The Beyond

by Chloe Neill

  “You are a traitor,” Aeryth said as another unit of Containment troops moved in behind her. “To all of our kind.”

  “We are not of a kind,” Malachi said smoothly. “I have killed because I must. You kill because you wish, and you cover it with demagoguery. But having a cause doesn’t make what you do any better.”

  He tapped the Abethyl. “You may recognize this, Aeryth. It’s the Devil’s Snare, the weapon conceived by the Consularis to fight you. We’ve managed to reassemble it. And it’s very effective. This is your final chance—lay down your arms and agree to return to Elysium, and we will not use it against you.”

  Malachi pushed in the stone, held the Devil’s Snare out toward the Seelies.

  The stone and the Abethyl began to spin, putting a low rumble into the earth, like an engine moving beneath our feet, and the air in front of it began to wave with the vibrations.

  But not fast enough.

  The blast of wind they sent down Royal knocked us over like bowling pins.

  I hit the ground on my back, splashing in floodwater, and it took a moment to reorient and make it to my feet again. I looked around for the Devil’s Snare, found the contraption still in Malachi’s hands. He was airborne now, wings extended and fury in his face.

  “If you are not content to allow the storm to destroy you, then we shall take you one by one!” Aeryth screamed. “Forward!”

  Chaos erupted.

  Containment charged, weapons drawn, and began firing. Soldiers clashed, metal clanging against metal, knives against breastplates.

  Some of the Seelies took to the air; others met the humans with golden weapons of their own. Malachi initiated the Devil’s Snare again, aimed it at one of the Seelies in the air. She screamed. No longer able to fly, she fell, splashing down in dirty water.

  “So we’ll do this one Seelie at a time,” I said, and set my sights on Aeryth.

  She watched her colleague go down and her eyes widened in horror. “Into the air!” she screamed, and began to rise.

  “Wild West show,” I said, thinking of Rachel’s comment, and reached out for the magic, pulled the filaments of it into rope, and sent it streaming through the air toward Aeryth.

  Like a lasso, it caught her around the waist.

  She jerked in midair and looked down with unshielded surprise, then fury as she realized that I was the one who’d managed to trap her.

  She lifted farther, stretching the tendrils of magic I’d wrapped around her, and swore at me in a language I didn’t understand. I was too busy sweating and trying to control the magic, to keep her tethered to the land.

  But she was having none of it.

  I saw the intention in her eyes, the decision she’d reached, and buckled down my fear.

  A second later, we were airborne.

  I heard Liam’s voice calling my name as she dragged me through the sky.

  * * *

  • • •

  It wasn’t a view I’d expected to get of New Orleans—twenty feet in the air, attached by a magical connection to a flying Paranormal. And if I wasn’t careful, it was the last view I was going to have. Aeryth was powerful, but she’d separated from the rest of her crew, and that diminished her abilities.

  We made it four blocks before she began to stutter, to drop, and I began to prepare myself to hit the ground.

  And then the tether snapped, or she snapped it, and we were both falling.

  I hit the ground, rolled, heard her fall a few yards away.

  Stunned, I sucked in air, trying to catch my breath as magic rushed in, and realized I was lying on grass. Behind that, overgrown shrubs, and the familiar fence.

  Jackson Square. We’d landed in Jackson Square. At least that was familiar territory.

  I climbed to my knees, looked around, and found her in front of the Jackson statue, dress snagged and stained and the now-familiar hatred in her eyes.

  She took a step forward, and my heart began to hammer again. Since my hands were still shaking from the magic, I pulled the knife I’d stowed in my boot.

  “Do you think that will help you?”

  “I don’t think I’m the one that needs help. You’re facing the end of the road, Aeryth. A couple of minutes, and Malachi will be here with the Devil’s Snare. And you can say good-bye to your magic.”

  “Even without magic, you will not defeat us. We are stronger than you, better skilled. And we will see this city destroyed. Every last building, stone, flower, human, crushed into the soil.”

