The Sight (29 page)

I stared at Liam, watched his golden gaze—so much like Malachi's—turn angry, and then turn away.

Realization hit me. Malachi wasn't taking Liam for help, I realized, knees nearly buckling.

He was helping Liam run.

Liam had become magic, the thing he loathed and feared, the reason Gracie was dead. The reason Eleanor was injured. He'd become
the enemy he'd been hunting since the war began. Not a Paranormal and not a Sensitive, but certainly not a human.

Liam had become one of the demons he chased, and he was running.

And he was running without me.

E
zekiel had been a Sensitive, and he'd become a wraith, or close enough that Containment wouldn't care much about the difference. He'd made war against humans, Paranormals, Containment. That I'd helped battle him back would be dwarfed by that simple fact—whatever else I was, I was still a monster. I was a demon not yet unleashed, and Gunnar couldn't protect me forever.

Liam had chosen to run. I no longer had a choice.

Gunnar had been right about Ezekiel. Without his leadership, and with a new understanding of who he was and how he'd lied, the assault lost momentum and the sounds of battle receded again. No longer afraid of losing ground to Reveillon, Containment agents began to gather up their enemies.

Since I'd proven I was one of them, I had to go.

I ran back to Royal Mercantile, past the revelers who'd already gathered in Jackson Square to celebrate with booze and candles and music. Some were subdued and quiet; others sang a raucous version of “When the Saints Come Marching In.”

I ran past them, past the Pontalba Apartments to Royal, past the former shops and empty lots, pushing through the stream of humans heading toward the Square to join the celebration.

As much as I wanted to be like them, I wasn't. And I'd made that known to the world.

I was a full block away from the store when I realized how little there was to come back to.

I stopped in front of what remained of Royal Mercantile, stared.

They'd knocked the glass out of the front door, but left the leather strap with the bell. The front windows were gone; glass fanned across the sidewalk like snow. The store had been trashed, emptied. Goods either taken or broken, which was just pointless and wasteful.

I walked inside, right through the door, glass crunching beneath my feet, and stared at the devastation.

I'd known this might happen, was likely to happen. But there was a big difference between knowing it and actually seeing it.

Tadji was sweeping glass and grit in the middle of the store. “Claire!” She dropped her broom, ran forward, embraced me in a hug. “Thank God. You're all right.”

I nodded, too numb to react. “Are you okay?”

“I'm good. I'm good.” She looked around the store. “I mean, you can see what happened here.”

“Reveillon?”

She nodded. “The ones too afraid to actually fight, I think. They broke the windows, took a lot. There were so many of them. I wouldn't let the customers fight. I didn't want anyone else getting hurt, Claire. Not over things.”

“Good,” I said. “Good. You did just the right thing, because you're right—it's just stuff. It doesn't matter.”

Did anything matter now?

“What about Burke? Gunnar? Gavin? Liam? Are they all right?”

Guilt settled heavily in my bones. “I don't know,” I admitted. I
hadn't seen them, knew only that we'd won the battle, that Liam had gone, and that I had to. Everything else blurred at the edges.

I went to the stairs, took them two at a time to the storage room.

“Claire!” Tadji called after me as I grabbed the go bag from my armoire. She reached the doorway as I stood up again, and she looked down at the bag with wide eyes.

“Claire, stop,” she said firmly, holding up a hand. “Stop and tell me what's happened.”

“We beat them back. We won. I don't know what will happen with Devil's Isle, with the Paras who helped. But we beat back Reveillon. Ezekiel is dead.”

“Then why are you running?”

“I used magic in front of Containment.”

She looked confused. “But after all this, after everything, they'll understand now. They'll get it.”

I shook my head. “Ezekiel was a Sensitive.”

It took a moment for her to understand what that meant, and why it mattered. “Jesus. He was a wraith?”

I nodded. He was close enough to it. “Containment knows he had magic, what he did with it. The destruction and death he brought. To beat him back, I had to show him. But they won't change their mind about Sensitives. Not now.”

Reveillon was mostly vanquished. Paranormals had shown they could be helpful.

We would be the new enemy.

Tadji shook her head. “Things will change, Claire. They will. Gunnar will see to it. Gunnar will help them understand.”

