calves, twined around his shins, then his knees.
“Be still,” Malachi said. “As long as you move, you are a threat.”
Gavin stopped wriggling, let his hands fall past his head, blood rushing to his face as he hung upside down.
The magic shifted, changed direction, a curious breeze now. It moved through and around us, inspecting and investigating us. And as quickly as it had arrived, it seemed to be sucked back into the trees.
“Was that it?” Rachel asked, hand on the nine-millimeter at her side. “Is it gone?”
Malachi didn’t even need to say no.
This time, it was the trees themselves that swayed, the slick bark shimmering and moving around the trunks as cells moved and rearranged.
The bark expanded, thinned, and what looked like fingers began to press through it like it was a curtain. As if a monster was reaching out toward us.
“Okay,” Gavin said. “I’m cool that I’m up here now. I’ll just hang—ha ha—while y’all deal with the anthropomorphizing trees.”
As if irritated by the insult, the tree shook him like a rag doll.
“Blurg,” was his only response.
The fingers pressed farther through the bark, the skin of it so thin it looked like it might snap. An arm followed, then two, then knees and legs, then a torso and the vague outline of a face, hair waving and extending up through the thousand thin branches above us.
The bark’s texture lightened and softened, and the shape became that of a woman. She stepped out of the tree, skin pale and pink, as if emerging from a shell. Or, given the quiet sucking sound that accompanied the slide of the creature, from a cocoon.
She was, of course, willowy. She had long limbs and smooth skin, and while the delicacy made me think she was female, she didn’t have any of the physical attributes that would have identified any gender. Or humanity.
Her mouth was small. Her nose thin and long. Her eyes enormous pale orbs with irises the color of new leaves, her hair the same color at the tips, but fading to white as it neared her crown.
She stepped closer, her delicate feet making no sound as she moved. Two more of them emerged from trees beside us. One with hair a darker shade of green, the other’s red like mine. They formed a triangle, moved together toward us, synchronized like a school of fish, their movements equally fluid.
“Tree nymphs,” Rachel quietly said.
Malachi simply nodded.
The one in front, the apex of the triangle, looked us over, final gaze landing on Rachel. Then up at Gavin.
The wind shifted, rustling the leaves. Or I thought it was the wind until I realized her mouth was open, lips and small white teeth moving as she spoke in her particular language.
Whatever she said had the tips of Malachi’s wings moving around us, covering our backs.
“No,” he said aloud.
The wind blew harder, the willows swaying, branches snapping as they moved back and forth in the air.
“I’m about to pass out,” Gavin said above us.
“No,” Malachi said again. “You will allow us to continue on our way, or we will fight back. We will take you down.”
“Can you stop them?” Rachel asked. “Make them go back into the trees? Tell them we don’t mean any harm?”
“They are not critical thinkers,” Malachi said. “You are strangers. You are different. They view difference as negative.”
“If they don’t stop,” I said, hoping they’d hear and take the point, “then we’ll have to stop them. We’ll have to hurt them.”
Gavin bobbed to the left. I looked at Malachi. “I can do it without blades.”
I got his reluctant nod.
If I could move a Humvee, I figured I could unwrap a vine.
But that was Earth logic talking.
I reached out for magic, was nearly knocked down by the sheer amount of power that answered my call. It was like having an entire power plant at my fingertips. I gathered it up, the filaments of magic fighting back against my grasp, as if it also realized I was different. I was a stranger.
I lifted my gaze toward the tree limb, wrapped magic around the tendril, and pulled. When nothing happened, I added more magic, pulled again. The tendril simply jerked in the o
ther direction, like the same poles of two magnets pushing each other away.
Gavin squealed as he rolled through the air, and I stared, trying to figure out what had gone wrong, and how to make it right. Either telekinesis wasn’t effective on the tendrils of a Paranormal tree nymph, or it knew what I was doing and was quick enough to avoid it.
The tendril jerked so hard it loosened Gavin’s backpack, which glittered to the earth with a heavy thunk that made me wonder what he’d packed in there.
And I wasn’t the only curious one.
