The Beyond

by Chloe Neill

  “Because there weren’t enough of them,” Malachi said. “Seelies’ magic is inherent, part of who they are, but they are what you might call collective creatures. The strength of their magic depends on their being together. Individually, they have potent but limited magic. But in an assembly, their power expands.”

  “Their magic snapped together.” I hadn’t meant to speak aloud, and all eyes turned to me, including Malachi’s.

  “What’s that?” Gunnar asked, puzzlement in his face.

  “When Aeryth joined them in the air,” I said. “When they were together. I felt something click. Maybe like their magic had—I don’t know—coalesced?”

  “I am surprised a human could feel that,” Malachi said, “and I suspect you are right.”

  “Sensitives are cooler than AC,” Gavin said, giving me a supportive nod.

  Rachel drummed a yellow pencil on the table. “So it actually benefited Containment that she was the only one captured.”

  “Containment would not have been able to successfully hold the entire group,” Malachi said.

  Gavin sighed. “So maybe she wasn’t so much intimidated by us as just not at full capacity. That’s a shot to the ego.”

  “You can handle it,” Liam said dryly, earning chuckles behind us.

  “What exactly are their powers?” asked an agent to our right. “They can fly; they can fight. Fog, wind. What about rain? Lightning?”

  “They are spirits of air,” Malachi said. “They cannot manifest rain, lightning. But they can strengthen it, control it, just as they controlled the wind today. And their own magic—the fog.”

  “Will she go back to the Beyond?” the Commandant asked. “Her desire for ‘judgment’ may apply to the Consularis if she has unfinished business.”

  “I doubt it,” Malachi said. “She has more to gain, and less to lose, in your world. It was the Court’s original plan, after all. To come here, to see, to conquer.”

  “So what’s the judgment?” Gavin asked. “Punish Containment for imprisoning her? The other Paras for not helping her?”

  “If she wanted to punish the Paras,” Gunnar said, “she could have done that today. She was right there.”

  “True,” Gavin said.

  “She now has history in New Orleans,” Malachi said. “In Devil’s Isle. And I suspect she would not have mentioned her coming ‘judgment’ to an audience who’d never see it.”

  “You think she’ll target New Orleans,” Liam said.

  “I think it’s the most likely scenario.”

  “I don’t imagine it will take her long to show us how she intends to issue her sentence,” the Commandant said. He glanced at Gunnar, then at Rachel. “Finding them is now your number one priority. And as I have a satellite call with Washington—at least as long as electricity continues to function—I’ll leave you to arrange it.”

  The agents stood as the Commandant exited, and then they looked at Gunnar and Rachel.

  “The city has been broken into grids,” she said, “and we’ll continue to search each uniformly. We’ll put drones in the air, but they’ll only work when the power allows. We’ll take as many human volunteers as we can get.”

  I looked at Liam. “I presume you’re interested in hunting this particular bounty?”

  “Bet your ass, cher,” he murmured, and draped his arm over the back of my chair.

  Rachel looked at Malachi. “You’ll have a better view than most if you can canvass by air.”

  “I’ve been searching,” Malachi said, and let no emotion show on his face. “And I will continue to do so.”

  I wasn’t sure if he was rejecting her implicit request, or just stating a fact. Whichever it was, she didn’t look fazed by it. Not being intimidated by the gorgeous angel was probably a requirement for dating him. He wouldn’t have liked the wilting-orchid type.

  Gavin clapped Liam on the shoulder. “We taking a ride to find some Seelies?”

  “We are,” he said, and looked at me. “But with an addition.”

  Gavin smiled at me. “Welcome to the club.”

  Bummer he hadn’t brought the Wild Turkey. I had a feeling I was going to need it.

  CHAPTER SIX

  We were assigned a chunk of the city north of the Quarter that included Tremé and the Seventh Ward, and given flares to signal the rest of the teams if we found anything. Our job was to recon, to locate, and not to engage unless absolutely necessary.

