by Chloe Neill
Malachi touched down as Liam and I jumped out of the truck and agents spilled from the Containment trucks.
“What is this?” Malachi asked, wings folding behind him.
“It’s Seabrook,” Liam said. “One of the floodgates.”
“I’m fine—thanks for asking!” Gavin said, climbing out and stretching out the kinks.
I ran across the gravel, where steel beams had been left to bake and rust in the sun, to the edge of the canal and stared down into the water.
New Orleans was a bowl. The north and south edges—the bank of Lake Pontchartrain to the north, and the bank of the Mississippi River to the south—were the city’s highest points, and they were still below sea level. Everything in between was even farther down. Dangerous features for a tropical city of swamps and canals, including canals that led directly to the Gulf of Mexico.
New Orleans depended on a complicated system of pumps, canals, levees, walls, and gates that worked to keep the city dry. Without them, there’d be no New Orleans. Just a big and soggy puddle between the lake, the river, and the Gulf.
Seabrook was one of those protections. It had been constructed after Katrina. Tons of steel and concrete. There were supposed to be two wedge-shaped gates that spun around and two huge sluice doors that could slide down, both intended to keep rising waters in Lake Pontchartrain from flooding the city.
Supposed to be.
But the Seelies had destroyed them.
The concrete had been broken and crushed, the steel barriers twisted like corkscrews. Ropes of floats and buoys were twisted through the mangled mess like streamers.
The detritus of the gates now rose out of lake water that could inundate the city at will.
Destroy the city at will.
A waterspout danced gracefully offshore, a backdrop to the crimson mark splashed across the railroad bridge. And across the canal, agents stood over two motionless bodies.
Two more fatalities today. And that didn’t include the deaths that destroying the gates could bring.
“Fuck these people,” Gavin said beside us. “Fuck them completely.”
“Yeah,” Liam said.
A Containment jeep stormed into the parking lot, dust in its wake. When it reached us, Gunnar climbed out of the passenger seat, and he looked absolutely grim.
He was a problem solver and a smart-ass. But there was no humor in his face now, not as he walked to the shoreline and looked over the wreckage.
“They targeted Seabrook,” Gunnar said after a moment, “because Tropical Storm Frieda has formed over the Bahamas. The current path sends it over southern Florida and into the Gulf. And then into New Orleans.”
I swore under my breath.
“How strong?” Liam asked.
“The Atlantic and Gulf are unseasonably warm this year, so there’s a potential for big.” He looked back at us. “As big as the Storm.”
The Storm was Katrina. The biggest and baddest of them all. Katrina’s storm surge had nearly destroyed the city, and some areas had never recovered.
“How long do we have?” I asked.
“Three days, maybe four. Depends on how fast it makes landfall, how much it strengthens in the Gulf. Containment’s going to send out some supplies, just in case.”
“They knew,” I said, looking back at the twisted metal. “They did this on purpose.”
“Judgment,” Liam said. “They destroy what we need to survive, our community, and they can watch us suffer—emotionally and physically—in the meantime.”
“And they swoop in after they’ve cleared out the human roaches,” Gavin added through gritted teeth.
“They won’t stop with New Orleans.”
We looked at Malachi. His wings were still folded behind him, as if he hadn’t yet thought to let them disappear. Sunlight made them glitter like diamonds, which was a sad contrast to the grim expression on his face.
“They didn’t stop in the Beyond,” he said, “even with concessions made by the Consularis. I had hoped Aeryth’s extraction, the neighborhood damage, might be enough for them. I fear I was wrong.”
Silence fell as a trio of pelicans swooped low across the water.
“We’ll see if the storm intensifies,” Gunnar said, “and where it goes. In the meantime, prepare. Cover the windows; sandbag the doors; move what you can to the second floor. Stock water and candles. You know the drill.”
I did know the drill, as did everyone else in New Orleans. We knew it was only a matter of time before another big one soaked the city. We just hadn’t planned on dealing with Seelies, too.
“Anything on Callyth?” I asked Gunnar.
“Nothing yet. I’ve got as many people on it as I can spare.” He glanced at Malachi. “If they’re as insular as we believe, it’s likely Callyth is a Seelie. Who else would they care about?”
“That’s logical,” he agreed.
“But it’s not enough,” Gunnar said. “We need to know who or what it is and why the Seelies are using it to exact judgment now if there’s any chance of negotiation. Or using Callyth as bait.”
I didn’t like the sound of that, but we didn’t have much choice. On the other hand . . . “If he or she was still alive, wouldn’t Aeryth have asked for their release? Or help in finding them?”
Gunnar blinked. “Good point. Probably safest to assume she—and let’s go with ‘she’ for ease of argument—is dead.”
“So you check fatality records for Seelies,” Liam said.
“Yeah, we do.” Gunnar took a tiny notepad from his pocket, scribbled a note to himself.
“Callyth may be a reason,” Malachi said. “Or Aeryth may have convinced herself that she is. But she would not be the main reason. Seelies attack because they desire to. They rarely need motivation. I would suggest you do not waste resources on that issue.”
