{"id":7519,"date":"2017-05-15T19:27:56","date_gmt":"2017-05-16T00:27:56","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.chloeneill.com\/?page_id=7519"},"modified":"2017-09-27T20:30:24","modified_gmt":"2017-09-28T01:30:24","slug":"the-hunt-devils-isle-3-first-chapter","status":"publish","type":"page","link":"http:\/\/www.chloeneill.com\/?page_id=7519","title":{"rendered":"The Hunt (Devil’s Isle 3) – First Chapter"},"content":{"rendered":"

CHAPTER ONE<\/strong><\/p>\n

Early January<\/em>
\n New Orleans<\/em><\/p>\n

\"\"It had once been a lovely kitchen, with pale wood and granite, a pretty view of a courtyard garden, and an enormous refrigerator still dotted with photographs of what looked like a big, happy family. Father, mother, daughter, sons, and an enormous black dog, big enough for the kids to ride on.<\/p>\n

But they were long gone now, cleared out like nearly everyone else in New Orleans when Paranormals flooded into our world, leaving most of our city and much of the South in ruins.<\/p>\n

I was searching through what they\u2019d left behind, looking for a diamond in the rough.<\/p>\n

\u201cThere is a house in New Orleans\u00a0.\u00a0.\u00a0.\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

I winced at the throaty croak that echoed from the other end of the kitchen. \u201cLike a frog being strangled,\u201d I muttered.<\/p>\n

\u201cThey call the Rising Sun!\u201d<\/em><\/p>\n

I leaned around the cabinet door. \u201cMoses!\u201d<\/p>\n

Inside the pantry, something thudded, rolled. \u201cWhat? I\u2019m working here.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cThe singing.\u201d<\/p>\n

A head, small and pale, with glossy black horns and irritable green eyes, peered around the pantry door. \u201cWhat about it?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s not great.\u201d<\/p>\n

He snorted, doubt written across his face. \u201cSays you.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah, says me.\u201d<\/p>\n

Moses walked out of the pantry, three feet of Paranormal attitude. And, for the five weeks we\u2019d been sneaking around New Orleans, my best friend.<\/p>\n

\u201cSomeone might hear you,\u201d I reminded him.<\/p>\n

He grumbled a curse, walked through the shadowed kitchen in my direction. He held up a bloated silver can, its seams bursting from age, heat, and rot. By the size, I guessed it was tuna fish. Very gnarly tuna fish.<\/p>\n

\u201cJackpot,\u201d Moses said.<\/p>\n

\u201cYou aren\u2019t going to eat that,\u201d I said. \u201cIt\u2019s spoiled.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cDon\u2019t be persnickety.\u201d He sniffed at the metal, closed his eyes in obvious pleasure. \u201cMore flavor this way.\u201d He held it out. \u201cYou want a sniff?\u201d<\/p>\n

My stomach flipped in revolt. \u201cI do not. It would probably kill me.\u201d<\/p>\n

He waved off the concern. \u201cI\u2019ve done this tons of times. Maybe I just have a stronger constitution than you, Claire.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cHmm,\u201d I said noncommittally. Better to avoid going too far down that rabbit hole.<\/p>\n

Moses was supposed to be locked up in Devil\u2019s Isle, the prison for Paras and anyone else touched by magic. Some Paras had wanted our world for their own; others, like Moses, had been forced to fight via magical conscription. Unfortunately, the Paranormal Combatant Command, the federal agency in charge of Paras, didn\u2019t much care about that detail.<\/p>\n

I was a Sensitive, a human affected by magic that had seeped in from the Beyond. That magic gave me telekinesis, but at a cost: Too much magic would destroy my mind and body. Keeping that balance was a trick I was trying to master.<\/p>\n

I\u2019d kept my power secret until a cult called Reveillon\u2014people who believed magic in any form, including the city\u2019s remaining Paranormals, should be eradicated\u2014had attacked Devil\u2019s Isle. I\u2019d had to use my magic to bring down Reveillon\u2019s founder. The PCC now considered me its enemy\u2014and didn\u2019t get the irony.<\/p>\n

There were signs the PCC might eventually come to its senses, acknowledge that magic wasn\u2019t all bad and not all Paranormals had been our enemies on purpose. It had even authorized temporary leave for a select few Paranormals who\u2019d fought in the Battle of Devil\u2019s Isle.<\/p>\n

Sensitives like me hadn\u2019t gotten the same consideration. We weren\u2019t Paras, and we weren\u2019t humans. We were different. Paras couldn\u2019t become wraiths\u2014the pale, skeletal monsters into which Sensitives transformed if we failed to control our magic, to balance all that heady power. If we weren\u2019t careful, the magic would corrupt us, turn us into twisted creatures obsessed with absorbing more and more power.<\/p>\n

So despite my efforts in the battle, there\u2019d be no pass for me. I was too unpredictable, too dangerous, too untrustworthy.<\/p>\n

Moses, having already snuck out of Devil\u2019s Isle and having skipped out again during the battle, didn\u2019t need a pass. He was already on the lam.<\/p>\n

