The Hunt

by Chloe Neill

  “Eleanor?” Gavin asked. “She all right?”

  “She is. She’s at the main house.” Erida looked surprised by the question, but then her face went all business. “You weren’t followed?” she asked her boss.

  “No.” Malachi’s response was flat.

  “Very well, then,” she said, and turned on her heel. “Follow me.”

  • • •

  The field where the barn sat gave way to another border of trees. And that border gave way to the bayou.

  Cypress trees, dark water, and Spanish moss covered the land on both sides of the path Erida led us down. The sounds of wind blowing through grass gave way to the croaks of bullfrogs and insects, to the whoops of enormous birds, and when we reached a patch of open water, the swoop of a pelican.

  The house sat near the shore, wooden and unpainted, the planks probably made of cypress—wood that would last in the heat and humidity. It was a small, two-story box with a peaked roof and deep front porch, and it stood on ten-foot stilts that kept the water out of the living room.

  Eleanor Arsenault sat on one of two white wooden rocking chairs that flanked the front door. She was a lovely woman. Slender, with medium skin, cropped gray hair, and a regal face. She wore a simple dress and white sneakers, and a delicate knitted wrap around her shoulders even in the heat and humidity. There was more color in her cheeks than I remembered; maybe being out here had healed her in some important way.

  “I’ve brought guests,” Erida said as we approached the house.

  “Well, I believe that’s Claire,” Eleanor said with a smile, leaning forward, eyes bright. The magical attack had taken her sight but left her with the ability to see magic, the unique shades and tints that colored power from the Beyond.

  “And Malachi,” she added, her eyes going bright with pleasure. She didn’t need to see Gavin to be glad of his arrival. “And my grandson. You’ve come a long way.”

  Gavin climbed the steps, took her hand, and pressed a kiss to her cheek. “You look well, Eleanor.”

  “I feel well, although I’m surprised to see you.” She glanced in my direction. “Claire, your color is beautiful. Deep and rich—more than the last time I saw you.” Her voice softened. “It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

  “It has. It’s good to see you again, Eleanor. I’m glad you’re safe.”

  “I am.” But her smile faded. “I have to wonder what brings you here—and away from New Orleans.”

  “Let’s talk inside,” Malachi said to Erida. “Give them a few moments.”

  When they crossed the creaking porch planks and disappeared into the house, Gavin gave Eleanor the details, told her about the murder, the accusations, the bounty.

  Her hand, small and elegant, flew to her chest. “But Liam hasn’t even been there. Someone is blaming him for something he didn’t do . . . on purpose.”

  “That would be my guess,” Gavin said.

  “They’re looking for him,” she went on, “and if they’re looking for him, they’re probably looking for me.” Eleanor didn’t bother with tears; she just narrowed her gaze, screwed her features into what I guessed was DNA-deep Creole stubbornness. “I don’t hold with false accusations. I assume you’re here to warn us?”

  “We are,” Gavin said. “Erida said he’s checking traps?”

  She nodded. “He’s at the cabin.”

  “How far?” Gavin asked.

  “Not far at all,” Eleanor said, and the words sent another flurry of nerves through my belly.

  She looked toward Gavin. “There’s firewood in the shed behind the house. Would you be a dear and grab a few cords for later? The smoke helps with the mosquitoes.”

  His expression said he knew he was being dismissed, but he didn’t argue. “Sure thing,” he said, flicking a glance my way.

  If she was dismissing Gavin, I assumed she had words for me. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

  “Come,” Eleanor said, patting the arm of the second rocking chair. “Have a seat.”

  I did so, the chair creaking beneath me, and let my gaze shift to the bayou in front of us, the sway of moss in the light breeze.

  “How are you, Claire?”

  “I’m managing. How are you?”

  She closed her eyes, lifted her face to the sunlight that filtered through the trees. “I’m good. It’s peaceful here. Not easy living, but peaceful.”