  The power was on again by the time we made it back to the store, and we luxuriated in the AC for a solid minute before heading out into swampy air again.

  I kept a bag behind the counter with bottles of water, protein bars, first-aid supplies, and an icon of wrought iron that had once hung on the Ursuline Convent. The icon wouldn’t have any effect on Paras, but cold iron worked as well as the fairy tales suggested. Liam’s .44 could also do plenty of damage. They were as susceptible to gunshots as we were.

  Tadji would stay at the store, which would serve as the rendezvous point while Containment worked on Devil’s Isle. “I want more ice,” she told Gunnar, who’d walked back with us to the store, with a pointed finger. “Our block is nearly gone. I know you’ve got it, and it’s going to be miserable out there this afternoon. People need to stay hydrated. I want three bags, in the cooler, within the hour.”

  “Who’s giving who orders?” Gunnar asked.

  “You want sweetened peach tea?”

  His eyes went big. “Yeah, I want.”

  She patted his cheek. “Then get me the ice, soldier boy.”

  Gunnar obviously wanted to argue, but his shoulders drooped and he headed for the door.

  “That was effective.” I was one of the few who preferred my tea without cups of added sugar. You could hardly taste the tea that way.

  “I mashed a few of those fallen peaches you brought in, reduced it. I’ve been adding the syrup to every pitcher. It is addictive, which promotes good behavior.”

  “And serves as a really good bribe.”

  “Damn right,” she said with a wink.

  I narrowed my eyes when she offered Liam an old, plaid thermos probably filled with tea and ice.

  “Where’s my thermos?” I asked both of them.

  She just grinned. “That’s his reward for moving that heavy-ass bureau downstairs.”

  I glanced at Liam, my brows lifted.

  “It was heavy-ass,” he agreed, then gave me a wink. “I’ll share my tea with you anytime, cher.”

  I bet he would.

  * * *

  • • •

  We met outside at the truck, Gavin wearing an enormous straw sun hat with a strap that dangled under his chin, a long-sleeved white T-shirt, and a pair of wraparound shades.

  Liam stopped, just looked at him.

  “It’s hot,” Gavin said.

  “And you think that’s going to make you cooler?”

  “Well, it will help.” Then he held up a second thermos, smiled at me. “So will the tea.”

  I rolled my eyes, hitched a thumb toward the back of the truck. “Get in.”

  “I’ve got my own ride today, thanks.” He gestured at a Containment jeep parked down the block. “I borrowed a vehicle.” He looked at Malachi. “You want to ride or fly?”

  “Air,” he said. “I’ll stay above you, drop down if we need to talk or if I see something.”

  “Works for me.”

  I stowed my bag on the bench seat between us, then climbed into the cab. Liam climbed into the passenger side, closed the door.

  “Sometimes I think Gavin does these things just for the comic effect.”

  “You think?” I started the truck. “You’re the hot one. He’s the funny one. That’s his thing.”

  Liam slid his gaze to me. “Excuse me?”

  “Are you angry about the ‘hot’ th
ing, or the ‘funny’ thing?”

  “I think I’m insulted by both.”

  “You’re funny, too. But he’s the class clown. Someday he’ll settle down, get serious. But not today.”

  “Not with that hat,” Liam said, glancing at his side mirror. “Probably has ‘Fuck you, Seelies’ painted on the top.”

  “You’ve just invented a new line of anti-Paranormal gear. You’re the creative one, too.”

  “Well,” Liam said after a moment, “that’s something.”

  * * *

  • • •

  We drove through the Quarter, then past Congo Square and Louis Armstrong Park and into the heart of Tremé. We’d start there first, then work our way northeast into the Seventh Ward. And in the meantime, I had something on my mind.

  “Do you think she’ll target you?”

  “Who?” Liam asked, but I could tell he was playing it off, pretending it wasn’t a big deal.

  “You know who, and you know why.”