“Fair point. But hard to ignore when checking our records is one of the few things we can actually control.” Gunnar looked back over the complex. “And so much else is out of our hands.”
It felt like it was slipping away. That after fighting for so long, after battles and blackouts and MREs, this was the beginning of the end of New Orleans. The place where I’d grown up, where I’d lost two parents and found friends and love. Where my memories were stored. New Orleans was the city of my heart. I couldn’t just let it go.
Liam put an arm around me, drew me close, rested his chin atop my head.
“We’ll figure something out,” he said quietly as I gripped his T-shirt in white-knuckled hands.
I nearly said that we already had, reminded him of the weapon design we’d found. But Malachi got there before I did.
“I think we may have to consider the Devil’s Snare.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
“That’s the weapon sketch Darby found,” Gunnar said, frowning as he looked at Malachi. “She sent me a note this morning. But the pieces are probably in the Beyond, right? And we don’t even know if it would work?”
Malachi paused. “A portion of it is in the Beyond. But I believe another portion . . . is here.” He looked at me, his gaze expectant.
“Here,” I said.
“In one of your father’s storage areas.”
“In one of—” I felt dumb that it was taking me so long to grok what he’d meant—in the garage, in my father’s collection of magical artifacts. But I didn’t remember seeing any piece of the Devil’s Snare among that stuff, and I’d lived with it for some time.
“Are you sure?”
“Sure enough,” Malachi said.
“Were you going to mention that?” Gunnar asked, his voice taking on a testy edge.
“No,” Malachi said, unfazed. “Not least because it’s only one piece of the weapon. But humans did not create this problem. You have done what you could to protect your people as you deemed fit, even if I did no
t always agree with your methods. It’s time to consider something different.”
“But the other half is still in the Beyond,” Gavin said.
“It is,” Malachi said. “Stored in the Citadel—a temple in the capital city. For now.”
“For now,” Gunnar repeated. “As in, until you retrieve it?”
“No,” he said. “Until we retrieve it. Me, Gavin, Liam, and Claire.”
Gunnar’s eyes went huge, and I could feel Liam tense beside me.
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” Liam asked.
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“Exactly what a person out of his mind would say,” Gavin muttered.
“How badly do you want to save your homes?” Malachi asked. “I think it’s probably time for a bit of insanity.”
I could admit I was intrigued by the possibility of going into the Beyond, of seeing the place that had caused so many problems for us. But it was still the Beyond, an unfamiliar land of unfamiliar magic. And we were still enemies of at least some of its residents.
“Why us particularly?” Liam asked. “We’re humans, none of us are active military, and Containment’s going to want to know your reasons.”
Malachi smiled. “We are friends, are we not?”
“Sure,” Gavin said carefully. “But friends don’t let friends cross boundaries into enemy worlds, do they?”
Malachi just looked at him.
“And that joke did not land,” Gavin said. “I’m giving the mic back to you.”
Malachi looked down at Gavin’s empty and outstretched hand, then shook his head and turned his gaze to Liam. “Because you’re humans, and none of you are active military. Soldiers would be a threat. Regular humans, less so. Gavin and Liam are trained scouts; you know how to move over rough terrain. Claire and Liam have powers that might be useful, and both of you have been affected profoundly by magic. If we are to have a chance at bringing back the Abethyl, we will need to show them, to demonstrate, how their inaction has affected you.”
“So we’re the examples,” I said.
“In a sense,” Malachi agreed.
“Have humans been in the Beyond before?” I asked.
“I don’t know of any reliable reports of humans crossing the border,” Gunnar said, glancing at Malachi. “You?”
Malachi shook his head. “No. But other than the magic, our worlds are similar chemically, so your humanity should not present a biological problem.”
“But the magic’s the problem, isn’t it?” Gavin asked. “Can Liam and Claire even survive a trip through the Veil?”
“Way to finesse that, brother o’ mine,” Liam said.
“No point in beating around the vetiver.”
“Bush.”
“Whatever. Malachi?”
“To be honest,” he said, looking at me, “I’m not entirely certain how your bodies will react to the magic. I assume absorption will be an issue.”
“Going through the Veil was hard,” I said. “I mean, I haven’t been into the Beyond per se, but when the Veil moved over me, it was intense. You can’t immediately become a wraith, right?”
“We will check your levels before you enter the Veil, and keep an eye on them while you’re there.”
“And if we don’t?” Liam asked. “What’s the risk?”
“Death, I imagine.”
“Oh, good,” Gavin said. “What about Liam?”
“There may be no effect, at least immediately, since his body is not absorbent in the same way as Claire’s.”
“Because Claire’s a magic mop,” Gavin said, and Liam slugged him in the arm without bothering to look.
“In a sense,” Malachi said kindly. “But the temptation for Liam to draw on another’s power will likely be greater, because their power will be greater.”
Gavin frowned. “Consularis are more powerful than Court, you mean?”
“No, but power in the Beyond is greater than power outside it. The root of magic is in the Beyond, not here. Distance to that root, access to it, matters. You’ll want it more. And it will be more powerful if you use it.”
