by Chloe Neill
Liam nodded. “Least I could do.”
“Well,” Eleanor said. “Well. I’m glad to hear he’s doing his part for this city. It’s a good city, where we live.” She patted my hand, still in hers, and looked just over my head. It occurred to me that perhaps she couldn’t see at all.
“You can call things,” she said. “Move them.”
I blinked. I hadn’t thought of it as “calling” things before, but yeah—that’s pretty much exactly what I did. “Yes. You can tell that?”
“I’m only blind in this world, dear. Not the other one.”
Startled, I looked at Liam.
“Eleanor was struck by a sharur, an enchanted mace, during the Second Battle. She began to lose her vision—in our world—and she became able to see magic.”
“You’re Sensitive?” I asked.
“Not really,” she said. “At least, not in any way that activates the magic monitors. We believe Sensitives are born, that their Sensitivity is part of their makeup. I wasn’t born this way, but received my new sight—that’s what I like to call it: my new sight—because I was hit by magic. And perhaps because of where I was hit by magic.” She touched her forehead gingerly, where a pale scar crossed her forehead at an angle.
“Prefrontal cortex,” Liam said.
“The impulse-control center,” I said, and Liam nodded with approval.
“That’s basically where she was hit,” he said. “We think that might be the reason she’s been affected this way.”
“And not affected the other ways,” Eleanor said. “But enough about me. What brings you by?”
“Claire needs a teacher.”
I didn’t like the implication—that I was doing it wrong currently—but I couldn’t exactly disagree with him.
“We all need teachers in our lives,” Eleanor said soothingly. “Different times, different lessons to learn.” She smiled, and I could see a hint of wickedness that had probably gotten her into trouble as a teenager.
“My husband taught me how to tango,” she said. “He was very handsome. Nearly as handsome as Liam here. And he was a wonderful dancer. He’d take me to dances on Friday nights—because Saturday night was for Mass, of course—and we danced up a storm.”
She lost herself in the memory for a moment, her smile so happy. And then she seemed to shake herself out of it. “I do sometimes get lost in the past. It’s the danger of growing old, I’m afraid.”
“Better to grow old than not,” Liam put in.
I couldn’t argue with that.
“Every person we meet can teach us something. What’s harder is to find the perfect teacher for the very thing you need to learn. All magic has a color,” Eleanor continued. “The best person to train you isn’t someone whose magic is precisely like yours, but one whose magic complements yours, not unlike colors on a color wheel. Yellow and purple are complementary, for example. Each brings out the best qualities of the other. Yellow and green are not. They clash, create tension. We do not need more tension here.”
With her free hand, she gestured elegant fingers toward the rest of the room. “Bring me the quartz, please. It will be on the sideboard beside the alabaster.”
Liam nodded, rose, walked to a dark wooden buffet with several drawers with silver knobs, the top cluttered with trinkets and memories. No—not cluttered, because Eleanor probably knew where everything was. But definitely full. He carried back a clear, angular rod of quartz about the size of a candle.
“Thank you, dear,” she said, and placed the quartz on the table beside a taper candle stuck into a blue and white tea saucer. She slid a long match from a small box, and with an elegant flick of the wrist that sent the nose-ticking scent of sulfur into the air, she set fire to the wick.
The light bloomed through the quartz, sending a rainbow of color across the table in front of it. I’d always loved rainbows. There was something soothing about them—about the ordering of color, I guess. Every shade in its place.
“Now,” Eleanor said. “Your hand, child.”
I offered it to her again.
“First,” she said, “we find your color.” Her soft, cool hand guided mine in front of the quartz.
As soon as skin touched light, the rainbow of light shattered, and split, all colors fading except a line of faint orange.
Eleanor smiled. “Interesting. That’s a lovely shade. I’d call it ‘pumpkin.’”
“You can see the color?” I asked carefully, hoping not to offend.
