“I didn’t know you felt that way.”
He made a harsh sound. “It’s not exactly a popular opinion. And it doesn’t help people very much. They need to believe there’s good and evil in the world, and that the dividing line between them is very, very clear. That’s how we made it through the war, Claire. Because in the midst of tragedy and violence and death and worse, for all that evil, there was still good. There was still a good guy.”
Now, that sounded like the Containment I knew. But Gunnar wasn’t saying that the world really was black and white—just that people needed to believe it was. I couldn’t really argue with that.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
Gunnar grunted.
“For what it’s worth, I didn’t want to believe you had any part in it, even accidentally. But there aren’t a lot of options.”
“Again, I offer Quinn.”
I shook my head. “He plays it close to the vest, but I think he’s got a good heart.” Not that I’d ever tell him that. “He may be paid by Containment, but I don’t think there’s any love lost there.”
Gunnar walked toward me at the counter. “He told you about his previous employment? About his work for Containment?”
I nodded. “Ya. And that Broussard’s got it in for him. Do you think that would motivate Broussard?”
“I didn’t know.” This time, there was regret in this eyes. “I’m sorry. I know how much the store means to you. How much all of it means to you. But I swear, I didn’t know. Warrants shouldn’t even go through the Commandant without going through me first.”
I sat up a little straighter. That was very interesting. “They shouldn’t?”
“No. Which means someone avoided me. I wouldn’t have thought Broussard had the chops for this, but who knows. I checked him out around the office after you said he talked to you. The man’s like a dog with a bone. And he’s got it in for Quinn over that last contract.”
“But surely that’s not enough to decide that I’m hosting Sensitive tea parties. That’s a pretty specific accusation.”
“You aren’t, are you?”
He was grinning, which meant we were okay. “No. But only because I can’t find any tea.”
Gunnar smiled. “Don’t think about the world as good and evil, Claire. Those are labels that don’t mean anything. We assign them out of fear. Think about what is objectively right, and what is objectively wrong. That’s how I stay employed in Containment. Because I understand the difference between those things.”
God, I wished I could tell him about everything. I knew I couldn’t—it would put everyone at risk.
He looked at the wreckage of the store with his hands on his lean hips. “I work for Containment, Claire, because it helps New Orleans. That’s what I was born to do. But that’s not all I am. For now, let’s do what we can. Let’s get back to work.”
Gunnar was a good man. And sooner or later, I was going to have to do right by him. I was going to have to tell him the truth.
? ? ?
It was well dark when I locked up the store, turned off the lights, headed up the stairs. I was too exhausted to do anything but fall into bed.
I reached the second-floor landing and made the turn . . . to see light streaming down the stairs. I’d turned off the light—I remembered doing it, always made sure that I did it in order to conserve what energy there was.
Someone had turned it back on again.
Was it Liam? Had he found out what had happened, come to comfort me? It didn’t make sense that he’d not have used the front door—he had such a fondness for it—but nothing else made sense, either.
And God, I would have liked to see him tonight. He’d become an axis—a stable, center point that all the crazy traveled around.
I put a hand on the railing, began to pull magic just in case it wasn’t him and I needed to use it against whoever was trespassing in the store. I took the stairs one at a time, each creak sounding like a gunshot in the quiet. I stepped onto the landing and looked inside.
He stood in the middle of the room, a lock of dark blond across his forehead, wings folding at his back, disappearing. The window was open, the curtains thrown back. Moonlight streamed across his body and sent shimmering light through the room.
Malachi.
There was an angel in the third floor of my French Quarter town house, looking as relaxed as any average and casual visitor from the street. Which he most definitely was not.
I walked into the room. “If someone saw you come up here, reported you, we’ll both be in trouble.”
“No one saw me,” Malachi said, with utter self-assurance.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, still a little wary.
“I introduced a pigeon to the flagpole, fed him. It’s part of their training process.”
The pigeons. Of course.
I walked to the window, moved the curtain aside. A gray pigeon blinked round eyes at me from the flagpole outside my window.