The Sight (20 page)

“Be careful,” I said, and watched the truck's lights disappear down Royal.

“Let's get inside,” Malachi said, waiting until I'd walked into the store, then closing the door behind us, flipping the locks.

I walked to the counter, looking for the note that would assure me Tadji was safe, and found it beside the receipt pad.

Late. Exhausted. Gavin's going to bunk at my place until Burke arrives. Stay safe.

Good. One less thing to worry about.

“I want something to drink,” I said, and glanced at Malachi, who was picking through a box of colored duct tape, staring like they were exotic jewels. He browsed the objects here just as he'd done downstairs. And in much the same way as Nix, the Paranormal who'd betrayed us, had once done.

“Would you like anything?”

He shook his head, so I grabbed a bottle of water, found him waiting at the bottom of the stairs.

“Shall we see your magic?”

“Lead the way,” I said with a flourish.

I followed him to the second-floor storage room. He flipped on the light, moved immediately to the box of cast-off magic.

“Good,” he said, fingers skimming, but not quite touching, its surface. “You've been casting off.”

“I have plenty of incentive,” I said. “I've been working on using my emotions to control my magic. How did you know I'd be able to do that?”

Malachi smiled. “I didn't.”

“You didn't?”

Malachi just shrugged, a surprisingly human motion. “Magic isn't inherent for humans, and I haven't communicated with many Sensitives regarding their abilities. I wasn't entirely certain what would happen.” He cocked his head. “What did happen?”

“Insulation, I think. I can use the emotions to surround the magic, coax it to do what I want.”

He looked intrigued. “Can you show me?”

“I can try.” I'd used anger before, but didn't feel especially angry right now. I felt unsettled. Unsettled and guilty and impatient. That was a different kind of emotion, but maybe still powerful enough to make the magic work the way I wanted it to.

I looked around, considered my box of magic. I narrowed my gaze, focused my concentration on it, gathered up the guilt and sadness I'd felt in Devil's Isle today. Where the emotion I'd used before had been frenetic, tightly wound, this was more like a slow syrup. So when I pulled magic from the air, it was like dragging the ropes of
magic through liquid, slowing their vibration, corralling their fire. I uncoiled those ropes toward the box, wrapped them around it again and again, until I'd given over enough magic to lift it.

Even then, it was difficult going. The box was heavy with magic. My own fault, for pouring so much into it. But if that was what I had to do to stay alive . . .

Sweat beading in the room's still, warm air, I lifted the coils of magic and the box wobbled into the air, a few inches, then a foot. I let it hover for a moment, concentrating on keeping it even, level, and still. Sweat slipped down my back at the effort; it was small, but it felt as heavy as Malachi had in Algiers.

Fingers clenched in concentration, I shifted the coils again, slowly lowered the box back to the bureau. It landed with a heavy
thud
that shook the bureau beneath it.

“Gotta work on sticking the landing,” I said, breathing heavily now.

Malachi stared at the space between me and the box, as if he could see the invisible threads of energy that had bound us together. He glanced back at me. “There is sadness in the air, and it weighs on the magic.”

That described it exactly, so I nodded, trying to get my breath back. “So the effect will be different for different emotions?”

Another nod.

He looked for another moment, then walked to me, around me, behind me. I could feel the warmth radiating from his big body.

“I'm going to test you,” he said behind me. “Use your emotions, if you find it necessary, to maintain balance.”

Before I could argue, he wrapped his arms around me and twined our fingers together. Warmth pulsed from the connection of our bodies, loosening tension and clearing away worry and fear.

I floated on the sensation, my eyes drifting shut. I leaned back against him, my head falling against his broad chest.

Here in the cocoon of magic, he smelled of evergreens and fresh air, like the Blue Ridge mountaintops on which the angels had famously trumpeted during the war. Even if my heart was occupied by Liam Quinn, unobtainable or not, Malachi's power and magnetism were undeniable.

And then his lips were at my temple, his breath steady but faster now, and it relieved me to know I wasn't the only one being affected by the magic, by the spill and spin of it around us, heady and powerful.

I was being seduced by magic.

Realization dousing me like cold water, I pulled away, put space between us, and then looked back. He watched me, gaze even.

“You did that on purpose.”

His expression didn't change. “Yes.”

I swallowed. “Why?”

“To gauge your emotional reaction . . . and because I wanted to see what it felt like.”

My gaze snapped back to his, and he stared at me with that same expression of perplexed fascination. The expression of a Paranormal trying to puzzle out a human, or of a man trying to puzzle out a woman?