“It’s not just a color,” Eleanor said with a smile. “It’s a reflection of magic—the trail that’s left behind in our world from the magic that comes from theirs. In their world, it’s magic. In our world, it’s electrons.”
“Eleanor enjoys science,” Liam said with a smile.
“All women of intellect must,” she said, “or at least be conversant in it. That’s how I’ve managed to learn of their world what I’ve learned so far. Reading, experimenting, vigorous note-keeping. Learning as much as I can from the Paras I’ve met here.”
“Have you met many?”
“Quite a few. Most of them are lovely people; some of them are not. Not unlike humans, in my experience. Now, keep your hand there, if you would. Liam, will you please bring me my notebook?”
Liam walked back to the bureau, pulled open a door on the buffet, and slipped out a red leather book, its pages held together with brass posts. He extended it toward Eleanor, who felt the air for it with seeking fingertips before settling it into her lap.
She opened it, revealing what looked like a ledger of color. One half of the page held small painted squares of translucent color, each only slightly different from the last. It looked a little like one of the antique watercolor swatch books I’d seen in the store. The other half was a list in small and tidy handwriting too small for me to read.
Eleanor flipped through the pages quickly, the colors blurring into a rainbow from red to orange to something akin to the pumpkin I matched. She slowed, stopped on a square that looked remarkably like the light that still slitted through the prism, and lifted the small pencil attached to a chain around her neck.
She scribbled, paused. “What’s your middle name, dear?”
“Bridget,” I said. “It was my grandmother’s name.”
“And a lovely one. Claire Bridget Connolly.” She wrote my name, then let the pencil fall again. “And I’ve marked you down. Not your actual name, of course. I use my own code for your protection.”
“Sure. Are those all Sensitives? Each color?”
“Sensitives and Paras both. It’s a collection of colors, and their magical echoes in the Beyond. I fill in the names when I find them. And over seven years, there’ve been a few.”
Satisfied I’d been recorded in her journal, she moved through the pages until green turned to blue, which faded to deep indigo. Finally, she paused, touched her fingertips to the page as, brow furrowed, she seemed to gaze into middle distance. “This, I think. The names, Liam?”
She gestured to the scripts beside each square.
Liam leaned over, read the first name. “Michael Temperly.”
“Dead, unfortunately, rest his soul,” Eleanor said, and crossed herself.
“Elizabeth Conyers Proctor.”
“Quite dead,” Eleanor said. “But not unfortunately. She was a horrible person. Wife of Senator Ellis Proctor. We invited her to a party—this was before the war—and she had the gumption to decline because we were ‘too Creole for her.’” Eleanor made a sound that hovered between disbelief and disgust, but managed to be ladylike. “As if that’s possible. Well, too late for her at any rate. Who else?”
Eleanor frowned, ran her fingers over the book. She hovered over another square, brow furrowed again, before moving back a row. “I’m afraid this as close as we’re going to get. Liam?”
As he read the words, Liam’s smile faded quickly. “Nix.”
Quiet descended over the room at the bombshell of the name, whatever it meant.
“Gavin is not going to like that,” Liam said into the lingering quiet.
Eleanor made a sound of disapproval. “Whether he likes it is no matter. She’s the right choice. It is what it is. There’s no point arguing with complementary magic.”
Liam grunted. “Like magic’s ever stopped him. I don’t disagree Nix’s a good choice, but he’s going to take some convincing.” He scratched absently at the back of his neck. “I’d be happy to let you handle that, Eleanor.”
I wasn’t sure who Liam was talking about, but Eleanor seemed to get it. And this time, her response was closer to a snort. “Liam, dear, I’m sure you’ll find a way.”
• • •
Maria was another no-nonsense nurse, which I guess was probably a job requirement, considering where she worked. With dawn nearly breaking, we left Eleanor with Maria and promised to visit her again. That I was hoping to avoid returning to Devil’s Isle made me feel a little guilty. But Liam could pass along a message to her.
Telling him I wanted to be done made me feel guilty, too.
