The Veil by Chloe Neill
“I can respect that.”
“Better get the rest of the boxes,” he said. “Still a few deliveries to go.”
We left the cooler on the table, walked back into the heat.
“Heard there was a wraith attack last night,” Trey said, stepping into the truck again and handing me a box.
It didn’t look like I’d be able to avoid the wraiths. “Yep. Right down the street. Two of them.”
“They get away?”
“As far as I’m aware. They were trying to attack a girl. I understand she got away, too.”
“Good. Good for her. Quite a damn thing, ain’t it? New Orleans thinks it’s well and done with monsters and magic, and they just keep popping back up.”
“Indeed they do.”
“So,” he said as we moved another load into the building, “did you hear about old man Lipscomb? Got into it last week in the middle of the street with Hoyt Bauer—accused him of stealing his woman.”
I smiled. “I did not. Tell me all about it.”
• • •
That story, as it turned out, was a good and sordid one, with plenty of deception, passion, betrayal. New Orleans gave good gossip.
I’d gotten just the last of the stock put away when the cuckoo clock in the front of the store began to chime noon. It was shaped like a small cottage and was dark brown with age. At the first chime of noon, a small girl in a red cape would move along a track in front, basket in hand. When the sixth peal sounded, a tall gray wolf with glinting yellow teeth emerged from the other side to follow her. He chased her into the cottage, and at the peal of noon, Little Red Riding Hood kicked the wolf out the door.
“She’s almost as brave as you are,” my father had said.
My dad had brought the clock back in several pieces from a scouting trip to Germany. I was proud that I’d been the one to put it back together, to fiddle with the gears and springs and screws until it chimed again.
Noon meant it was time to open the shop. I walked to the door, found Liam Quinn on the sidewalk, arms crossed and staring at an arrangement of Limoges snuffboxes in the window. Not a lot of demand for snuffboxes these days, but they made a pretty display.
He wore jeans and a snug black V-neck T-shirt, and there was dark scruff on his cheeks. He probably had slept as little as I had, but on him the effect was more roguish, more dangerous.
He said he’d talk to me about Nix, but part of me was still surprised to find him there. He was a strange new chapter in my life, and the thread between those pages and the others still seemed fragile and thin.
I flipped the CLOSED sign over, then unlocked and opened the door. “Liam.”
“Claire. Can I come in?”
I moved aside, gestured grandly. “Store’s open. Cash and tokens accepted. You break it, you buy it.”
He snorted, moved inside.
I walked back to the counter, unlocked the metal cashbox from the small safe under the counter, and set it out, along with a receipt pad and pen.
Liam took his time moving through the store, his gaze slipping over furniture, antiques, supplies. After a moment, his gaze shifted to mine, like he’d felt my stare, realized I’d been watching him. He was in my store, on my turf, so I didn’t look away.
“Nix is willing to meet with you tonight,” he said, cutting to the chase.
I winced. Bad timing. “Is there any way we could do it at any other time?”
He just lifted his brows, obviously not impressed by the question.
“I know you’re both doing me a favor,” I said, holding up my hands. “It’s just, on Sunday nights I have dinner with some friends.” I knew the explanation sounded weak—sounded like an excuse—but dinner was my weekly ritual, a dose of normalcy I needed. I had to hold on to normalcy, to Gunnar and Tadji. “It’s important to us. It’s just—”
“It’s normal,” he said.
“Yeah,” I said, relieved. “It’s normal.”
“What time is it?”
“Seven thirty.”
“We could come at six o’clock. That would give us an hour and a half. It’s not ideal, but it will work for the first meeting.”
“Thank you. That would be great. But how are we going to do whatever we’ll be doing here? There are monitors everywhere.”
“We’ll leave that to Nix,” Liam said. “Maybe she’ll want to walk somewhere else.”
“You’re sure she’s trustworthy?” I was putting a lot of faith in Liam, in what we were doing, in his ability to keep me out of Devil’s Isle. Nix was an unknown.
