CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

We waited at the church, biding our time, to learn what, if anything, the Commandant would or could do to stop the nightmare.

We sat on the floor where pews had once been. Malachi, Erida, Liam, me. Liam had pulled bottles of water from the priest hole under the floor, passed them around. We waited quietly, talking through what we knew of the project and what we didn’t yet know.

I heard the rumbling first, the sound of a thundering engine a few blocks away. Then garbled words filled the air.

“What is that?” Erida asked. We rose and moved into the foyer, peered through the stained glass to look outside.

It was a Containment vehicle, a heavy-duty truck with its bed covered by canvas. A troop carrier, probably. A man stood in the back of the truck, megaphone in hand.

“Attention! Containment has issued bounties for Liam Quinn, Claire Connolly, Gavin Quinn. If you have information regarding these individuals, please communicate with a Containment agent or your block captain. Attention, Containment has issued . . .”

The truck rumbled on, its passengers oblivious to the fact that it had just driven past two of the three fugitives they wanted most of all.

“Someone is running scared,” Malachi said, glancing back at us. “They aren’t insulated enough—or the project isn’t far enough along—that they believe they’re immune from setbacks. They’re afraid you’ll stop them.”

“Good,” I said. “Because we will.”

We just had to stay free long enough to do it.

What he didn’t say, of course, was that that concern might also cause Laura Blackwell and Lorenzo Caval to go crazy. To hurt more people.

•   •   •

It took three hours for the door to shake and be pushed open again. Gunnar came in, and once again, he wasn’t alone.

A woman stepped in behind him. A beautiful woman. Pale skin and long, dark hair pulled into a high knot. Her eyes were a glassy blue that edged toward green, her nose thin and straight, her lips lush. She was tall and lean, wore jeans and a Tulane T-shirt with the kind of self-assurance that told me she could wear a uniform or a cocktail dress with the same confidence.

“This is Rachel Lewis. She’s a colleague, and she’s trustworthy,” Gunnar said, the word spoken like a kind of promise. Which was good, because everyone looked at her with obvious suspicion.

Probably sensing that, she met each of our eyes in turn, checking, appraising, and promising she wasn’t an enemy. And then her gaze—liquid and intense—fell on Malachi, and she went absolutely still.

I glanced at him, found the same intensity on his face, except that it was marked with temper. Usually cool, calm, and collected, Malachi now looked ruffled, on alert, by the slender woman who stood in front of him.

“Captain,” he said, biting off the word like it had left a bitter taste in his mouth.

“General,” she said. If her emotions were roiling like Malachi’s seemed to be, she was doing a much better job of hiding it. And wasn’t that interesting? Had we finally met someone who challenged his remarkable control?

“You’re acquainted?” Gunnar asked.

“During the war,” she said, without taking her eyes off Malachi. I could understand that, too. He was a very intense eyeful. “There was a unit of human and Para soldiers who assisted with the closing of the Veil.”

“Black ops,” Gunnar put in, and she nodded.

“But we haven’t seen each other since.” Even with her pretty Southern accent, her words were clipped.

“No,” Malachi said, and there was nothing pleasant in his tone now. “We haven’t.”

“Well,” Gunnar muttered, “let’s sidestep whatever this is and get down to business. The Commandant is very concerned about what we’ve found. Rachel is the Commandant’s operations director, and she’s on loan to us for the time being.”

“I take it the Commandant believes us?” Liam asked.

“There’s no documentation that confirms Icarus is a project of Containment in New Orleans.”

“No official documentation,” Liam said, and Gunnar nodded.

“Exactly. But Containment resources are clearly being used,” Gunnar said. “You’ve found ample evidence of that.”

“How do you reconcile that financially?” I asked.

“The orders came down from on high,” Gunnar said. “Long story short, Icarus began as a joint project of the Senate’s Armed Services Committee and the FBI. It was initiated after the Veil was identified, before the war. A countermeasure in case something came through.”

“Preventive genocide?” Malachi asked.

“I’d definitely call it a biological weapon,” Gunnar said. “Beyond that, we’re assuming facts they didn’t know. There was only the unknown, a lot of fear, and a desire to protect the public, for better or worse.

“The plans didn’t get very far,” he continued. “There were vague ideas about synthesizing something with biological stopping power, but since they didn’t know anything about what was living in the Beyond—or specifically about Paranormal anatomy—they didn’t move past the idea stage. When the war started, the project was put on hold, and the materiel, money, and personnel shifted to conventional weapons.”