Danger
, was the word that came to mind. Glorious and intriguing and mysterious danger. A kind of danger I hadn't faced before—not exactly. Prejudicial or not, I knew enough about Paranormals to be wary, and to think that catching feelings for an angel would leave me the fallen one.

I was human and could feel attraction, but I wasn't enslaved by it. Maybe that was a lesson he needed to learn, too.

His expression blanked again as the mood in the room shifted. “You have feelings for him,” he said, apparently finding it unnecessary to say Liam's name.

And yes—I had complicated feelings for Liam Quinn, and he'd probably say the same thing about me. But . . . “It doesn't matter,” I said.

“Why?”

“Because he thinks he might be the one who has to take me into Devil's Isle. Because he's being honorable.”

I could hear the bitterness in my voice. Malachi apparently had, too. “You're better than that, Claire.”

I looked back at him. “Meaning what?”

“You'd be quick to dismiss a man's honor? You've seen enough to know how often humans and Paranormals alike disregard honor for desire, for gain, for money.” He took a step closer, his gaze demanding. “Would you rather he be someone he's not? Someone unconcerned about the future? About you? About your freedom?”

I didn't like his answer. And I didn't like what it made me feel about myself. “No. But it still isn't fair.”

“Life rarely is, in your world or mine.”

I nodded. “What are relationships like in the Beyond? Do you have courtship? Romance?”

He looked surprised by the question. “Of course. But not like those here, which are . . . complicated. The Consularis pride themselves on stability.”

I thought of what Lizzie had told me. “And rules, I understand.”

Malachi nodded. “We value social order.”

“And the Court doesn't?”

His smile wasn't especially cheerful. “All creatures value order; it is an inevitable part of existence. The only thing that differs is where they place themselves and their allies within that order.”

I couldn't argue with that, since it was precisely Ezekiel's plan. Maybe not his entire motivation—to put himself in charge—but certainly to get Containment out of control. And I'd need to be more prepared for that than I was now.

“Let's practice again.”

His eyebrows lifted.

“Not that kind of practice. Let's work on insulating my magic. On improving my control.”

“All right.” He walked to the other end of the room, smiled cannily. “Lift me up.”

—

I managed to get Malachi about four inches off the floor twice. By then, my legs were wobbling with exhaustion and excess magic—which seemed like a dangerous combination.

I cast off again, looked up at him from my spot on the floor. I felt like I'd run three marathons, and probably looked it. He'd been shot, and still looked ready and able to lead a war.

“Magic is exhausting,” I said. “Can't I just shoot them?”

“What if you don't have a gun?”

I held up a fist. “Right cross.” Although the thought of it sent phantom pain through my knuckles.

“And if that's not enough?”

“What if there's a magic monitor?” I countered.

“A gun will kill,” Malachi said. “But a gun won't fight magic.” He checked the nearest grandfather clock of the several in the room. “Burke will be here soon. But it's important that you learn to use your magic even when tired.”

“I know, I know. Less than optimal conditions.”

He nodded, managed a smile. “One more round.”

“Fine,” I said. “But help me up.” I held out a hand.

He'd just crossed the room and pulled me to my feet when Liam's voice rang in the doorway. “Am I interrupting?”

I looked back. Liam's gaze was on the man whose hand still held mine, and there was nothing especially polite in it. It looked hostile, and it looked like jealousy.

I didn't really feel bad about that.

Malachi and I stepped away from each other.

“Your grandmother?” I asked.

“She's covered for tonight, and ready to leave tomorrow. As is Moses.”

“Good,” I said.

Liam nodded, but his gaze stayed on Malachi. Malachi, who knew exactly the lay of the land, stepped beside me. Now who was toying with whom?

“You appear to be covered, too. Burke's here,” Liam said, without waiting for a response. “He's getting water. He'll be up in a moment.”

“Great,” I said, and looked back at Malachi. “One more round?”

“I think you could use some rest,” he said, and Liam glowered until Burke walked into the room.

I didn't really feel bad about that, either.

—

I'd wanted to watch Burke and Malachi practice, but I was exhausted. So I left them to their work, and went downstairs to get my own water.

Liam sat at the table, his .44 in front of him, along with oil and a cleaning rag. He glanced up, watched me move into the kitchen. “How was the lesson?”

“Educational, just like last time.”

When I looked up from the fridge, he stood in the doorway. “He's manipulating you.”

“I know.”
And I'm not the only one being manipulated,
I thought. Malachi knew where I stood, and knew where Liam stood, and was manipulating Liam with emotion the same way he manipulated me with magic.