“I’m not sure anyone’s trustworthy when push comes to shove,” he said. “But I don’t have any reason to doubt her. I’ve known her for years.”
It wasn’t a rosy worldview, but it was practical. I could appreciate that.
“Six o’clock,” he said again.
He looked at me for a moment, lips drawn into a near smile, daring me to argue with him. But I knew when to pick my battles, and this wasn’t a fight worth waging.
“Okay.”
He nodded, the deal done.
“And since I was in the neighborhood, I went by the Supreme Court. I wanted to check out the grounds in daylight, see if there was any sign of the wraiths, anything they might have left behind.”
“What did you find?”
“Looks like they’ve been sleeping in the building. The ground was pretty soft, and I found footprints back to one of the boarded-over windows. No longer boarded over, of course. There’s a corner where it looks like they bedded down. Couple of blankets, some food wrappers. They’ve probably been foraging.”
That made sense. There were probably still a few houses in New Orleans that hadn’t been cleaned out of food and supplies.
“That doesn’t necessarily mean it was wraiths,” I said.
“It could have been humans,” Liam allowed, “but I don’t think so. There aren’t many tracks, and the few that are there lead to the spot where the wraiths emerged.”
“Does that mean Containment didn’t check it out?”
“Why would they?” Liam asked. “Their resources are limited. If they think wraiths are animals, and their only goal is to bring them in or take them down, there’s nothing to investigate.”
The bell rang, and we both glanced back at the door. I was expecting Mrs. Proctor, one of my regulars, who always came by on Sundays to see what the convoy had brought.
It wasn’t her. Instead, a man walked in—tall, light skin, dark hair—and he searched the store, ultimately settling his blue-eyed gaze on Liam.
But Liam was facing me, his back to the door. “Behind you,” I warned quietly, keeping my gaze on the stranger, waiting for him to reveal whether he was friend or foe.
Liam turned back, his shoulders stiffening at the sight of the man who strolled toward us like he was on a personal mission. He reached Liam, then punched him square in the face with a cruel right cross.
“Son of a bitch,” Liam roared, and jumped forward. They met like rams battling for territory: arms pushing, fists swinging, and mouths bleating with anger and four-letter words.
I rushed around the counter, one hand on the wood to keep my balance, ducked to avoid a swinging elbow. When they made a dive toward a lawyer’s bookshelf that held antique canning jars, I jumped in. I’d rather have a black eye than lose the merchandise. I’d foraged those myself.
Besides, Liam had saved my bacon the night before. We were practically friends now.
“Jesus, break it up!” I said, putting an arm around Liam’s waist—the devil I knew—and yanking him back. Or trying to—it was like trying to move a mountain.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I said, a half grunt with one arm still around Liam’s waist. “Step back! There’s no fighting in my place. And definitely no sucker punches.”
The man dropped his double-fisted grip on Liam’s T-shirt. Liam stepped back, the anger pulsing off him, hot as sunlight on the August asphalt.
Chests heaving, muscles t
“It’s only a sucker punch if you don’t know the entire story,” said the new guy. I wasn’t sure if there was amusement or challenge in his eyes. “And if you’re smart, cher, you’ll step aside and let me and your man handle this little dispute.”
“He’s not my man.”
“I’m not her man.”
Our answers had been quick, simultaneous. Not flattering for either of us.
The man lifted his gaze to Liam’s. “Ouch. Haven’t yet convinced her, have you, Liam?”
Liam curled his lip, winced at the cut. “Shut up,” he said, lifted the back of his hand to his mouth, pulling back to see blood. “You split my lip.”
“I owed you one.”
“I think your memory has taken a turn for the worse, frère.”
Their eyes were narrowing at each other, fists curled and ready for another strike. Which I was not going to allow. I grabbed an old cowbell from the bookshelf, shook it to send a metallic clang in the air.
“Everybody shut up!” I yelled.