  Hatred burned in her eyes, echoing the apocalypse she was trying to ignite.

  “Why bother? You could go anywhere else. Be anywhere else.”

  “Because no other place, no other people, killed my sister.”

  “Your sister was a murderer.”

  “She was a soldier,” Aeryth spat. “She was young. She was beautiful. She fought beside me in Elysium, here. When we claimed victory, she would have stood at my right hand. But she is gone.”

  “You came into our world to fight. To wage war. What did you think would happen? Did you think we’d roll over and let you have our world because you couldn’t win in yours?”

  “She wasn’t killed in battle,” Aeryth said, her eyes flashing with anger. “Not with honor. Not so she would be received beyond the High Mountain as a hero. She was captured, tortured by humans. They tortured her because she gave them nothing. Because she was strong. And because she was not useful to them, they killed her.”

  “Wrong,” I said. “A convenient story to justify your killing, but wrong. She was sick,” I said, “and she died. And that’s the end of her story. This is your story. And killing us won’t bring her back. Destroying New Orleans won’t change what happened to her.”

  There was darkness in her gaze, in the curl of her lips. Bare and obvious loathing that she didn’t bother to hide. “That doesn’t make you deserve it any less.”

  She held out a hand and magic flashed—the same red lightning we’d seen in the storm. And magic flashed toward me, hit me with the force of a thousand needles burrowing into skin. The pain was so hot, so vibrant, that I couldn’t remember how to breathe, that my heart seemed to forget how to pump.

  I hit the ground on my knees, tears stinging my eyes at pain so sharp I could see the red haze of it, could hear the chalkboard-scratch sound of her magic striking each nerve. And could feel the slowing of my blood as she pushed the power deeper.

  I’d ridden with a Seelie, flown through the air through Devil’s Isle, survived half of a hurricane. And I would die because a Seelie wanted to inflict pain. My vision dimmed at the edges, my head bobbing as my eyes began to close.

  Until that red haze shifted, crackled, and something in her eyes changed, went vacant. She froze, then hit the ground.

  And pain simply fell away, the relief of its absence bringing tears to my eyes. I sucked in a breath, looked over to see that Malachi stood a few yards away, Devil’s Snare in his hands, pointed directly at her.

  And on the ground, Aeryth sat with arms and legs akimbo, like a broken doll, dress disheveled, and shock was in her eyes.

  She looked at me, and that look of blank devastation flashed into loathing again.

  “He told you to stop,” I said. “He gave you fair warning.”

  “I will kill you all,” she said, rising on unsteady feet and pulling a dagger from her belt. “And I’ll start with you, little Sensitive. Human thief.”

  Malachi stepped forward, but I held out a hand, held him off.

  She was mine, and I’d take her down. Except that she was a soldier, and I wasn’t. I’d learned a lot in the last year, but I knew I wasn’t strong enough to fight her hand to hand. I didn’t have those skills.

  But I had others. I’d use some of that magic she was so fond of. I rose to my knees, as unsteady as she had been. I kept my gaze on hers, and beg
an to feel out the magic in the air, gather the threads.

  She came at me with the knife, and I dodged, circled. Still, pain shattered my concentration as she traced a line down the edge of my arm.

  “You will fail,” she said, and rotated to strike again, barely missing my throat with the blade’s lethal tip.

  I wasn’t a fighter. I was a Sensitive. But I kept my gaze on her, kept gathering magic, and knew I was going to pay later for the treachery I was doing to my body, the work I kept asking of it. And I thought of the tree nymph we’d met in the Beyond, and what she’d done with a little greenery.

  Focus, I demanded, and reached out with the magic I’d gathered—the latent magic that saturated New Orleans and the pricklier magic she’d put into the air—and I reached toward the tangled vines behind us. I pulled with every ounce of power I could muster, every drop of hatred and bile she’d spilled, and watched as the vines began to snake forward, rustling toward her.

  She lifted her knife again, blade down as she prepared to strike, as the vines reached her feet. She looked down, jerked back as they snaked up her arms and around her neck.