“You know? If you know, then why are you letting him do it?”

I took out a bottle of water, slammed the door. “I'd remind you
that it was your idea to walk me into Devil's Isle and introduce me to a Paranormal who could teach me how to use my magic.”

“Not
that
Paranormal.”

“Why? Because he's hot?”

Liam glowered.

“Who else can do it? Erida? I don't even know her, and she already gives me dirty looks. Nix? No, because she's a traitorous bitch.”

“Burke,” Liam suggested.

“So the blind can lead the blind? I don't need another Sensitive. I need a Paranormal who understands magic, who knows that it's a living, breathing thing.”

“Yeah, he knows exactly what he's doing.”

Liam had made his boundaries clear, and even Malachi had demanded that I respect that line. Both of them were right. But I had a line, too, and Liam was getting perilously close to it. I walked to him, looked up into his fiercely blue eyes. “He knows what he's doing, and so do I. No one is naive here, Liam. We're all doing the best we can under crappy circumstances.”

Liam shook his head, looked away.

I took a breath. “I said you didn't trust me. That was wrong of me, and I'm sorry. I know you trust me, and I know it isn't that simple.”

He blinked, and just like that, the wind went out of his sails. “Damn it, Claire.”

The frustration rang in his voice. I was glad I wasn't the only one.

“Good night, Liam,” I said, and slipped around him, leaving him alone in the near dark.

T
he building was empty of men and angels when I woke, and there weren't smoke rings or scorch marks in the storage room. But I found a note from Malachi confirming that the plan was a go.

I was in a pisser of a mood. This was going to be a big day—a dangerous day—and everything felt unbalanced. Liam and I had fallen into a good rhythm. But last night, things had shifted again.

The store was open when I went downstairs, my ankle pain free as I walked and took in the scent of lemon in the air. Tadji stood at the counter, polishing it with furniture spray.

I grabbed a bag of coffee beans from a basket along one wall, then headed into the kitchen. Tadji followed me.

“Liam went to Devil's Isle,” she said.

He was going to get Eleanor and Moses ready, I guessed as I opened the bag and poured the beans into the grinder. I mashed the button.

“If you're making coffee, shit's about to get real.”

We didn't get coffee regularly, so I didn't let myself drink it very often. Last thing I needed was another addiction to something I couldn't have. Considering what we'd be up against today, I made an exception.

“Real as it's ever been,” I said, scooping grounds into the filter. “Is anyone else in the store?”

“Not right now. Why?”

“Go lock the door, flip the sign. We need to talk.”

She looked surprised by the secrecy, but not the request. By the time she came back, the pot was burbling and I was sitting at the table.

“All right,” she said, taking a seat across from me. “Don't soften me up. Just get it out there.”

“I'm going to help Delta break Moses out of Devil's Isle. We'll bring him and Eleanor here, and then they'll be escorted out of the Quarter, and eventually to a safe house.”

She stared at me. “And when is this going to happen?”

“Today. Around noon.”

“Because of the attack yesterday?”

I nodded. “Liam wants to get Eleanor out. Reveillon thinks she's a Sensitive, so it's likely they'll try again. And she won't leave without Moses.”

Tadji nodded, looked down at the fingers she'd knitted together on the table, picked nervously at her thumbnail. “Fucking humans and fucking Paranormals and fucking magic.”

“Pretty much, yeah.”

She looked up. “I guess I had it coming when I signed up to cover your ass in the store.”

“You probably should have seen it coming,” I agreed with a smile. “But I don't want you to do anything you're not comfortable with. If this is more involved than you want to be, you could focus on interviews for a few days, or maybe go visit your mother.”

She put both hands flat on the table, and leveled me with a look that would have frightened a Seelie. “However ungraciously I may have been dropped back into the world of magic, I'm in it. I'm not saying I'm ready to actively participate—but I'm certainly not going to hide behind your skirt. Besides, I'd like to meet Eleanor Arsenault.” Her eyes gleamed. “Do you think I could interview her?”

“I don't think she'll be here that long. We're a fast food drive-through within the larger escape plan. But I'm sure, when she's settled, she'd love to talk to you. I should have hooked you two up before.” But Tadji shook her head.

“That would have required me going into Devil's Isle. No, thank you.”

“Ironic that you say that, because I'm about to walk willingly in there. I told Lizzie—she's in charge of the clinic—that I'd help her today.”

Her eyes widened. “Isn't that where the wraiths go? And the Sensitives?”