The vine stopped moving, the nymphs going still and glancing down at the backpack, which landed halfway between us.
The backpack was ours, not theirs. It had no magic. This, I figured, I could deal with.
I snatched it up with magic, flung it high into the air, higher than the vines could reach, and I kept it there.
“You can have the backpack,” I said, “if you let him go and let us walk away.”
The wind rose fiercely, leaves shaking with the nymphs’ furious response.
Malachi watched them mildly, then lifted a shoulder. “I cannot control the human. She does as she pleases. If you wish a gift from the Terrans, you must let him go.”
I played up the bad-cop element and gave them hard looks.
Something worked—maybe just their covetousness—because the vines began to retract, the trees to straighten and look more like trees than hulking predators.
The tendril wrapped around Gavin’s ankle released. He dropped, arms flailing, and fell neatly into Malachi’s arms.
“If I wasn’t about to vomit,” Gavin said, face beet red and sweaty, as he patted Malachi’s cheek, “I’d kiss you right on the mouth.”
“I do not wish to kiss you,” Malachi said, and dropped Gavin to his feet. Liam reached out to give him a steadying hand as he found his footing and the blood began to circulate again.
“Thank you,” Malachi said, looking back at the nymphs. “Step back, please.”
More wind, more rustling, and the nymphs stepped backward, nearly back to their respective trees. But their gazes didn’t waver from the bag.
“Go ahead, Claire,” he said, and I nodded.
I swept in more magic, tossed the bag thirty feet away from us, and in the direction opposite from where we needed to go.
The wind screamed as they rushed it, girls and leaves and branches moving like a horde of snakes toward glitter and unicorn and rainbow.
We ran for it.
* * *
• • •
“I hope you didn’t want anything out of that backpack,” I said when Malachi had pulled on his backpack, and we’d put a few hundred yards between us and the trees.
Gavin shrugged. “Eh, it was mostly granola bars and UNO cards.”
We all looked at him.
“Why did you bring UNO cards on a trip into the Beyond?” Rachel asked.
“To trade with the Paras. They’re probably fascinated by earthly artifacts.”
“I am intrigued that you consider UNO cards appropriate currency,” Rachel said, and held up a hand before he could argue. “But it doesn’t matter.”
“No, it doesn’t. But I told y’all the backpack was baller.” He glanced at Malachi. “You might have mentioned the killer trees.”
“It seemed better to apologize than seek permission. I believe that’s the correct phrase?”
“Who’s been teaching him expressions again?” Liam asked, and looked at me.
“Not it,” I said.
Gavin patted Malachi collegially on the back. “Next time we go on a mission together, we’re going to need to discuss your briefing style.”
“I don’t have a briefing style.”
“Yeah,” Gavin said. “That’s kind of my point.”
“I thought it was invigorating,” Liam said, rolling his shoulders. His eyes were nearly solid gold, and gleamed like bright coins.
I felt slow and swollen, as if the magic was taking up space in my body again.
“Are you okay?” Rachel asked, walking toward me, her features pulled into a frown. “You look pale. Well, paler than usual,” she added with a smile.
“Magic,” I said. “I need to sit.” Without waiting for a response, I bent my legs and went to my knees before they could collapse beneath me.
Rachel crouched, gently touched the back of her hand to my forehead. Her hand was chillingly cool, refreshing against the hard and hot pulse of magic, and I nearly leaned into it. And there was worry in her eyes when she glanced at Liam, then Malachi. “She’s burning up. Too much magic?”
“Too much pure magic. Her body senses an invasion, an enemy, and it begins to attack.”
“She should have stayed in New Orleans,” Liam said. “I shouldn’t have let her come.”
“Not your call,” I said. “My call. I’ll fix this. I’ll cast it off.”
“But you said she couldn’t cast off,” Liam said, looking at Malachi. “You told us that before we left.”
“Casting off is, relatively speaking, a blunt instrument. It’s difficult to calibrate, to expel the right amount, even with experience. But perhaps I can help.”
I watched, groggy and with my head spinning, as he reached out a hand toward my chest.