There was grim determination in the set of Liam’s jaw as he fought his own inner war. He took a drink of water, then leaned against the truck and looked out over the lake.
“I don’t see that we have a choice,” Gavin said. “We try this—hard as it may be—or we let them win. We let them destroy New Orleans and wash our hands of it.”
“We have to try,” I agreed. “We don’t have a better idea, and we can’t just walk away. It wouldn’t be right.”
Liam looked back at me for a moment—pride and concern dueling in his face—then at Malachi. “We’d have to go through the line to get to the Veil,” he said. “Then go into the Beyond, make it to this Citadel.”
“I could get you to the Citadel,” Malachi said. “It’s approximately twenty miles from the Veil to the city, another mile to the building. And then convince them to provide the Abethyl.”
“And the ethical issues?” I asked quietly.
Malachi looked over twisted steel and broken concrete. “As I said, you are at war, not by your doing, but because our world interjected its issues into yours. It would hardly be fair of me to prohibit you from using a weapon we designed, when it might make a difference. Darby has impressive skills, and she might be able to create safeguards. And even if not . . . I was among those who brought war into your world. Not willingly, but still. If I take no risks in order to stop it, am I any better than the Seelies?”
Gunnar’s expression softened.
“If the tropical storm is one of the reasons we’re going,” I said, “could we get into the Beyond, get the Abethyl, and get back in time to actually do any good?”
“One day to the Citadel,” Malachi said. “We discuss, we get the Abethyl, we return. If all goes well, it’s a two-day trip.”
If all goes well. Four words loaded with hope and danger and assumptions. And if all this risk was going to be worthwhile, I knew there was one more box we’d have to check. “We have to talk to her first. To Blackwell.”
I hated that I had to say it. Hated that I had to suggest anything that would put me in the same room with her. But that was the reality of our situation.
I looked at Malachi. “You said the drawing was only a concept, not a blueprint. Blackwell might have information that isn’t in these notes. And if we’re going to try to make this work, we’re going to need more details. We don’t have time for Darby to start from scratch.”
“She might lie,” Liam said. “She might not tell us, any of us, the truth. And she might not talk at all.”
“I think she has enough ego to talk,” I said. “But you’re right about the truth. We can try to verify what she tells us, but I think we have to ask.”
An agent called Gunnar’s name.
“I’ll be right there,” he said, without shifting his gaze from me. “I don’t have time to discuss this right now, and I think even the suggestion is insane.” His voice was low and angry, words tight as he worked to maintain control. But then he looked back at Seabrook, at the body bags Containment was moving into transport vehicles as Gavin made a cross over his chest with his fingertips.
“But talking to Blackwell is easy.” He looked at me. “I mean politically, if not emotionally. We can arrange that, see what we find out. And depending on how that goes, we can talk about the rest. But I’m not making any promises.”
With that, shoulders still tense, he walked away.
“Containment’s going to want the weapon,” Gavin said, watching as soldiers with very large weapons patrolled the site. Then he shifted his gaze to Malachi. “They’ll want to use it as a weapon against Paras here, or at least a deterrent for anyone who might think of coming through the Veil later.”
Did we trust Containment with tha
t kind of power? God knew I loved Gunnar, liked Burke, and respected the Commandant. But they were pieces of a very big puzzle.
One that had included my mother.
“Leave that to me,” Malachi said.
* * *
• • •
Gavin stayed behind to help Containment, and I drove Scarlet back to the garage.
I led Liam and Malachi into the basement, where we’d packed the rest of the magical objects into the army-surplus trunks my father had kept downstairs.
“Everything I haven’t already given you is here.” I gestured to the trunks. “So I guess we better start unloading.”
We’d spent ten minutes unlocking and opening them when Malachi drew out a long, thin object wrapped in newspaper. He unwrapped it, revealing a heavy gold staff with a circular glass case on top. The case was surrounded by a waving frame of the same gold, and an arcing halo of gold stars across the top.
He opened the glass, tipped the contents into his palm. And there sat a circular stone in gleaming red, with a white crack running through its interior. “This is the Inclusion Stone. The element that sits in the center of the Devil’s Snare.”
“In the doughnut,” I said.
Malachi blinked, and I waved him off. “Never mind. What about the staff?”
“No,” he said. “The vessel isn’t ours.”
“It’s Catholic,” Liam said. “Called a monstrance. It’s used to carry the Host in processions. Here,” he said, and held out his hand to Malachi, who handed back the now-empty staff. Because I’d trained him well, Liam wrapped it thoroughly again.
“I wonder how the Inclusion Stone ended up in this thing.” He glanced at me. “Did you happen to see your father bring this in? Or talk to him about it?”
I shook my head. “First time I saw it was in the gas station. It wasn’t unusual for him to buy religious items, but they didn’t pop up very often. I don’t know where he got this one.” I looked at Malachi. “Do you?”
He shook his head. “I’d seen the staff—the monstrance—when it was upstairs with the other items. And I’d seen the glint of red, but hadn’t put together exactly what it was until we saw the sketch. I don’t know how it ended up in this world, or in your father’s possession.”