Gunnar would do what he could within the limits of the law.

“They might change someday,” I said, “but they aren't going to change today. And I can't become a prisoner. I have to go,” I said, and walked past her. I took the stairs again, went to the kitchen.

Reveillon had been here, too. They'd cleaned out most everything that wasn't nailed down.

I pried up a loose floorboard, pulled out the linen pillowcase that held my emergency stash of rice, beans, onions, and water, checked to make sure nothing had spilled out. I rose, handed it to her.

“What's this?”

“Food for you and Burke. Go back to your house and stay there. Gunnar or Gavin will look for you, find you.”

“I don't understand, Claire,” she said, taking the pillowcase and putting it on the counter. “I don't understand what's happening. Where's Liam? He won't let you go without him. He'll want to be sure you're all right.”

“Ezekiel's magic struck him.”

Tadji pressed a hand to her mouth, horror in her eyes.

My voice sounded far away, tinny. Was I in shock? “He's alive,” I said. “But . . . the magic changed him. His eyes . . .” I swallowed hard, willed myself to stay strong. “They turned golden.”

“They turned—” she began, stopping as she realized the implication. She lowered her hand. “He has magic.”

“He went with Malachi. He went without me. I think maybe that he thinks he's a monster. Or, I don't know . . .”

“No, Claire. He must not have seen you. He'd have known that you'd come back here. He's probably on his way.”

“He saw me. I watched him leave.”
He turned away from me,
I wanted to say. I wanted to scream it. But those words were too unbearably sad to voice. So instead, I let silence drop heavily between us.

“He's gone,” I made myself say. “That has to be okay, or I'm not going to make it.” I swallowed a sob that wanted to choke me. “So I'm going to focus on what's next. I'm going to run. And then I'm going to get them out. The Sensitives, the Consularis Paras. I don't
know how, and I don't know when, but I'm going to get them out. I can't do that if I'm in the clinic.”

“Where are you going?”

There was one place I could still go—the place only Liam knew about. And wherever he was right now, whatever future he was facing, he wouldn't tell. He didn't want to think about me.

“I can't tell you. If I don't tell you,” I added when I could see her preparing to argue, “you won't have to lie for me.”

I went behind the counter, took the gun and ammo from the safe, put them in my bag.

“What about the store?”

I zipped up the bag, looked around at the remains of Royal Mercantile, of my family's legacy. My gaze fell on the cuckoo clock at the other end of the counter, its pieces still in organized piles. But it was just a thing, like everything else in the store.

I looked back at Tadji. “Give Lizzie whatever she can use. You take the food—hand it out in the Quarter if you want, or take it home. Make sure Mrs. Proctor has what she needs. Tony, maybe, if he needs something. Board up the rest of it. Just lock it up.”

She looked horrified.

“I'm not worried about the store, Tadji. I'm worried about you, about Gunnar, about Burke and Liam and Eleanor. About Moses and Malachi. Royal Mercantile existed before, and it will exist again. If it can't exist right now, so be it.”

“How are you so calm about this?”

“I'm not calm. I'm angry and I'm afraid that I'm losing everything that means anything to me. Liam . . .” I looked at her and couldn't stop the tears that filled my eyes. “I love him, Tadj. I didn't mean to, not with everything . . . But I do.”

She came to me, put her hands on my arms. “If he has magic, if he
is
magic, that's not standing between you anymore.”

“He ran, Tadji. He ran from me, and I don't know if he's coming back.”

“And what about you?” she said. “Are you coming back?”

“I don't know. When I can. If I can.” I shook my head. “I don't know.”

Tadji lunged forward and embraced me hard enough that I could feel the sobs that racked her as she stroked my hair.

“I thought we'd be done with it, with all of it,” she said. “When the fight was done, when Reveillon was done, we'd rebuild again, and I'd work in the store, and Liam would fall in love with you, and that would be that. We'd make our way, just like we made our way before.”

Don't you dare break,
I told myself.
She needs you, so before you walk away, you damn well better not break here and now.