  She angled the knife, slashed at the vines, and managed to cut through some before I gathered more.

  “You could have walked away,” I said, tightening the vines. The knife dropped, blade perfectly vertical in the soft ground, as she began to claw at the vines.

  “Never,” she said hoarsely, and I drew them tighter.

  The memory of the pain she’d inflicted on me was still powerful. If I didn’t take her out, she’d hurt all of us. Kill all of us. She’d destroy everything. So it was up to me. And I’d use that magic—the magic from her world—to take her out. She’d no longer be a threat.

  And then I heard my name. “Claire.”

  It was Liam. Not in my head, but beside me. Standing beside me, clothes wet and disheveled and smelling of blood and dirty water.

  “Claire,” he said again. “Let her go. It’s time.”

  “She’d have destroyed us all.”

  “Yes, she would have. But you stopped her. She’s on her knees, Claire, and Containment is here to bring her in.”

  “I will stop her.” I swallowed hard, ignored the trembling in my fingers. “I’ll stop her. She’ll never do this again. She won’t take New Orleans away from me. She won’t take my father away.”

  “Nobody will take them away, Claire. Because however long you live, and wherever you live out the remaining days of your life, they will always be with you. Always. Killing her won’t bring them back, any more than killing us would bring back her sister. Let Containment have her.”

  For a long moment, I watched her, hatred burning in her eyes even as she stared death in the face. And I knew he was right. That killing her wouldn’t bring them back. It wouldn’t change the past. It would only shadow my future.

  My fingers tightened, clenched. And let go.

  Aeryth hit the ground on her hands and knees, sucked in air.

  Burke ran to her, cuffed her hands with cold iron, dragged her to her feet. “Come on, sister. Back to Devil’s Isle for you.”

  She kicked and screamed, voice hoarse, and was unceremoniously hauled away.

  “Good girl,” Liam said, and wrapped me in his arms. “Good girl.”

  I couldn’t help the tears now, and knew I was crying for all of us, for everyone, for this city and its people, those who’d been forced to leave, and those who didn’t have the heart to stay.

  I heard Containment moving around us, Seelies screaming as they were transported to Devil’s Isle. And I waited until the world was quiet again. Until we were alone.

  He leaned back, wiped tears from my cheeks. “Are you okay?”

  “No,” I said. “But I will be.” Exhaustion had settled in, and was suddenly bone-deep. “Can we go sleep for a week?”

  “Yes. And then we’ll decide what we want to do next. And where we want to do it.”

  I smiled at Liam, then grabbed his face and took him for a hard and hot kiss. “As long as we’re together,” I said, leaning my forehead against his, my hands still on his cheeks, “anywhere.”

  I had time only to smile once more before the earth trembled beneath us, and a roar of sound echoed through the canyon of buildings in the Quarter.

  Liam cursed in Cajun French, and we ran toward the sound . . .

  And found the Consularis army barreling down Royal, three angels at the helm.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Camael at the head of the army, Uriel and Eae behind him. And behind them, a force even larger than we’d seen in the Beyond. Scores of Consularis Paras, golden armor gleaming in the sun that managed to filter through the clouds.

  Around us, the wind began to pick up again. We’d had more than an hour of peace, and the eye wall was nearly here.

  Malachi walked forward, put himself between us and the angels, and waited for them to speak. “Your timing is impeccable. As usual, you’ve waited until the fighting is done to come forward.”

  “A fortunate coincidence,” Camael said haughtily, and he didn’t sound nearly as convinced as he should have to work that particular line. He looked at the Seelies, the Containment army. All activity had stopped at their arrival, everyone watching . . . and waiting . . . to see if the battle would start again.

  Part of me wanted it to begin. Part of me wanted to finish the fight, to show our fury with magic and action and bullets. That they’d dared come here, marched their army down our streets, was infuriating.

  Apparently feeling I was ready to move, Liam put a hand on my arm. “Hold on, tiger,” he whispered.