This time, they both jumped back. I returned the bell to the shelf, glanced back to realize Mrs. Proctor stood in the doorway, her petite frame in soft pants and a matching top, a silk scarf knotted around her neck. She always dressed up for a trip to Royal.
I rushed forward. “I am so sorry, Mrs. Proctor. We’re just—”
She grinned, white teeth against dark skin. “Oh, don’t stop on my account, dear.” She gave Liam and the interloper a very naughty grin. “That’s the best thing I’ve seen in seven years.”
I put a gentle hand on her arm, pointed her toward the display of new merch. “Yes, ma’am. Maybe you could check out the soap we just got in while I take care of this?”
She didn’t look thrilled that I was taking away her entertainment. She walked into the right-hand part of the store, but kept her admiring gaze on Liam’s butt.
It wasn’t a bad butt, I thought, before snapping back to attention and striding back to the guys. I put my hands on my hips. Since I didn’t want to jump in the middle of whatever this was, I hoped it made me look authoritative. “Are you done being idiots?”
“You don’t mince words,” said the stranger.
“This is my place. I don’t have to mince words.”
“It’s all right, Claire.” Liam had pulled a bandanna from his jeans, daubed it against his mouth before pocketing it again. “This is Gavin. My younger brother.”
“Yeah, I had enough high school French to get ‘frère.’” And it made sense physically. They both had the same dark hair, the same blue eyes. Gavin would have had the same nose, but for the spot on the bridge where it had obviously been broken, probably in another fight.
But that didn’t explain what had just happened—and was currently being enjoyed by Mrs. Proctor, who was peering at us from behind the bookshelf, eyes wide.
“Mrs. Proctor,” I warned, and she disappeared again.
Gavin choked back a laugh.
I skewered him with a glance. “Why did you punch your brother?”
Gavin kept his gaze on Liam. “There’s not enough time for that list of grievances. Who are you?”
“Claire Connolly,” Liam said. “It’s her store.”
“That’s what I hear. Hello, Claire Connolly.”
“Hi.”
“How did you find me?” Liam asked.
“A mutual friend,” Gavin said.
“Nix?”
“Maybe.” Gavin’s gaze shifted to Liam, then back to me. “And how did you two meet?”
“Wraith attack last night. Couple of blocks from here.”
“She looks healthy,” Gavin said.
“I’m right here. And I’m fine.”
Liam lowered his voice. “She fought back. She has some . . . skills.”
He’d used the code word, I guessed, because we weren’t alone. But Gavin seemed to get it, and nodded.
“You’ve been gone for nearly a year this time,” Liam said.
That explained the animosity. Maybe Liam was pissed his brother had bailed on New Orleans, or maybe on their grandmother. And if the punch was any indication, Gavin had bad feelings toward Liam, too.
“I had a job,” Gavin said.
“Oh, I’m sure you did.”
“Bec mon tchu.”
I didn’t recognize the Cajun, but I got the gist from Gavin’s spitting tone, and it wasn’t polite.
“Where’d the wraiths come from?” he asked.
“Near the Supreme Court building,” I said. It was my story to tell, after all. And I was getting pretty good at telling it.
Gavin smiled grimly. “Demons in the Supreme Court. Seven years ago, that would have been a pretty good joke.”
“It was a pretty good one last night,” Liam said. “How long will you be here this time?”
Gavin’s face went blank. “I’m here for a job. Then I’m leaving.”
“Commitment never was your forte.”
Gavin glowered. His voice, quiet given Mrs. Proctor’s apparent interest, was still fierce. “Some of us have lives in the real world.”
“The Zone is the real world,” I said. “And we have lives.”
“All evidence to the contrary.” He glanced at me, gaze appraising. “One day under your tutelage and she’s already insulting me like a pro.”
“I’m not under his tutelage.”
“No,” Liam said, and I caught the gleam in his eye. “But she needs tutelage from someone. We talked to Eleanor, and she brought out the catalogue.”
“How is Eleanor?”
“Good, not that you’d know. You should visit her.”