I pulled back, brushed the tears from her cheeks. “We'll make our way, Tadji. We did before, and we will again. But it will have to be a new way. If you need me, if there's some emergency, get a message to Malachi. He may be able to find me.” If anyone could find a cache of magical objects, it would be him.

Gunnar stepped into the store. He looked a little banged up, but he was on his feet and moving. Relief flooded me. And then fear and regret.

“Thank God,” he said. “I couldn't find you—”

“How's Gavin?” I asked. “And Burke, Moses, Lizzie, Tony—is everyone all right? I came back fast, and I didn't see . . .”

I knew only about Malachi. About Malachi . . . and Liam.

“Tony took a hit from a machete, but he'll be fine. Moses is still eating soup, I think. Gavin and Burke are helping Containment gather up the rest of the Reveillon members. Lizzie's at the clinic. A battalion from Birmingham made it through, and they're on their way.” He nearly smiled, but that hope faded when he looked at my face, then down at the bag in my hands. “Where are you going? And where's Liam?”

I couldn't stop the tears that welled again. “He's alive. Tadji can tell you the rest. I have to go. You know I do. I go, or you stay and arrest me.”

“I won't arrest you.” His voice was fierce.

“If not you, then Broussard, or Reece, or the Commandant, or someone else. It doesn't matter who. Someone will be here to take me in. After Ezekiel, Gunnar, you know they have to. It might be a nicer, kinder Devil's Isle, but it will still be Devil's Isle.”

I could see he wanted to argue but knew there was no argument to make. “Where will you go?”

“I can't tell you. There's a place I can go, and I'll be safe there. But I can't tell you where it is.”

Rage, fear, and understanding seemed to cross his face in turns.

“Plausible deniability, Gunnar. You know it's better that way.”

His lips tightened, but he nodded. “How will we know you're safe?”

“I'll get in touch when I can. Keep Tadji safe. And yourself.”

Gunnar nodded, his own eyes reddening. “I love you, Claire. Please be careful.”

I could only nod, and made myself put on a brave face for both of us. “I love you, too, Gunn. Maybe this will only be temporary,” I said, thinking of what Moses had said, the irony of our positions. He'd come willingly back into Devil's Isle; I was running away from it.

Gunnar walked me to the door, leaving Tadji in front of the counter. I glanced back at her, offered a small wave. She nodded, brought fingers to her lips as her eyes filled with tears.

Everything was changing. The life I'd built for myself, dragged for myself out of war and misery, even if it was a small life, had been mine. I'd had my place, my friends, my routine, my preconceptions of who I was, who my father had been, who Paranormals were. And now that was all gone. Every bit of it dashed.

The rose-colored glasses had been knocked away and trampled underfoot.

But I'm alive,
I reminded myself. I was alive and outside Devil's Isle, where I could change things. For now, that was what mattered. That was what had to matter.

The sun was setting as we walked outside.

And to our left, still a block away, three Containment agents walked down Royal, heading for what remained of Royal Mercantile. Captain John Reece led the charge, and they all had weapons strapped to their sides.

Gunnar's gaze sharpened, and he turned toward them, shielding my body with his. “Go, Claire. Now. Out the back.”

I slipped into the alley as he called out, “Captain Reece. What can I do for you?”

—

It was three miles to the Apollo. I walked slowly, stayed in the shadows and stopped every few blocks, waiting for a car to pass, or a spotlight to swing by, scanning for Reveillon members still on the loose, or for the Sensitive who'd shown her magic.

When I reached the station, I waited behind the fence of the empty house next door for fifteen minutes, figuring anyone who'd tracked me that far would have shown themselves. But the silence was broken only by the hum of crickets, the breeze through palm leaves.

I jogged to the door, magicked the lock, and slipped inside, locking it again behind me.

I stood in the silence for minutes—five or ten—sure that Liam would walk out of the darkness and find me, that we'd comfort each other, that he'd realize we could finally be together.

That we were the same kind of monster.

But the building was utterly and completely silent. There'd be no homecoming. Not now.

I dropped my bag to the floor and followed it there, sliding down to the concrete. I cried until my eyes burned and my chest ached. I cried for the souls we'd lost that day, for the humans who'd sought salvation in hate and violence, and who'd paid the price for their choice.