  He sighed. The windows were down, his arm on the door, fingers tapping against the truck’s exterior. “I can’t imagine that she would. I think Gavin was right—we aren’t individually interesting enough to matter to her. She could have easily hit me or you in Devil’s Isle, and she didn’t.”

  I wasn’t sure considering the vulnerability made me feel any better.

  He reached out a hand, covered mine. “Don’t worry about it, Claire. She won’t get to you, or me, or anyone else we love.”

  I nodded, blew out a breath to center myself. There wasn’t any point in worrying about it; that was a waste of energy. We were all vulnerable here, and we knew it. And we’d stayed in New Orleans anyway.

  “I’m sure we can find something else to worry about,” I said with a smile.

  And then I turned the corner . . . and the entire world slammed against the truck.

  We flew forward, then back again, my head slamming against the back of the bench seat. And then we were spinning, and I could feel the world disappear below us as Tremé spun around us.

  Something hit the windshield with a crack that echoed like a gunshot, and we touched the earth again, metal groaning as it battled concrete. We were slammed sideways again until wheels hit the curb and we bounced to rest.

  For a moment the world was gray, spinning, and I stared through a fractured world. And realized a moment later that the world hadn’t shattered. There was a spiderweb crack across Scarlet’s front window.

  A hand touched my face. “Claire.”

  I looked to my left, found him standing at the door, his face irresistibly beautiful, his eyes golden and shimmering. Mine was my first gut response. And it took me a moment to realize—to remember—who he was.

  “Liam.”

  He smiled, just a little. And blood dripped from a gash at the corner of his jaw.

  “You’re hurt,” I said, and couldn’t stop the tears from welling.

  “I’m fine. Are you okay?”

  “I don’t—” I touched my forehead, found blood on my fingers. “Cut, I think. But I’m okay. And my head is spinning. What happened?”

  “Look at me,” he said, and tilted my chin up, squinted as he looked at my eyes, and seemed relieved by whatever he saw there.

  “What happened?” I asked again, and could feel the rising edge of panic.

  “That,” he said, and turned his gaze back to the windshield.

  I followed his gaze, my movement slower than his—the world was still shaking—to poor Scarlet’s glass. And then my eyes focused past the spiderweb to the neighborhood beyond it.

  “Oh, my God.” The words fell away as I pushed past him to climb out of the truck, had to grab his arm again when my knees wobbled. Gavin already stood, looking down the street, outside the Containment jeep, which hadn’t sustained any damage.

  The neighborhood had been annihilated.

  The asphalt was beaten into chunks that speared up from the road. Trees were denuded, their bark stripped away. Houses were broken into splinters, into piles of wood scattered like tossed matches over what remained of the road. Vehicles were on their roofs, rusted bellies toward the sky, still wobbling.

  And in the distance, debris spiraled in the air in a two-hundred-foot-tall column.

  “Tornado?” I said, trying to process what I was seeing. “Did we run into a tornado?”

  But that didn’t make sense. There’d been no clouds, no rain, no wind before we’d turned that corner. There’d been warmth and humidity and smiles—and then the shattering.

  “An artificial one,” Liam said grimly. “A Seelie tornado.”

  And then we heard the scream.

  “Help! Anyone? Someone! Help, please!”

  “Shit,” Liam said. “Light the flare,” he yelled at Gavin. Without waiting for a response, we ran down the street and vaulted obstacles: a broken wooden swing set, the yellow swings limp on the ground; a bureau on its side, silk flowing like water from an open drawer; and candy-colored hurricane shutters torn from their moorings.

  “Here!” the woman shouted. “Over here!”

  “We’re coming!” Liam said, and we kept running until we found a woman on her stomach on the ground, her pale hand extended to another that reached out from beneath a pile of wood and cabinetry. Maybe part of a kitchen wall?

  It was Darby, our Delta colleague. She looked up, blue eyes wide against pale skin tracked with dirt and tears. A red bandanna covered her hair, and she wore dark capri leggings, a tank top, and sneakers. She looked back at the sound of our approach, and the fear in her eyes changed to relief.

