The Landreau house was two stately stories in creamy yellow fronted by porches and marked with columns. The main house had once been surrounded by palm trees, so tours had referred to it as the “Palm Tree House.” I’d passed it a dozen times as a teenager. I hadn’t known Gunnar then, but I’d known the house. Now the trees were mostly gone, and so were most of the Landreaus’ neighbors.
We parked and climbed out of the jeep. There was a Containment vehicle at the curb, a few agents milling around. Even the sight of them made me nervous.
“You’ll be fine,” Liam murmured. “They’ll have already interviewed the family.”
Gunnar jogged to one of the agents, nodded at whatever information he got, then joined us again.
Campbell’s wife, Sloane, met us at the front door. Gunnar embraced her, and we followed them in silence through the house.
It looked, as it always did, untouched by war. No soot on the walls, no smears from magical fire on the antique carpets. The furniture was expensive and immaculate, the crown molding pristine, pretty little art objects and framed photographs on nearly every surface. The house blazed with lights, and the air was frigid. The Landreaus had two generators, and they’d donated several dozen to the city’s remaining schools. They’d also paid a small fortune to repair their house after the war. But the city needed it. We needed normalcy. We needed hope. That was, after all, why we’d all stayed—because we believed regular life in New Orleans would be possible again someday.
We walked into the living room, where beautiful lamps cast shadows along walls papered with toile. Emme lay on a long sofa in the living room, her skin pale, white bandages across her neck and forehead. She was tall, nearly six feet of slender girl, but tonight she looked as small and delicate as a doll.
Liam stood beside me a few feet away, and I felt his body jerk, probably with the sharp and painful memory of his sister. I reached out, squeezed his hand. That made him jerk, too, so I pulled my hand away again and focused on standing there awkwardly.
“Damn it,” he murmured. “I’m sorry.”
I shook my head. Of course he didn’t want sympathy from me. I was a Sensitive. If it wasn’t for people like me, his sister would still be alive.
I tried for a nonchalant smile, but I wasn’t sure if I pulled it off. I made myself focus on what was in front of me.
Gunnar knelt on the floor beside the couch, replacing Zach, who stood up, wincing. I guessed he’d been there for a while. He walked toward us. He was clearly a Landreau, with his crooked mouth and dark hair. Tonight, he looked exhausted.
He reached out, gave me a hug.
“How are you doing?”
“Not great.”
I nodded. “I’m so sorry. She’s stable?”
Zach nodded. “For now, yeah. Dad has her on some pretty stiff painkillers.” He rolled tension from his shoulders. “I never saw a wraith before. It was—not good. I was here during the war, and I’m not sure I’ve ever been so scared.”
“They’re pretty horrible,” I agreed.
His gaze fell to Emme again, heavy with guilt. “It took me a moment to move—if I’d gotten there faster, maybe . . .”
Zach suddenly realized Liam was standing there, blinked. “Who are you?”
“God, I’m sorry,” I said. “Zach Landreau, this is Liam Quinn. I don’t know if you heard, but I happened upon a wraith attack last night. Liam helped me. He’s a bounty hunter.”
Gunnar looked back at me. “The wraiths you saw—weren’t there two of them?”
“Two males,” I said with a nod. “They were headed uptown.”
We parked and climbed out of the jeep. There was a Containment vehicle at the curb, a few agents milling around. Even the sight of them made me nervous.
“You’ll be fine,” Liam murmured. “They’ll have already interviewed the family.”
Gunnar jogged to one of the agents, nodded at whatever information he got, then joined us again.
Campbell’s wife, Sloane, met us at the front door. Gunnar embraced her, and we followed them in silence through the house.
It looked, as it always did, untouched by war. No soot on the walls, no smears from magical fire on the antique carpets. The furniture was expensive and immaculate, the crown molding pristine, pretty little art objects and framed photographs on nearly every surface. The house blazed with lights, and the air was frigid. The Landreaus had two generators, and they’d donated several dozen to the city’s remaining schools. They’d also paid a small fortune to repair their house after the war. But the city needed it. We needed normalcy. We needed hope. That was, after all, why we’d all stayed—because we believed regular life in New Orleans would be possible again someday.
We walked into the living room, where beautiful lamps cast shadows along walls papered with toile. Emme lay on a long sofa in the living room, her skin pale, white bandages across her neck and forehead. She was tall, nearly six feet of slender girl, but tonight she looked as small and delicate as a doll.
Liam stood beside me a few feet away, and I felt his body jerk, probably with the sharp and painful memory of his sister. I reached out, squeezed his hand. That made him jerk, too, so I pulled my hand away again and focused on standing there awkwardly.
“Damn it,” he murmured. “I’m sorry.”
I shook my head. Of course he didn’t want sympathy from me. I was a Sensitive. If it wasn’t for people like me, his sister would still be alive.
I tried for a nonchalant smile, but I wasn’t sure if I pulled it off. I made myself focus on what was in front of me.
Gunnar knelt on the floor beside the couch, replacing Zach, who stood up, wincing. I guessed he’d been there for a while. He walked toward us. He was clearly a Landreau, with his crooked mouth and dark hair. Tonight, he looked exhausted.
He reached out, gave me a hug.
“How are you doing?”
“Not great.”
I nodded. “I’m so sorry. She’s stable?”
Zach nodded. “For now, yeah. Dad has her on some pretty stiff painkillers.” He rolled tension from his shoulders. “I never saw a wraith before. It was—not good. I was here during the war, and I’m not sure I’ve ever been so scared.”
“They’re pretty horrible,” I agreed.
His gaze fell to Emme again, heavy with guilt. “It took me a moment to move—if I’d gotten there faster, maybe . . .”
Zach suddenly realized Liam was standing there, blinked. “Who are you?”
“God, I’m sorry,” I said. “Zach Landreau, this is Liam Quinn. I don’t know if you heard, but I happened upon a wraith attack last night. Liam helped me. He’s a bounty hunter.”
Gunnar looked back at me. “The wraiths you saw—weren’t there two of them?”
“Two males,” I said with a nod. “They were headed uptown.”