We\u2019d tried playing the game, helping Containment, the PCC unit in charge of Devil\u2019s Isle, track down Reveillon and fighting on their side. And except for the few token passes, nothing had changed.<\/p>\n

So we\u2019d been sneaking around New Orleans, working to avoid Containment. And since they were treating us like criminals, we figured we\u2019d might as well act like criminals. We\u2019d decided our job was to challenge the PCC and its refusal to acknowledge the truth about magic, about Paranormals, about Sensitives.<\/p>\n

Along with the other members of our crew, which we called Delta, we\u2019d been covering Reveillon\u2019s antimagic billboards with our own messages, using contacts outside the war Zone to rally the rest of the world to our side and gathering supplies for the Devil\u2019s Isle clinic.<\/p>\n

The facility\u2014and the wraiths secured here\u2014weren\u2019t on Containment\u2019s priority list. Reveillon\u2019s attacks had put a big crimp in the PCC\u2019s supply chain, so even if the clinic had been on that list, consumables were getting harder to come by. We were in this house to gather up what we could for delivery to Lizzie, who ran the clinic.<\/p>\n

Moses walked toward the kitchen island with his slightly sideways gait, then slung a mesh bag of equally swollen cans onto the granite countertop and added his newest find to it. \u201cYou find anything?\u201d<\/p>\n

It took me a moment to reorient. I closed the cabinet, held up a carton of sea salt and a tin of tea bags. \u201cSalt\u2019s half full, and the tea bags still smell mostly like tea.\u201d No small feat, given they\u2019d been stewing in heat and humidity. \u201cStill,\u201d I said, \u201cyou\u2019d think there\u2019d be more here.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s a nice house,\u201d he said, glancing around the room. \u201cIt would have been one of the first ones sacked after the war\u2014or during the battle.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah,\u201d I said.<\/p>\n

Reveillon had ransacked Devil\u2019s Isle\u2014and every neighborhood the members had blown through along the way. They\u2019d been like a hurricane scouring their way across New Orleans. Not the first storm the Big Easy had faced down. But over time, hell and high water took their toll.<\/p>\n

Reveillon\u2019s members had hurt the city and those who lived here\u2014and some, including Liam Quinn, didn\u2019t live here anymore. The bounty hunter I\u2019d fallen for had been hit by magic, and he\u2019d left New Orleans to fight his resulting demons.<\/p>\n

I hadn\u2019t heard from him since.<\/p>\n

I knew Liam was with his grandmother Eleanor in what Malachi called the \u201csouthern reach,\u201d the bayous and marshes of southern Louisiana where small communities of Paras worked to stay out of Containment\u2019s crosshairs\u2014and out of Devil\u2019s Isle.<\/p>\n

Malachi, another of my Paranormal friends, had told us that much when he\u2019d returned from reuniting Liam and Eleanor.<\/p>\n

But that was all I knew about Liam\u2019s location or the effects of the magical hit he\u2019d taken. It was a point of pride that I hadn\u2019t asked Malachi for any more details, for updates as one week after another passed. I\u2019d tried to force thoughts of Liam to the back of my mind, giving him the time and space he apparently needed. In the meantime, I\u2019d focused on Delta, on our new work for New Orleans, on controlling my magic. Because even though I knew why he\u2019d gone, it still hurt to be left behind.<\/p>\n

I put my hands on my hips and sighed as I looked at our meager harvest. \u201cOh, well. You add it to the bottled water, the aspirin, the radio. That\u2019s something.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s something,\u201d he said. \u201cYou know they don\u2019t take things for granted.\u201d<\/p>\n

They hadn\u2019t. If anything, they\u2019d been too grateful, and that didn\u2019t make me feel any better about Containment or our situation.<\/p>\n

\u201cOh, found one more thing,\u201d Moses said, pulling something from the bib of his denim overalls. He\u2019d found the overalls during a previous scavenger hunt. They were way too big for him\u2014the pants rolled up at the bottom\u2014but he loved that front pocket.<\/p>\n

He moved toward me, offered his hand. In his small, meaty palm sat a silver robot with a square body perched on blocky feet. Probably three inches long, with a canister-shaped head topped by a tiny antenna. A metal windup key emerged from its back.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt was wedged behind a drawer,\u201d Moses said.<\/p>\n

\u201cIt\u2019s old,\u201d I said, taking it gingerly and looking\u2014as my father had taught me\u2014for a manufacturer\u2019s mark or date, but I didn\u2019t find anything. \u201cProbably from the fifties or sixties.\u201d That was much older than the fancy cabinets and countertops in there. \u201cMust have missed it when they renovated the house. Let\u2019s fire it up.\u201d Carefully, I cranked the key, listened to the gears catch and lock, then set the toy on the countertop.<\/p>\n

The gears buzzed like hornets as it moved forward, its feet rotating in sequence, the little antenna bobbing as it moved. We watched silently as it marched to the end of the countertop. Moses caught it before it reached the end, turned it around, and sent it back in my direction.<\/p>\n

\u201cHuh,\u201d he said, monitoring its progress with surprising affection in his eyes. \u201cI like that.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cYeah,\u201d I said, \u201cso do I.\u201d<\/p>\n