  Silence fell, broken only by the sounds of birds and insects. I looked over the water, watched the sun begin to dip into the bayou, watched the light go golden. An egret flew past, long and white and elegant as a dancer, and unfolded its legs to drop onto a cypress stump.

  “He missed you.”

  The words were a lance, and they found their mark.

  “I’m not sure if he’s able to tell you that yet, but don’t doubt that he missed you. I’m sure you know he had reasons to leave—good ones. But it never feels good to be left behind.” Eleanor looked toward me. “Or, I think, to come looking for the one who left you.”

  “Not easy,” I agreed. “Kind of terrifying.” I paused, gathering my words like carefully picked flowers. “I’ve missed him. Worried about him. And sometimes I’ve been angry at him.

  “Malachi and Gavin didn’t want me to come,” I said after a moment. “I’m still not sure if my coming was a good idea or not, if I’m interrupting him or breaking some unspoken request for space and time. But I needed to come. It’s time to face the music, for both of us.”

  Eleanor smiled as she rocked. “I had a sense you’d be good for him. I’m glad to know I was right.”

  I appreciated the sentiment, but that she thought I was good for him didn’t mean he felt the same way.

  “His magic?” I asked, but she shook her head.

  “That’s for him to tell.”

  “It has a color?” I wasn’t entirely sure what that would tell me—the color of his magic. But it was one characteristic that she would know, and that I thought she might confess.

  “It doesn’t have a color,” she said after a moment. “It has all the colors.”

  I didn’t know what she meant, so I waited in silence for her to elaborate. And when she didn’t, I realized she wasn’t going to say anything else. I’d have to wait—just as I’d been waiting—to see what magic had done to him.

  “I won’t tell you what to do,” Eleanor said. “You have your own feelings, your own reasons, and you’re entitled to them. I’m sure the last month hasn’t been easy for you. It hasn’t been easy for him, either. Even though he believes he did the right thing, he also knows it was the wrong thing for both of you.

  “What have you been doing for the last few weeks?” she asked, and it took me a moment to catch up with the conversation shift.

  “Spending time with Moses. Trying to do what we can for Paranormals. And to change Containment’s mind.”

  She smiled cannily. “Good. It’s good to have a companion in Moses. And it’s good to give those in power a little pinch every once in a while. It reminds them who they work for.”

  She reached out, patted my hand. “Thank you for listening to me, Claire. Liam and Gavin are my boys, and I love them more than good sense should allow. And I want them to be happy. I imagine you could use a little of that, too.”

  “There’s happiness out there,” I said, thinking of bloated cans and tiny robots. “Sometimes it’s easier to find than others.”

  Gavin rounded the corner, arms full of wedges of wood, sweat on his brow. I hopped up and opened the door so he could carry the load inside, where a stone fireplace with a deep hearth dominated a small sitting room. A single hallway led to the rest of the house, probably to the kitchen, bedroom, and bathroom.

  “Damn,” Gavin said, when he’d added the wood to the pile on the hearth and wiped his hands on his pants. “Hard to believe a fire’s necessary when i
t’s this hot out.”

  “Anything that keeps the bugs away,” I said.

  “I guess.”

  Erida and Malachi came in with Eleanor. “Time to get Liam?” Malachi asked.

  “Yeah,” Gavin said, using the hem of his shirt to wipe his forehead. “Let me get a drink.”

  “Cold water in the fridge,” Erida said. He nodded and headed in that direction.

  “What will we find?” Gavin asked over his shoulder.

  “He’s angry,” Eleanor said. “Getting used to his new reality.”

  “Picked a helluva way to do it,” Gavin muttered. He came back with a Mason jar of water and continued, “Middle of the bayou, PCC roaming around. But that’s my frère. God forbid he should do anything the easy way.” He drank the entire container of water, then looked at Erida. “Cabin’s down the road, you said?”

  She nodded. “Walk until the road ends, then take the trail to the right. Maybe half a mile down from there.”

  Gavin nodded. “Claire and I will go.” He looked at me. “Unless you prefer to stay here.”