When we’d said our good-byes to Foster, which took more scritches than it probably should have, we walked into the night again. The sky was still dark above the wall, but it wouldn’t be dark for much longer. I’d have to open the store in a few hours. The length of the night, of everything that had happened, was beginning to weigh on me. I was tired.
“So, how did you meet Eleanor?” I asked Liam as we walked back toward the main gate and the freedom I was really looking forward to.
“She’s my grandmother.”
“Your . . . ,” I began, but stopped, thought back about what he’d told me of his family. “Your grandmother is Eleanor Arsenault?”
“She is.”
Since the last names didn’t match, she must have been Liam’s maternal grandmother. “And the man who taught her how to tango?” I asked with a grin.
“That would be my Arsenault grandfather. And a mildly uncomfortable conversation.”
I smiled. “So where did the Cajun come from?”
“My father,” Liam said, and there was much less enthusiasm in his answer.
I nodded, and we walked a few feet more. “Was Eleanor incarcerated here?” I asked the question softly, as if that would give me a secret defense against it happening to me.
Liam shook his head. “No. I brought her here after my parents died. It wasn’t an easy decision, but sometimes it’s better to be strange among strangers. In the outside, even if Containment didn’t sense her magic, didn’t find her, she’d be on her own. She’d be different from everyone else. She needs people who understand her.”
“People—you mean Paras?”
He nodded. “Moses knows, and he visits her. They’re actually pretty good friends. He’s taught her a few games from the Beyond.” Liam chuckled. Amusement looked good on him. “He told me she cheats when she thinks she can get away with it.”
I couldn’t help laughing, too. “I like that idea.”
“So do I, especially since he was probably doing the same thing. ‘It ain’t cheating if you don’t get caught,’” he said, in a pretty good imitation of Moses’s thick drawl.
“Not a bad impersonation,” I said. “You ever do that in front of Moses?”
Liam snorted. “Hell no. He’d blow a gasket.”
Yeah, that seemed about right. “What about Containment? Don’t they care that she’s here?”
“Being an Arsenault has its advantages,” he said. “I have a couple of allies in PCC, which helps. And she has allies, friends, across the country. Her money doesn’t go far in the Zone, but it matters to the rest of the world. She has, let’s say, protectors. Containment thinks she’s here so I can keep an eye on her. That’s right, in part. They know she’s blind, and that she’s getting older. They think that makes her harmless. They’d be very, very wrong about that.”
I kicked a pebble down the sidewalk, then again, watching it skitter in front of us. I accidentally sent it too far to the left, but Liam caught it with a toe, sent it moving again. It was a little thing, but I put it in Liam’s “win” column. Finding whimsy in a war zone wasn’t any easy thing to do.
“I like her. She seems very formidable.”
“She is. You remind me a little bit of her, actually. You’re both recklessly brave.”
I snorted. “Liam Quinn, I don’t think you mean that as a compliment.”
“Claire Connolly,” he said, my name slipping softly from his lips. “I’m not sure I do, either.”
I stopped to look at him, to check his expression against the sudden thoughtfulness in his voice. His eyes were stormy, his expression intense, considering.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get you home. Then I’ll talk to Nix.”
“She doesn’t live in Devil’s Isle?”
“She moves around,” Liam said cryptically.
“And what, exactly, will she be doing?”
“Teaching you not to become a monster.”
“That’s a good goal. Also, could you be a little more specific?”
“It involves regulating the magic,” he said. “I’m not sure about the details. That’s pretty far outside my wheelhouse.”
“And what’s in your wheelhouse, exactly?”
“Being a warrior and general badass.”
“And humble soul, barely aware of his own strength?”
“Well, obviously that, too.”
I had a thrill of surprise when Liam bent his mouth to my ear. But his interest wasn’t romantic.
“I’m going to tell you something, and I want you to keep your eyes on the street in front of us.”
His tone was flat, all-business, and I was smart enough to realize he meant it. I nodded, just a little.
