The Sight by Chloe Neill Page B

considering what I’d just walked away from, that made me feel ridiculous and petty.
    She put a hand on my arm. “If I overstepped, I can move everything back. It’s no big deal.”
    â€œIt’s not a big deal,” I lied, because I didn’t know why it
was
a very big deal. I couldn’t process it.
    The only thing I could think to do was get away, try to figure out what the hell was happening inside my head.
    â€œI need to go upstairs,” I said and, without waiting for an answer, tromped up to the second floor like a kid who’d taken her ball and run.
    â€”
    The storage room on the second floor of Royal Mercantile was a warren of antiques and furniture. I’d tried to organize it roughly into departments, but that effort had failed when I was nearly pinned by a metal gas station sign and discovered—at a rusty point—that I had magic.
    I walked through the maze to the wall of windows that faced Royal Street, pushed back the silk curtains, and stared into the falling darkness. And then I tried to figure out exactly why I’d just been bitchy to my best friend.
    Liam let me stew for fifteen minutes before wooden floors signaled his entrance. Darkness had fallen completely, and I hadn’t thought to turn on the light. He did so, and I blinked into the shock of it.
    He found me in an oak rocking chair in front of the windows, the floor creaking beneath me.
    â€œThis is a horror movie waiting to happen,
cher
—you sitting in the dark in a rocking chair, making that sound.”
    Silence stretched between us. “You want to talk?” he asked.
    â€œI don’t know,” I said honestly.
    â€œThe bombing, or what she did to the store?”
    â€œBoth, I think.” I sighed, not entirely sure I wanted to bare my soul. But I knew I’d have to get it out sooner or later, because I was going to have to apologize to Tadji. Maybe if I talked through it, I’d understand it. I’d understand myself.
    â€œBefore the war,” I began, “I had this plan for my life. I had pretty good grades, and that mattered back then. I was gonna go to Tulane,live in a dorm, be an irresponsible college student. I was going to get roaring drunk at parties and find a boy and make the dean’s list.”
    â€œAnd then war came,” Liam said.
    â€œAnd then war came,” I agreed. I sighed and rose, feeling suddenly antsy, and not a little bit trapped. Maybe that’s how I’d felt then, too.
    â€œDad started selling provisions,” I continued, “started moving more of the antiques up here, started spending more time at the store. By that point, it was dangerous to stay alone in the house. Better to be here with him, even if the Quarter was a bigger target. So I stayed here most of the time, and I worked. I didn’t have a lot of choice, and I didn’t feel like I should complain about the choice I did have.” I looked down, picked at a spot of dirt on my jeans with a thumbnail. “I was alive, I was safe, and I had a way to make a living. That was rare in the Zone.”
    â€œWhy not leave when your father died?”
    I looked back at him. “Because I’m the last of the Connollys. If my father had lived, he’d have stayed here forever. Maybe I’d have kids, and one of them could have taken it over. Still could, I guess. But in the meantime, I couldn’t let it just fade away.”
    I walked to the windows, pointed at the pale green building across the street. “That’s the Prentiss Building. Built in 1795, I think. It’s one of the first structures in New Orleans.” I traced the building’s lines on the glass with a fingertip.
    â€œThe thing is, that building held an operating business from 1795 until the war. And then the war came, and the Donaldsons—they owned it at the time—left.” The windows and door had been broken, the store rummaged and hollowed out, blackened