“It is. It's the right thing to do.”

“You better have two cups of coffee.”

I rose to walk back into the kitchen, nearly screamed when I saw Erida in the back doorway. “Jesus, you scared me. What are you doing here?”

Her perfect eyebrows lifted. “I am here to protect you and the store until the package arrives.”

I hadn't done the math, or thought about the fact that Gavin, Liam, Malachi, and Burke were all occupied. I'm glad someone had.

“Thank you,” I said. “I appreciate it very much. Tadji, this is Erida. Erida, Tadji. We're just making coffee. Would you like some?”

She might have been a goddess of war, but there was no mistaking the lust in her eyes.

—

It was early, and Devil's Isle was quiet. A few crowing roosters, a woman hanging brilliantly colored laundry on a line, a child eating what looked like a granola bar on a stoop while raised voices discussed something in the house behind him. There was no sign of
any remaining Reveillon members, and the storage building was now a dark, wet husk.

I used my pass to walk through the Devil's Isle gate, let the guards inspect the box of supplies I'd bought for Lizzie. And then they pointed me to the palest person I'd ever seen, except calling her “pale” didn't really cover it. Although there was a gauzy white cast to her skin, it was completely translucent.

She was tall and slender, with short, pale hair, a sharp chin, and lavender eyes. She wore pink scrubs like the ones Lizzie favored, and she carried a large, nylon bag with a physician's caduceus embroidered on one side. Medical supplies, probably.

“Claire,” she said, stepping forward. “I'm Vendi. Lizzie asked me to meet you.”

“Hi,” I said, resituating the box and offering a free hand.

“Would you like me to take that for you?”

I offered a smile. “I'm good, thanks.”

She gestured the direction to take, and we walked down the street, past piles of debris from the bombing and the reconstruction.

“Would you like to get the question out of the way?”

“I would love to,” I said, “except I have no idea what to say or ask. You are an anatomical wonder.”

She snorted. “That's one of the nicer things humans have said about me. We're referred to as Xanas in the Beyond. We live in darkness, so our skin never developed pigment.”

I nodded. “And you're a physician at the clinic?”

“Nurse,” she said. “And office manager and general person-who-makes-things-happen.” She glanced at my parcel. “What's in the box?”

“A few things Lizzie asked me to bring. Salt, some hard candies. It's what I had on hand.”

“Nice. And are you here because of guilt or court order?”

The question had me blinking, and it took a moment to realize it wasn't meant to be rude—or not entirely—but practical. Those were probably the two main reasons the clinic got volunteers.

“No court order. Ten percent anger, maybe sixty percent guilt.”

“What's the other thirty percent?”

Being a Sensitive. Proving to myself that I could handle my magic, part of which seemed to be acknowledging the clinic's existence, dealing with that.

“That's more personal,” I said. I could feel Vendi's curious glance, but I wasn't about to spill my secret to a stranger.

When we turned down a side street, I looked around in confusion. “This isn't the way to the clinic, is it?”

“We won't actually be at the clinic today,” Vendi said. “After yesterday, it's tight quarters in there.”

“Okay. So what will I be doing?”

She smiled. “You'll be making home visits with me.”

“Oh,” was all I could think to say. I'd happily deal with not going to the clinic, but I'd have to reconfigure my expectations.

“That a problem for you?”

“No. Will it be a problem for Paras? That I'll be walking into their homes?”

“We'll find out,” she said. Which didn't instill a lot of confidence.

—

Our first house was a Creole cottage, the walls bright pink with white-shuttered windows. The paint on both was peeling, but there were potted plants on the small porch and a few worn toys near the door.

“You can leave the box on the steps,” Vendi said, pointing to a spot.

I put down the box and stood behind her, trying not to fidget while I waited. I had no idea what I was going to see or hear inside, which made me equally uneasy and excited.

Vendi knocked on the door. “It's Vendi from the clinic,” she said. “I'm here to check on Thora.”

The door opened and we were swept inside on a wave of chatter and noise. Three small girls with squat bodies, smooth, green-gray skin, and dark hair surrounded us, talking animatedly to Vendi in an unrecognizable language. They looked like goblins from a child's book of fairy tales, but they darted and chatted just like children.

The cottage was small, and the front room was an equal cacophony of sounds, of scents, of colors. The air was fragrant with something smoky and warm, and the walls were covered in posters of American movies, record covers, flags, and Mardi Gras beads. Every other surface was equally colorful—rugs on the floor, blankets and tapestries across couches, cloths on tables.