“There are two Paras following us, and two more in front of us watching. The two behind us are at my seven o’clock. The ones in front are at your two o’clock. The ones in front want to talk to us. The ones behind want to cut off our exit. Take a quick glance, if you want, but like you’re taking in the architecture.”
I did, glancing casually ahead, but not to look at the architecture. I was looking for the Containment agents who were supposed to be at their posts . . . but weren’t.
“The guards?”
“Probably paid for a few minutes of privacy. It’s not hard to bribe folks in the Land of Unplenty.”
“Sounds like this isn’t your first experience in a situation like this.”
“I don’t know these guys in particular, but they probably belong to Solomon. He’s the friendly neighborhood crime lord. A coward, but very good at giving favors—and extracting payment.”
“He did you a favor?”
“No. But he thinks he did. And that’s enough for him. I’m going to handle this. I need you to stay behind me.”
I’d been in war, knew how to fight, could hold my own, as the wraiths should have proven. “I’m not going to stand by and just—”
“You can’t use your magic,” he reminded me. “And I brought you into Devil’s Isle—that makes you my responsibility.”
I didn’t have time to argue. They stepped into the street. Two in front of us, two behind. They looked generally like humans, but their patterned skin gleamed like an amphibian’s. Their eyes and ears were large and round.
“Cave dwellers,” Liam whispered. “They tend to flee instead of fight.” That explained why I hadn’t seen them before—and why Liam didn’t sound very impressed.
The Para on the right stepped forward. His teeth were small, white, pointed. I’d seen other Paras with teeth filed to points, and the memory made my heart flutter. But looking scared wasn’t going to help. I made myself stand a little straighter.
“Solomon wants a word,” the Para said.
Liam’s expression chilled. “I don’t see him here, and I don’t speak to men who are too cowardly to deliver their own messages.”
The Para bared his teeth. “Only an idiot insults Solomon.”
“Only
an idiot works for Solomon,” Liam corrected. “He was captured by Containment, lives in Devil’s Isle, and uses errand boys. Not exactly great leadership.”
It happened simultaneously—the Paras behind moved forward to grab me as the ones in front moved toward Liam.
Liam’s gun—the one he’d handed over to Containment—sure would have been handy right now.
The first guy who came at me smelled like rancid water. I sidestepped him and, when he paused to pivot, smashed a boot heel into his instep. He swore, stumbled, staggered back.
The second one came in lower. I reached out to hit him, but my fingers skidded off slick, rubbery skin. It was like trying to punch a stingray.
The Para roared, lunged forward. I tried to dodge, but he was faster. He wrapped an arm around my waist, hauling me into the air.
“Let go, you asshole!” I kicked backward, trying to land my heel between his legs, but he kept dancing away from my feet.
The sound of bone and flesh connecting punched through the air. I looked for Liam, saw the first Para howl and stagger back as Liam’s uppercut landed.
Liam was built like a boxer—solid and lean—and he moved like one. Light on his feet, quick to move, and quick to dodge.
The Para tried to hit back, but his swing went wide when Liam ducked to avoid it. He came up again, landed a blow to the Para’s stomach, which put him in a crouch.
With his partner down, the next Para stepped up, and he didn’t look nearly as excited to fight now.
I squirmed, trying to get free, but the Para’s arm tightened around my waist. He was stronger than me, and I didn’t have a weapon that I could actually use. Not with cameras potentially engaged.
I needed a distraction.
I went for the obvious. “Containment!” I yelled.
He started, dropped me. I hit the ground and, when he leered over me, nailed him in the crotch.
He might not have been human, but he was human enough. He made a strangled sound, fell to his knees.
I looked back. Liam took a hard punch to the side, but stood straight again, eyes gleaming. Liam Quinn clearly enjoyed a good fight—and battle looked pretty good on him.
The time Solomon had managed to buy ran out. An air raid siren began to howl, just like the kind Containment had used to warn us of incoming attacks.