  “You have made use of the stone, the Abethyl,” Camael said. “Return them to us now.”

  “Or what?” Malachi asked, head tilted. “You’ll take them from us? You’ll engage in a war between magic and bullets? Between gold and steel?” He smiled, but there was no happiness in it. Only hot derision and anger. “I think not.”

  Malachi paused, looked back. The crowd parted, and Gunnar wheeled himself forward, the Commandant at his side. Gunnar looked up at the Commandant, who nodded.

  “Go ahead,” he said. “This bargain is yours to make.”

  Gunnar nodded in answer, then turned his gaze back to the angels, who looked at him and his chair curiously. “We will return one component of the weapon to you. In exchange, you will take them back to the Beyond—the Seelies and the other Court of Dawn members.” He looked at Malachi, got Malachi’s nod.

  They’d split up the stone, the Abethyl. One in our world, one in theirs. To reduce the odds the Devil’s Snare could fall into the wrong hands.

  Camael’s chin lifted. “Both objects are owned by us.”

  “The idea was created by you,” Malachi said. “Humans made the weapon function and they now have possession of it. Perhaps you’d like a test of its strength?”

  Camael’s eyes were murderously gold, like angry weapons glinting. “You wouldn’t dare take magic from us.”

  “I absolutely would.”

  Camael’s eyes flashed. “While we may be in your world now, Commander, I am still your superior. I would suggest you watch your tone.”

  “In no way are you my superior,” Malachi said. “Nor can you assert a claim on me eight years after you washed your hands of the Court’s behavior and the conflict. Make no mistake—I am no longer Consularis. The Court should not have brought death to this land, but they were not wrong to fight back against you. Against the oppression of your supposed community.”

  The wind picked up, strong enough to rustle armor, while Camael stared at Malachi. Then lifted his chin and put that haughty expression back in place. “We will take the Seelies. We will take the Court. We will take the Abethyl and seal the door behind us.”

  The crowd went silent. Gunnar went very still, but for the muscle that twitched in his jaw. “You can do tha
t? Repair the Veil? Close it?”

  “We can.”

  Gunnar’s body went rigid, and the look in his eyes absolutely murderous. “Then why didn’t you do that before?”

  Camael arched a single eyebrow. “It didn’t require closing before. You closed it yourselves.” His tone was that of a condescending expert to a childish amateur. And Gunnar’s rage looked barely banked in response.

  “After a year of war,” Gunnar said. “And that was eight years ago. It’s been open again for seven months, and we haven’t been able to close it.”

  Camael lifted a shoulder as nonchalantly as if Gunnar had asked about the weather. “As I have told your colleagues, this is not our world. It is not my place to make decisions here.”

  “You could have ended the first war, prevented the second. People died. Children. Families. Murdered in their beds because you let the Court come through the Veil.”

  “If we’d sought to intervene here, then what? If I’d come through the Veil, I’d have been imprisoned as a terrorist, and even if I hadn’t been, I can’t imagine you’d have willingly accepted a challenge to your own autonomy. What good would it have done then, to my world or yours?”

  “You are lying,” Malachi said calmly. “You chose not to close it.”

  “Because he wanted them to leave,” I said, understanding dawning. “He hoped the Court would simply pack up and walk through the open door, and he’d have no more trouble from the rabble-rousers. No more complaints against his regime.”

  “Yes,” Malachi said simply.

  “The Precepts rule Elysium,” Camael said. “Not the Terran lands. And we will rule it in a manner most beneficial to our citizens as they consent to be governed.”

  “No,” Malachi said. “You rule in a manner most beneficial to your own convenience. Ruling is hard. Leadership is hard. Balancing the interests of a people is hard. You don’t lead. You condone a society in which dissent is simply wiped away with the wave of a hand.”

  “Our community has chosen peace.”

  “Perhaps you should engage with your community about the cost of that peace to our world. About the death and destruction your peace has wrought. Because it’s hardly peace if it stands on the backs of those you’ve trampled to get it.”