“Like cold iron,” I said.

“Like cold iron,” Gunnar agreed. “Laura Blackwell was on the synthesis team, but she lost her job when funding was cut off. And that was the end of Icarus. Or it was supposed to be.”

“And then what?” Liam asked.

“The war kept going. Tens of thousands dead, property destroyed. The more reasonable politicians realized that developing a virus to infect an entire world was pretty fucking unethical. But not everyone was reasonable.”

“Fear makes people . . . well, people,” Liam said.

“It does,” Gunnar agreed, his face hard.

The plan was obviously unethical, but it was understandable in wartime, when humans had been concerned for their very existence. I’d seen the army that still waited on the other side of the Veil. Those soldiers weren’t overly concerned about our genocide; it was their primary motivation.

On the other hand, biological agents weren’t choosy. They would kill soldiers and civilians both, the guilty and the innocent. However horrible war was, it wasn’t supposed to be that bad.

“The unreasonable politicians?” I prompted.

“They restarted Icarus. Created ADZ Logistics as a shell company and funneled money through the PCC directly to that entity.”

“And Laura Blackwell was back in the lab,” I said.

Gunnar nodded ruefully. “That’s what it looks like.”

“What’s next?” Malachi asked.

“A lot of work on a lot of levels,” Gunnar said. “Big picture—the Commandant is communicating with several members of the Senate’s Oversight Committee, requesting a review of Icarus.

“As for Broussard,” he continued, looking at Liam, “the blood on Caval’s hands was verified as Broussard’s, and the writing on the wall at Broussard’s house included one of Caval’s fingerprints.”

“Lorenzo?” I asked.

Gunnar shook his head. “AWOL. Cleaned out his bunk. No obvious link to Icarus left behind. His sheets, pillow were still there, and they will be tested. But it doesn’t matter for now. There’s ample evidence Liam is innocent, and the Commandant has demanded the charges be dropped immediately. He can’t rescind the bounty because of the magic Liam used at Broussard’s house, because there were witnesses, and the Magic Act is still in place. But the murder charges are off the table.”

I reached out, squeezed Liam’s hand. “Good,” I said. “That’s something, anyway.”

Gunnar nodded. “One step at a time.” He glanced at Rachel, gave her the go-ahead to continue.

“We’re working on warrants right now,” she said. “As soon as the lawyers do their jobs, we’ll go to ADZ Logistics, where a group of Containment agents and a team from the CDC will inspect the premises and seize any remaining biologicals.”

“You need warrants to inspect a Containment site?” Liam asked.

“No,” Rachel said. “But it’s not technically a Containment site. It’s privately owned, as far as all official records show.”

“It’s off the books,” Liam said.

“It is,” Rachel acknowledged with a nod.

“As we discussed earlier,” Gunnar said, “we’ve sent additional physicians to work sites. Leave has been temporarily halted until we’re sure it’s safe.”

“So you’ll punish Paranormals?” Malachi accused.

“We’ll keep them inside Devil’s Isle,” Rachel said. “For better or worse, it is the most secure and safest facility we can provide for them at this time. There are also no instances of illness inside Devil’s Isle, which Lizzie has confirmed. You’re welcome to confirm that with her directly, if you can.”

There was a challenge in her voice. Captain Lewis was good.

“If this is being directed at the higher levels,” Liam said, “the Commandant will take heat.”

“He is aware of that,” she said. “But as long as Devil’s Isle remains under his command, he’ll act accordingly.”

“We’ll help however we can,” I said.

Rachel gave Malachi a quick glance before looking at her watch. “I’d like to get back so we can go over the op.”

“Sure,” Gunnar said. “Sure.” He looked around the church. “You all good for tonight?”

“We’re fine,” Liam said. “We’ll meet back here in the morning?”

“Let’s make it Moses’s house,” I said. “He gets testy when he’s not included.”

“Can’t argue with that,” Liam said. “Dawn, then.”

Arrangements were made, and Gunnar and Rachel left.

“I need to make some contacts,” Malachi said. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

“I’ve also got something I need to take care of,” Liam said, then glanced at me. “You can get back okay?”

I nodded.

“Then I’ll see you.”

The promise, however vague, was enough to have a blush rising in my cheeks. He’d spoken those words to me, for me, and my body eagerly responded.