  He was giving me an out, and I knew it. Giving me an opportunity to pretend I was just along for the ride—or giving himself an opportunity to prepare Liam for the fact that I was here.

  For a moment, I considered it. I considered playing the coward, sitting in the rocking chair and letting the world spin around me, letting fate fall where it would. But I didn’t like the idea of being cowardly. Not when I’d come this far.

  And selfish or not, I didn’t want to give Liam the chance to adjust, to prepare, to school his face if regret was going to show there. I wanted to know his heart. So I’d see him, and he could see me. And we’d both see.

  “I’m going,” I said. I saw the approval in his eyes.

  We walked outside, and Eleanor gave me a fierce nod.

  “I’d say we’re all on your side,” Gavin murmured with a laugh as we walked back to the road.

  While I appreciated the sentiment, I needed only one person on my side right now. And the time had come to face that particular fire.

  • • •

  “Not a road,” Gavin said as he and I squelched toward the trail. “Just muck between trees.”

  Since my shoes were covered in it, I couldn’t argue.

  We picked our way through and across the muck, then down the narrow trail that led to even lower ground. By that point we were sloshing between cypress knees.

  The bayou was beautiful—the water, the trees, the haunting stillness. There was something undeniably wild and vital here. But that also made it seem undeniably ominous. I was convinced that every tendril of Spanish moss brushing my shoulder was a cottonmouth with an attitude. Two snapping turtles eyed us warily from a log that poked up through the murky water, and I heard splashing in the distance that I was pretty certain was an alligator on the hunt.

  “If a gator is man-eating,” I wondered, pushing away a tangle of moss, “does it eat woman as well?” I was making jokes because I was nervous, because my body was jittering like a live wire. And not just because of the wild things in the woods.

  “A timely question,” Gavin said. “If one charges at me, I’ll push you in front.”

  “That’s very thoughtful.”

  We reached the end of the trail, where dirt gave way to clumps of grass and scrubby palms that nearly hid the cabin a few yards away. It was a smaller version of the main house, with unpainted planks, a roof of tin, and a small porch in front.

  “I’ll see if he’s inside,” Gavin said.

  “I’ll wait,” I said. But only because the cabin was tiny and looked empty to boot. Not because my heart was beating so hard I could hear it in my ears.

  I could see a strip of glassy water through the trees, so I headed toward it, passed a pile of ancient and rotting buoys and traps, reached a short, weathered dock.

  And there he was.

  Liam Quinn stood at the end of the dock in jeans and dark green rubber boots, his short-sleeved shirt soaked through with sweat.

  He looked completely different, and exactly the same. The same leanly muscled body, the same black hair, the same strong, square chin, and the wide mouth that tended to curl up at one corner when he was pleased. Broad shoulders, long legs, strong hands. But his cheekbones, already honed, seemed sharper, and every muscle was more distinct, as if the generous sculptor who’d created him had come back to refine his work.

  Muscles bunched, moved as he added bait to a mesh crawfish trap, then dropped it into the water. He pulled up a second trap from the bayou, emptied the wriggling contents into a bucket on his left, baited it with leftovers from a bucket on his right, and dropped it back into the water. Another trap, and then another, and another. They’d feast on crawfish tonight.

  Liam looked natural here, completely at home surrounded by woods and water. I wondered if he’d learned this skill—smoothed the rough edges of the movements—at his family’s cabin near Bayou Teche. There was something so practiced in the movement, so hypnotic in the dance of it, that I forgot myself. I just watched him, admired him, while pent-up emotions rushed back to the surface.

  A crack as loud as a gunshot split the air—and jolted me out of my reverie.

  His head shot up, like a wolf scenting danger, eyes widening as he stared at the tree limb—more than a foot in diameter and nearly ten feet long—falling toward him from a tree that stretched above the bayou.

  Instinct had him throwing up his arms, but that wouldn’t save him. And I wouldn’t let him be hurt on my watch.