“Vendi!” A man of short height, wide girth, walked into the room, his skin the same color as the girls who flitted around Vendi.

“Hello, Nedra,” Vendi said, offering her hand. “This is Claire. She's helping me today.”

“A guest!” Nedra said, and led me to a chair covered in quilts and blankets. I sat down, and a thimble-small glass of liquid was thrust into my hands.

“Appa,” Vendi said. “A traditional greeting beverage.”

I sipped it, was pleasantly surprised by the peachy flavor and warm burn. “That's delicious, thank you!” But I put a hand to my throat when the burn only intensified. Suddenly, it was like drinking Tabasco sauce.

“That has a kick,” I wheezed as Nedra took my glass, placed it on a side table.

“Like a mule,” Vendi agreed. “One is usually enough.”

A woman walked in, smaller than Nedra, larger than the girls. She used a cane, favored her left side.

“Hello, Thora,” Vendi said. “How are you feeling?”

“Good,” Thora said, her voice lightly accented. “It aches today.”

Vendi nodded, guided her to a chair. After pulling on gloves, she began to remove bandages from Thora's right leg.

There was a horrible gash that reached nearly from knee to ankle, the edges red and swollen.

“Cold iron,” Vendi said, glancing back at me. “A wound she received seven years ago. If it doesn't kill, it permanently injures.”

I didn't know what to say. Both sympathy and apology seemed indulgent. So I nodded and did what I was here to do. “Can I help you with instruments or anything?”

Vendi shook her head. “I've got this,” she said, and applied a salve to Thora's still-wounded leg, replaced the bandage. “The salt didn't help?”

Thora shook her head. “Not with the pain.”

“Claire has brought us some new salt, so maybe we'll get lucky.”

Thora looked at me, nodded. “It is appreciated.”

Maybe thinking I had connections, Nedra looked at me. “You know about this Reveillon?”

“I know some.”

“Tell us about it.”

I glanced at Vendi, who smiled. “Tell them what you think they deserve to know.”

If I was here—and the possibility existed that I would be—I'd want to know every single damn detail. So I gave them the truth.

“There's a small army of humans who believe magic is ruining the Zone and everything in it. They believe the only solution is to kill all Paranormals, dismantle Containment, and kill every human who's involved with Containment or Devil's Isle.”

The questions started immediately, were thrown at me like
darts. How many were there? Was Containment trying to find them? Would there be more attacks?

Vendi whistled shrilly, which quieted the noise.

“I don't know much,” I said, “except that everyone is looking for them. They've hurt a lot of people, and they want to hurt many more. I think it's fair to say they're Containment's priority.”

That didn't stop the questions, of course. I didn't know how much I could or should say, but I tried to keep to the basics, repeating the company line. And when I realized I was repeating the company line—the Containment line—I stopped.

I held up a hand. “I don't work for Containment. I own a store in the French Quarter, about a mile from here. We sell food and supplies. But I know people who work for Containment. Maybe you could give me a list of questions, and I could make sure my friend gets them? I could ask him to make sure you get the answers.”

“Paper,” Nedra said, clapping his hands together. “And a pen! Find them!”

—

We went from cottage to cottage, from Para to Para, meeting individuals and families, checking the conditions of some who were ill or injured, making sure others were getting sufficient nutrition. Every family received an allotment of food and Devil's Isle tokens, but they hadn't all adjusted well to human food.

Vendi seemed comfortable in every home, able to navigate each family's unique culture and circumstances. She didn't hesitate to direct them to me when they asked questions about Reveillon. Some were as gracious as Nedra's family had been. Others were quiet, suspicious, obviously angry. I wasn't sure whether that was because some were Consularis and others Court of Dawn or if my being human made them equally cross.

“We're done,” Vendi said after a few hours, when we'd made our way down one side of the street and back again. “I'll take the box to Lizzie, and you can be on your way.”

“Thank you for the experience,” I said, handing it over. “It was very educational.”

Vendi smiled. “Good. You did a passable job for a human.”

I decided to take that as a compliment.

—

I crossed the neighborhood to Liam's building and went up the stairs to his apartment, then knocked on the door.

And when no one answered, I knocked again.

The door swung open, and a woman stared back at me.

She was trim and about my height, with short, dark hair in a bob that angled down toward her sharp cheekbones. Her eyebrows were dark slashes, her eyes luminously hazel, her lips a bee-stung pink against pale skin. She wore a white tank top and jeans, showing off the black and silver tattoos that covered her arms and chest.