Since we were preparing to face the music all the way around, I approached Erida, the only one who hadn’t yet arranged her getaway.

“Can I talk to you before you leave?”

If the request made her suspicious, she didn’t show it. But then, her poker face was nearly as good as Malachi’s. “All right.”

“Maybe outside?”

Her brows lifted, but she nodded, followed me through the back of the church and outside again. The sun was setting, the sky streaked with orange and purple.

I walked a few feet away, giving myself time to prepare, then turned back to her. “I know you and my father were lovers. Is that why you hate me?”

Her body jerked at the question. It didn’t bother me that I’d shocked her.

“I don’t hate you, Claire. I don’t even really know you.”

Given what I’d seen lately, I didn’t think knowing someone was a requirement for hating them. So I stayed quiet.

“If you mean,” she went on, her voice softer, “do I hate you because you are your mother’s daughter . . .” She paused, seemed to gather her thoughts. “I didn’t know your mother well. I only knew what he told me, that she had broken your father’s heart.”

“He told me she was dead.”

“You mentioned that,” she said. If she’d judged my father for the lie, it didn’t show in her face.

“And now I know she isn’t. You’d know that now, too.”

She inclined her head. “Malachi told me.”

“I thought my father and I had this nice simple life. Antiques and MREs. That my mother had died, but we survived together.” I looked at her. “But that’s not true. She was still alive. He had magic, and he had you.” I paused. “Why didn’t he tell me?”

As if to give herself time, Erida went over to the wisteria that climbed over the church’s back wall, ran her finger across a cluster of lavender flowers. Then she turned back. “I don’t know. I thought he had, and that you simply didn’t want to be near a woman you saw as a poor replacement for your mother.”

“He told you that?”

“No,” she said, with a soft smile. “I thought perhaps he sought to soothe my feelings. I imagine he wanted to keep you safe in the way he knew how—by keeping you away from magic and keeping magic away from you.”

The same protective instinct that had driven Liam into the bayou.

“He loved you, Claire, and he wanted to build a wall around you to keep you safe. So he compartmentalized his life.”

“You shielded Royal Mercantile from the magic monitors.” It was a guess, but I was pretty sure I was right.

She nodded. “He was concerned he might use his magic without thinking, trigger the alarms, and bring Containment. He didn’t want you left alone if he got dragged into Devil’s Isle.”

But I ended up in Devil’s Isle anyway. Not dragged, but there because I’d used my magic, triggered Containment, and had to ask Moses to erase the evidence.

“He had such plans for you and the store, for life when things got back to normal. He was working on a second location for the store—an old Apollo gas station in Carrolton.”

So he’d told her about the gas station, or at least part of it. “You don’t know if he finished it?” I tried to keep my voice neutral, but it was hard.

Grief was clear in her eyes. “I don’t know. I shielded it while he was restoring it, but I had to leave New Orleans. Fighting in Shreveport was getting heavier, and I was needed. I was gone for two months . . . and he was gone by the time I got back.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know you lost him. But I lost him, too.”

I nodded.

“I haven’t been to the building since he died. It’s been so long, I’m not even sure I could find it again.”

We’d both lost my father. Maybe it was time to find something new.

“I know where it is,” I said. “He finished it. Maybe I can show it to you sometime.”

She looked at me for a long time, a dozen emotions swirling across her face. “I’d like that,” she finally said, the deal between us done, and maybe something forged.

•   •   •

I drove Scarlet back to the gas station, parked her in a narrow slot in the alley behind it, covered her with a couple of tarps I found in a nearby garage. They’d keep her safe for now, or at least make her appear uninteresting to casual observers.

It was ironic that I couldn’t park my newly adopted car in the gas station I lived in, but none of the garage doors were operable. They’d all been closed and sealed to keep the temperature and humidity consistent. So until I came up with a better plan, it was the alley for her.

I came around the block, waited halfheartedly for a bit to ensure that all was clear, and then stared.

The Snoball sign I’d found in Moses’s butter house—and walked away from—was propped beside the gas station door. The grime had been cleared away so the metal gleamed, the letters brilliant and enticing.

I walked toward it, knelt, and ran a finger down the raised ridges of each letter. Memories of another time, as if swollen by the history they contained.

The air changed, shifted, raising the hair at the back of my neck.

Slowly, I rose to my feet and glanced behind me.