We wound it again and let the toy repeat its parade across the granite.<\/p>\n

\u201cShame they missed it when they left,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat did they miss?\u201d<\/p>\n

We both turned sharply, found a man behind us.<\/p>\n

Malachi was tall, over six feet, with the broad shoulders of a soldier. He looked like an angel: tousled blond curls that reached his shoulders, a square jaw, luminous ivory wings that folded and magically disappeared while we watched, and eyes of shimmering gold. That gold was a signature of some Paranormals\u2014and it was the color I\u2019d seen in Liam\u2019s eyes after he\u2019d been hit and before he\u2019d run.<\/p>\n

Malachi had been a general in the Consularis army\u2014the caste of Paras who\u2019d ruled the Beyond before the war, the same Paras who\u2019d been magically conscripted to fight us by their enemies, the Court of Dawn.<\/p>\n

We hadn\u2019t heard the usual thush of wings that signaled Malachi had alighted\u2014and apparently walked right through the front door. His wings were now retracted, and he wore jeans, boots, and a faded Loyola T-shirt.<\/p>\n

Malachi smiled at Moses, then let his gaze linger on me. My heart met that look, delivered by a man beautiful enough to be carved in marble and preserved for eternity, with an answering thump. It was an instinctive response, triggered by the sheer power of his gaze.<\/p>\n

Paras had very different conceptions of romance and attraction. We were just friends\u2014even if we\u2019d become better friends over the last few weeks\u2014but that didn\u2019t make his power any less potent.<\/p>\n

\u201cThey missed our new toy,\u201d I said, answering his question. I wound it again and set it to work.<\/p>\n

\u201cAh,\u201d he said, then picked it up to study it. \u201cAn automaton.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cOr humans\u2019 sixty-year-old idea of one. How\u2019d you find us?\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWe followed the sound of mating cats,\u201d Malachi said, sliding a sly smile to Moses.<\/p>\n

Moses lifted his middle finger. \u201cI got your mating cats right here.\u201d<\/p>\n

I guess the gesture translated. Good to know. \u201cWe?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

\u201cSomeone wanted to talk.\u201d He glanced back as footsteps echoed on the hardwood floors at the other end of the shotgun house.<\/p>\n

A man stepped into the doorway, his figure only a shadow in the harsh sunlight behind him.<\/p>\n

For a moment, I was lost in memory, back at Royal Mercantile, my store in the French Quarter. Or it had been, before I\u2019d been forced to abandon it. In my mind, I was in bare feet on a rough-hewn floor, a slip of a breeze coming through the windows and a man sleeping next to me. Dark hair. Blue eyes. Body lean and honed like a weapon.<\/p>\n

The man I\u2019d fought beside.<\/p>\n

The man who\u2019d left.<\/p>\n

Then he took a step forward. Memory faded, putting another man in the doorway. Similar to the one who\u2019d left, but not the same.<\/p>\n

\u201cGavin,\u201d Moses said.<\/p>\n

This wasn\u2019t Liam, but his brother. But it was still surprising that he was standing here with Malachi. I hadn\u2019t seen him since the battle.<\/p>\n

\u201cClaire. Mos.\u201d<\/p>\n

\u201cWhat are you doing here?\u201d I asked.<\/p>\n

Gavin didn\u2019t waste any time. \u201cJack Broussard is dead.\u201d<\/p>\n

Broussard was a Containment agent, and a generally despicable human.<\/p>\n

\u201cNo loss there,\u201d Moses said.<\/p>\n

\u201cMaybe not,\u201d Gavin replied. \u201cBut they\u2019re saying Liam killed him.\u201d<\/p>\n

 <\/p>\n

Ready to order\u00a0THE HUNT<\/strong>? Visit your favorite retailer:<\/p>\n

\"Amazon<\/a>\"bn1\"<\/a>\"\"<\/a>\"\"<\/a>\"\"<\/a>\"\"<\/a>\"\"<\/a>\"\"<\/a><\/p>\n

<\/h6>\n
Note: \u00a0I am an Amazon affiliate and may earn a commission if you\u00a0buy goods\u00a0at\u00a0Amazon through\u00a0one of my links.<\/em><\/h6>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

CHAPTER ONE Early January New Orleans It had once been a lovely kitchen, with pale wood and granite, a pretty view of a courtyard garden, and an enormous refrigerator still dotted with photographs of what looked like a big, happy family. Father, mother, daughter, sons, and an enormous black dog, big enough for the kids[…]<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"parent":7294,"menu_order":0,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","template":"template-fullwidth.php","meta":{"footnotes":""},"class_list":["post-7519","page","type-page","status-publish","hentry"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.chloeneill.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/7519","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.chloeneill.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.chloeneill.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/page"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.chloeneill.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.chloeneill.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=7519"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"http:\/\/www.chloeneill.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/7519\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":7725,"href":"http:\/\/www.chloeneill.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/7519\/revisions\/7725"}],"up":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.chloeneill.com\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/pages\/7294"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.chloeneill.com\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=7519"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}