Gavin shook his head, looked away. “My being there doesn’t do her any good.”
“You’re more of an idiot than I thought if you truly believe that. In any event, you’ll want to talk to her. She matched Claire with Nix.”
Gavin’s gaze snapped back to Liam. “No. I won’t put her at risk.”
Liam had guessed right about Gavin’s reaction. His brows lifted. “It’s not your choice. It’s hers. And she’s already agreed to meet.”
Gavin’s voice went quiet, cold. “She didn’t mention that. And she won’t understand the danger. She never does.”
“I don’t want to be in danger, either,” I offered with a raised hand, but they both ignored me. This was a brotherly testosterone battle that clearly had nothing to do with me.
“There has to be someone else.”
“There isn’t.”
Gavin opened his mouth to retort, changed his mind. He walked to the front window, crossed his arms, gazed outside.
“I presume Nix is a love interest?” I asked quietly.
“Not at present.”
“Ah,” I said. “Not at present” could cover any number of sins or breakups or infidelities. “He doesn’t seem to be happy about that result.”
“He is not. And he’s jealous. It’s an awkward combination.”
“I would imagine so.”
Gavin walked back, anger tightening his shoulders. He moved with a swagger, and I wondered who Nix was to have knotted him up so tightly—and what had happened with them.
Mrs. Proctor emerged from a set of secretaries with a box of powdered milk.
I waved a hand at the Quinn boys, brushing them aside. “Customers, gentleman.” This time, the grumbles were unanimous. That was probably progress. Anyway, they moved over.
I took the milk from her, marked my receipt pad, put it in a small paper bag with a handle. “Mrs. Proctor, we got butter today. Would you like some?”
Her eyes widened. “Oh, I’d love to say yes, but I don’t have any ice, and that nice boy from the icehouse—what’s his name?”
A shop down the road, formerly a bookstore that had been burned out during the war, sold blocks of ice. When the convoy delivered fresh goods to my store, he usually had good days. People didn’t want to trust rare treats to the whims of electricity.
“Clark. And he?
She waved a hand. “I’m ninety-eight, dear. And I don’t look a day over seventy-two.”
“Not a day over,” Gavin agreed, and winked at her.
She winked back. “He won’t be back around until tomorrow. Which is fine by me. I don’t mind the heat. But I don’t think the butter could take it.”
“Well, I’ll keep a stick aside, and if you decide you want some after you visit with Clark, just let me know.”
She nodded. “I will do that.” She unsnapped her coin purse and handed me several tightly folded dollars.
I gave her back her change and put the receipt in her bag. “Thank you, Mrs. Proctor. I appreciate your business.”
She smiled at me. “You know I love your store, dear. It makes me feel young to walk around, see all of your . . . beautiful things.” Her eyes settled on Gavin, and he smiled grandly.
“The merchandise isn’t the only beautiful thing in the store,” he said.
But Liam wasn’t about to be outdone by his baby brother. “Ma’am, can we help you with your package?”
Mrs. Proctor looked slowly up at Liam, who towered over her by nearly two feet, her grin spreading. “As much as I would like to say yes, young man, I’m afraid you wouldn’t be able to handle me.” She patted his hand. “The day I stop being able to carry my packages is the day they put me in the ground.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Liam said, with a glint of appreciation in his eyes.
Mrs. Proctor nodded, took her package, and shuffled back to the door.
“I like her,” Liam said. “She’s got spirit.”
“She’s fantastic. Gets lonely, I think. I visit her sometimes, take her a book or two.” I gestured to a bookshelf on the opposite wall, where I’d made a small lending library, including two full shelves of paperback romances. In times of crisis, people needed a good love story.
“When are you planning to introduce her to Nix?” Gavin asked, when Mrs. Proctor was safely out the door.
Liam’s lips tightened. “Tonight.”
Gavin pushed off the counter he’d been leaning against. “I’m going to talk to her again.”
“You do that,” Liam said. “But go see Eleanor first.” He looked at me. “I’ll see you at six.”