  “Thank God,” she said. “A woman’s trapped under here. I think she’s broken her leg.”

  “What are you doing here?” Liam asked, going to his belly beside her to take a look. His fearlessness was occasionally terrifying. “You don’t live in Tremé, right?”

  Darby shook her head. “I was running. Then all hell broke loose, and I heard her crying. I can’t move the bookcases or cabinets or whatever the hell this is.”

  There was an ominous creak as the entire pile shifted, settled again. Liam froze, hands in the air.

  Sobs echoed from beneath it.

  “It’s all right,” Darby said, fingers gripped around the woman’s hand.

  “It’s going to be fine,” Liam assured, looking through the gap at the woman beyond. He gave her a charming smile. “Just give us a few minutes for the rescue, yeah?”

  Then he climbed back to his feet, wiped his hands on his jeans. “Too much for us to move quickly. I think this is one for you, Claire.”

  The words rang through me like a church bell. Something I could do. A way I could help.

  I nodded at Liam, while feeling out the magic. An easy task, since the Seelies had left so much of it behind. And then I looked over the mountain that had once been someone’s house. I needed time to assess it, to plan, to figure out how to move it without crushing the woman beneath. But there wasn’t time. Not when it was already unstable, and a woman lay bleeding.

  “What’s her name?” Liam asked as I gathered filaments.

  “Joanne,” Darby said.

  “Tell her to get ready, and to curl into a little ball as much as she can. Claire’s going to move the pile. It might shift, so we want her to stay in that little ball until it’s clear. And then we’re going to help her out. Okay?”

  “Okay,” Darby said, and turned back to the woman. The sobbing grew louder; the woman was probably terrified. But I couldn’t think about that. I couldn’t worry about her and help her at the same time. I had to focus.

  “Everybody out of the way,” I said quietly, not even wanting to raise my voice and waste what little energy that would take.

  “Everybody back!” Liam said, and began directing them back into the street.

  It was going to require a lot of magic
to lift it, to move it, to set it down again—and to keep it together and stable while it was airborne. But too much magic and I’d lose control completely. Or become overwhelmed by the power.

  I pushed myself, pulling in magic right up to the knife-sharp edge of my control, until my fingers were shaking with it. I wrapped the magic around the pile, circling it again and again until it was wrapped like a rubber band ball.

  “Get ready,” I said, and felt Liam tense.

  And I began to raise my hand, to guide it upward. Gravity fought back, gripping the slivers of what had once been a house like a lover refusing to let go.

  I fought harder, heard a crack as wood shifted, but ignored it, and worked until sweat dripped down my face and there was a sliver of light between earth and debris.

  Joanne let out a cry and I jolted, the material shuddering along with me, and Liam looked back.

  “She’s fine, Claire. Just startled. Keep going! You’re nearly there.”

  That became my mantra. Nearly there, I told myself, and made myself push despite the heat, the overwhelming magic, the trembling arms.

  “Now!” Liam said. I kept my focus on the pile, but caught their movement in my peripheral vision as they scrambled forward. Seconds later, Liam was carrying the crying woman, covered in dirt and grime and holding her right arm at an awkward angle, out and away.

  “Clear!” he shouted back.

  I dropped the magic.

  The pile hit the ground with an earthshaking thud, and sent a cloud of dust and dirt and plaster into the air.

  My vision dimmed at the edges, and I leaned over, hands on my knees, willing myself not to pass out.

  “Claire,” Liam said, rushing back over.

  “Postconcussion magic maybe not a good idea,” I said, pain beating my head like a hammer, eyes closed as I focused on not vomiting from the pain. “Very, very bad idea.”

  “All right,” he said. “Just breathe. Can I get a bottle of water over here?”

  I heard shuffling, and then cold plastic was pressed against my hand. I took it, stood up, pressed it to my forehead.

  The chill seemed to push back the worst of it. After a minute, I opened my eyes again.