  Moving just as quickly, I grabbed a fistful of magic, wrapped the invisible filaments around the branch, and brought it to a jerking stop eighteen inches above his head.

  Still staring, he dropped his arms, and his gaze. And for the first time in weeks, we looked at each other.

  The world went quiet, its revolution slowing, as his eyes locked onto mine like a weapon on a target. The vivid blue was still ribboned through his eyes, but they were shot through now with streaks of gold, a residual effect of the magic that had struck him.

  Liam Quinn had always been beautiful. Now there was something devastating about him.

  I half concentrated on the magic, spent the rest of it to search his face, his feelings. I saw utter surprise, as if I was the last person he’d expected to find standing on the dock behind him.

  Something else lurked there, too. Something darker that I didn’t understand.

  “Claire.”

  The word was full of emotion, but he didn’t take even a single step toward me. Instead, his body was rigid, like he was holding himself back.

  I didn’t trust myself to pick apart why that might have been. And I didn’t say anything, afraid that voicing his name would give away too much about my own feelings and the fact that seeing him here, today, only solidified them.

  Foliage crackled, and Gavin stepped onto the dock. He glanced at me, at Liam, and at the branch hovering above Liam’s head.

  “You threatening to kill him, or stopping that thing from doing it?”

  “Stopping it,” Liam quietly said.

  Gavin nodded. “Then there’s no point in overdoing it.” He touched the hand I still held outstretched, the hand that still gripped the tangled reins of magic.

  I flicked my fingers and sent the branch soaring into the water, where it landed with a splash, bobbed once, then twice, and moved on downstream.

  Liam looked as surprised by the quick release as he had by my being there in the first place. Good. I liked the idea that I’d awed him.

  “I guess we found you,” Gavin said.

  That statement broke the spell, had Liam pulling back into himself. The surprise on his face disappeared, and his other expressions shuttered.

  “I guess you did.” His tone was as flat as his gaze. “Why are you here?”

  “B
ecause you’ve become suddenly popular,” Gavin said, glancing around. “Let’s get out of the heat, sit down. We need to talk.”

  • • •

  We waited while Liam finished rebaiting the traps and grabbed the bucket of crawfish. Then we walked back to the cabin.

  I wouldn’t have thought my heart could beat faster than it had when I’d looked into his eyes for the first time. But now it raced with a different kind of nerves and challenged the hollowness that made my chest ache.

  We’d seen each other, and there’d been no hug, no embrace, not even a look of excitement or gratitude or relief. There’d been nothing. That flatness sent a chill down my spine and a frisson of worry through my belly. Had his feelings changed? Had that been the obvious and simple reason I hadn’t heard from him?

  Maybe this had been a mistake.

  “Go on in,” Liam said, flicking a glance my way as he dealt with the crawfish at a small table on the porch.

  “You all right?” Gavin whispered as we walked through the screen door. The question added embarrassment to my churning emotions.

  “I’m not sure.”

  Like the main house, the fishing cabin had walls and a floor made from planks of wood, with what looked like old newspapers stuffed into the gaps. There was a wooden bench topped by a pelt of dark, shiny fur and a kitchenette with a gas camping stove and a sink. A small wooden table sat in the opposite corner, its top a slice of cypress with wavy edges. Two wooden chairs were tucked beneath. Through the open doorway, we could see the foot of a small brass bed covered by a handmade quilt.

  “This is like Grandfather’s place,” Gavin said when Liam came in behind us.

  “Yeah.” Liam gestured to the chairs. When we took seats, he walked to the sink, turned on a water spigot that probably was hooked up to a rainwater cistern. He washed his hands and dried them on a tea towel. Then he opened a plastic cooler on the small counter, pulled out three bottles of water, passed two of them to us.

  He didn’t make eye contact when he handed me the bottle, was careful to avoid touching me. Gavin must have noticed it, too, because his brows lifted in surprise.

  Liam walked to the fur-covered bench and sat down. His body seemed bigger in this small room, as if his strength strained against the walls.