Liam stood fifteen feet away, hands at his sides, longing laid bare on his face. His eyes shimmered—blue, then gold, then blue, his brows drawn together with an intensity that reminded me of a warrior, of a wolf. Of a man on a mission.

Lust rose so hot, so bright, it might have been a forming star.

“You looked like you wanted that. Back at the house near Moses’s, I mean.”

I nodded, and felt like gossamer glass, fragile and ready to break. It took two tries to get out “Thank you. It will look good in there.”

Liam nodded.

“I’m sorry,” he said, and I could see the truth of it in his eyes. “I’m so sorry I left you alone.”

I ran to him, and he welcomed me with strong arms.

“I’m sorry,” he said into my hair. “I’m so sorry. I thought I was doing the right thing.”

In his arms, I broke, shattered into a million pieces. “You left us.”

“I know. And I’m so sorry.”

“I didn’t know my mother. She left. The war came, and my friends left. My teachers left. My father died. He left.” I looked at him, let him see the truth in my eyes. And when he realized it, regret settled into his face. “The battle came, and you left. You left when we needed each other most.”

“I thought I was saving us, shielding you. Instead, I put myself far away from the one person who makes me stronger. Because we’re stronger together.” He tipped my chin up. “I love you, Claire. Maybe it’s too soon for that; maybe it’s too late. I don’t even care if you say it back. I love you. And I will never leave you again.”

I lifted my head, searched for his mouth. He met my lips softly, careful but hopeful. His fingers slid into my hair as he moved closer, melding the long line of his body with mine.

I felt my body warming, loosening, relaxing for the first time in weeks, melting in the heat of his arms.

The rain fell suddenly, the sky letting go just as we had, and soaked us to the bone immediately.

He pulled back, pushed wet hair from my face. “We should probably get inside. If you’re okay with that.”

“I demand it,” I said with an answering grin.

Before I could argue, and probably because he knew I would, he picked me up, carried me to the door.

I unlocked it and flipped on the lights, but Liam switched them off again.

“Don’t need lights,” he murmured, shutting the door and leaving us in darkness. The room was pitch-black, and there was a moment of exquisite anticipation before he found my mouth again and steered me backward until my hips hit the lip of a table.

He hoisted me onto it, pulled me hard against his body while rain pelted the roof like a corps of drummers. His mouth pummeled mine, assaulted and possessed it. He kissed me like a man long denied, like a man returning from war.

And maybe that wasn’t far from the truth.

I dug my fingers into his hair and wrapped my legs around his waist, nearly moaned from the feel of him, hard and ready, at my core.

Our kisses became brutal, full of heat and anger and promise. I pulled back, yanked at the hem of his shirt, slid my hands against the bunched muscles of his abdomen. His body was strong, lean muscle honed from hard and honest work.

He pulled the T-shirt over his head and I let my hands roam against skin still damp from the downpour, every inch of skin and muscle taut.

“Your body . . . is a wonderland,” I said, when I couldn’t think of any other way to finish that sentence.

Liam snorted, pulled my shirt over my head, found my breasts with his hands. I arched forward into his fingers as fire erupted under my skin, fire that only he could control.

Then even that bit of lace was gone, and we were down to rain-sodden jeans. I caught my lip between my teeth, smiled at him as I reached for the snap of his jeans.

“Are you sure—?”

I cut off his question with a kiss. “I need you,” I murmured against his lips. “I’ve needed you for a long time. I just didn’t know it until we met. And then I told myself I didn’t. And then you came back.”

“And I’m not leaving again.”

“You may have mentioned that.”

Then the rest of his clothes were heaped on the floor, and he was hot and heavy in my hand, his arms braced on the table as he dropped his forehead to mine, struggled to breathe. He reached back, pushed artifacts carefully but decisively away, and pressed me into the tabletop. Then his hand was at my core, inciting.

“Now,” I said, and his hands were at my jeans, and then I was bared to him, too.

He was already hard, his body primed and ready. “Now,” he agreed. He thrust, locked our bodies together. He paused, his body shaking with desire, arms corded as he sought to gain control.

“Claire,” he muttered, his breath heavy at my temple.

“Don’t stop now,” I said, and wrapped my arms around his neck as he climbed onto the table above me, his gorgeous face above mine, one hand behind my head to cushion it, as his hips worked.

“Never,” he said, and pressed his mouth to mine, found my center again, and sent us both over the edge.