We ran for the house, edged to the side of it, and neared the front yard. But Liam stopped short, held up a closed fist to make us stop, too, as he evaluated our options.

He looked back at me. “I’m going to have to draw them off. Wait until I’ve gotten them away from the truck, then run to the vehicle. Get them to New Orleans. And no heroics.”

“I’m not going to just leave you.”

His expression was fierce. “Yes, you are. Do what needs to be done, Claire.”

And then he was gone. He ran past the truck, and two ComTac operatives who’d been assigned to watch gave chase.

Damn. I didn’t want to leave him, but I didn’t want to waste his bravery. And I had to get the Dupres to safety. I had to keep the Veil closed.

I looked back at Tadji, handed her the keys, looked at her mother and aunt. “On three, we run to the truck.” The fighting was loud, and I had to shout for my voice to be heard over gunshots and the clang of weapons. “Tadji drives. Phaedra and Zana in the front. I’ll get into the truck bed. Okay?”

That, I hoped, would let me use whatever power I might be able to gather if someone chased us. Could I move a helicopter? Didn’t know. But I might need to try. And it seemed safer to do that from the back of the truck than from the front.

“I don’t want any of this,” Tadji said. “I don’t want any of this.”

I looked back. Tadji’s eyes and pupils were wide. She was getting shocky. I had to keep her calm.

I snapped my fingers until she focused on me. “Tadji, I know you’re freaked out, but right now we have to move. Okay?”

She swallowed thickly, nodded.

“On three,” I said again. “One . . . two . . .” I made like a sprinter, crouched and ready to run—but then Zana Dupre screamed.

I turned back, found a black-clad Containment operative, face smeared with camouflage, holding her arm, a bowie knife in hand.

“You’ve got the wrong one,” I said. “I’m the Sensitive.”

He looked at me, was just unsure enough to hesitate. Zana kicked him in the shin, and the surprise put him off balance. He stumbled a few feet away but got his balance again and lunged at me, leading with the knife. I dodged, then kicked up at his elbow to get him to drop the weapon.

It actually worked. He yelped, and the knife slipped from his hand. He fell to the ground to retrieve it. But Zana was faster. She got to it first, kicked it into the underbrush.

The man realized his error fast enough. He pulled out his gun, aimed it at the Dupres, prepared to fire.

Not on my watch, I thought, and began gathering magic, moving toward him to close the distance, improve my aim.

Unfortunately, I hadn’t noticed Phaedra Dupre doing the same thing. She aimed the burst of magic at the man just as I stepped in front of him.

Her shot hit me with the heat of a thousand suns.

The shot would have knocked out a human. But I was a Sensitive. My body absorbed magic, wanted magic, all the magic it could find. And it had found the mother lode. I guess this was what the list had meant by Phaedra’s ability to “conduct magic.”

I rolled away, arms and toes curled in pain. Every inch of my body—from head to fingertips to toes and everything in between—felt on fire. This was bad.

“Go,” I said to Tadji, voice hoarse and suddenly parched. “Go. Now.”

I wasn’t fine. Wasn’t close to fine. But I couldn’t fix myself and take care of them. Tadji looked at me, made a decision, and pulled her mother and aunt toward the truck.

Fire balled in my stomach, tears springing to my eyes. This was what being a wraith felt like, I thought, and knew I had to get rid of the magic. I moved to my knees, searched for something I could funnel it into. To my left, there was a stand of tangled trees, a finger of the bayou that edged the back of the property. And on the leading edge, the stump of an ancient cypress, long since cut down, maybe to build the house, maybe for firewood.