Liam’s eyes flashed hot—the sun catching a flipped coin—and he put a halting grip on Malachi’s arm. “Watch it.”
Malachi’s expression barely changed. “You are under the influence as well. You would know that I mean her no harm.”
“I don’t think it’s the harm he’s worried about,” Rachel said.
“Not the—oh,” Malachi said, and a flush rose across his cheekbones as he apparently realized exactly what part he’d intended to grab. “Of course not.”
“Not flattering,” I muttered, and felt like I was watching the conversation happen to someone else.
“Liam, let him help,” Rachel said, covering Liam’s hand with hers.
It took a moment, but he dropped it, and left red streaks across Malachi’s arm—tracks where his fingers had dug in.
“Take a step back,” Gavin said, carefully moving Liam aside. “Let him help her.” He looked at Malachi. “Maybe when you’re done with her, you can take care of the Creature from the Gold Lagoon over here.”
Malachi blinked. “There is no lagoon.”
“It’s a movie reference,” Rachel said, stepping into the space between Malachi and Liam, to prevent any further interruptions. “Do what you need to do, and do it quickly. Before any other creatures decide we’d make fun playthings.”
Cheeks still pinkened, he nodded, and lifted his hand again. He placed his palm against my breastbone, fingers splayed to just touch my clavicle, and closed his eyes.
“I will take only a little,” he said quietly. “Just enough to help you find balance. To relieve the pressure. All right?”
I nodded, not risking myself to speak, and closed my eyes.
My bones began to warm beneath his fingers, the warmth spreading into muscle, into blood, down through my chest and arms, until the heated tingle reached my feet. And with it, the sensation of skin and muscle and bone being adjusted. Being pulled forward, as he drew magic from beneath my skin, from whatever parts of my body had absorbed it, held it tight.
It didn’t hurt, exactly, but it was an odd feeling, to be pulled from the inside. To have power drawn out, removed by someone else.
And he’d been right—it was a more careful process than how I usually cast off, which was meant to get rid of as much magic as possible as quickly as possible. To let it spill out, so I could shove it into something else.
This was focused, slow, careful. A trimming away. A tidying up.
When he pulled his hand away, I opened my eyes, blinked at him.
“How do you feel?”
I took an
inventory. I no longer felt like too much boudin in too little casing.
“Better,” I said, and he stepped aside so Liam could help me to my feet. Hopefully that would help sort out the egos.
“You’re good?” he asked quietly, tugging the end of my ponytail.
“For now. You?”
“I’m fine. The need has backed off some. Maybe because I’m getting used to it.” He didn’t look thrilled at that.
Gavin looked at us. “If everybody’s magic is balanced and chi aligned, can we get moving? Because I’d really like to not stand around like prey if we can avoid it.”
“Have you had a tough morning?” Rachel asked sympathetically.
“I really have. And I’ve got a raging headache.”
Malachi looked around. “Others will seek us out. They’ve deemed you enemies because you don’t have magic.”
“How can they tell that?” Gavin asked.
Malachi lifted an eyebrow. “Can you tell that I do have magic?”
“I mean . . . ,” Gavin began, and pointed to his wings. “It’s obvious you aren’t human. Or that you’re really good at cosplay.”
“What is—” Malachi began, but Gavin cut him off with a headshake.
“American pop culture lesson later.”
“It is obvious to those who have magic that you do not,” Malachi said. Then he looked around, surveying the horizon, eyes narrowed as if he was gauging the distance. “We can travel within the sphere of my magic,” he decided, and glanced at me, then Liam. “Expand it, to a certain extent, to encompass others.”
We’d seen him do it, increasing the range of Burke’s abilities when we’d worked to sneak Eleanor and Moses out of Devil’s Isle.
“None of us has invisibility magic,” Gavin pointed out.
“We don’t need it,” Malachi said. “You don’t need to look like Paranormals. You just need to seem . . . a little less human.”
“Is that a compliment or no?” Rachel asked thoughtfully, and with a whisper of a grin curling her mouth.
“It’s not an insult,” Liam said, and nodded at Malachi. “How do we do it?”
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
