The Prince: A Wicked Novella

by Jennifer L. Armentrout

  And what in the hell did he mean by the claim that he knew who and what I was? Those words haunted the short trip back to headquarters.

  Thanking the driver, I climbed out and glanced at the first floor Order-owned shop. Mama Lousy sold all kinds of random stuff, featuring a lot of iron amidst an interesting amount of voodoo tools and authentic N’awlins spices. It was currently staffed by one of the grouchiest old men I’d ever met. Jerome had retired from the Order well over a decade ago and somehow ended up in the position that made least sense.

  He was so not someone who should be in a customer service position.

  Honestly, I was surprised Miles hadn’t assigned me to the shop. I snorted and then sighed, because I figured that day was coming sooner rather than later.

  One glance through the shop windows, I could see him sitting behind the counter, glaring at the tourists who were picking up various masks and trying them on. He didn’t see me, and if he did, it wouldn’t have helped with his attitude.

  Grinning, I headed for the side entrance and threw open the door. I headed up the narrow, cramped hallway that smelled vaguely of sugar and gym sneakers. A small camera was positioned at the top of the stairs. Things had gotten more high tech in the last two years since the headquarters had been breached by the Prince when he was all ‘kill, kill everyone’. A sensor was on the door, above the hand. Pressing my finger on it, I waited as the contraption read my fingerprint. The door unlocked in a jiffy, and as soon as I opened it, I saw that I’d made it back just in time.

  The main room was full with at least a half dozen Order members. I immediately saw Jackie Jordan. The dark-skinned woman was sitting on a desk, one long, lean leg curled up as she watched something on her phone. Standing next to her was Dylan, decked out in black tactical pants and a fitted black T-shirt. Besides Miles and Ivy and Ren, they were the only original Order members left. The rest were gone, having perished in the battle or afterward, when the Winter fae unleashed their anger at being foiled. Those members were now replaced by various members from other cities or brand spanking new ones.

  An unwanted but familiar heaviness settled in my chest. There had been so much loss and there were echoes of it everywhere. In Jackie and Dylan’s weary eyes and in all the new faces crowding the main room.

  What had happened to my mother and me hadn’t been isolated. Dying in battle was a far better death than being hunted down, caught off guard and unprepared, slaughtered before you even knew what was happening.

  I glanced down at the file. Were any of them really going to care about these missing younglings when so many of them had lost friends and family while fighting the fae? Would it matter to them that the Summer Court had come through for us and had fought side by side with us?

  I had a terrible feeling I already knew the answer to my questions.

  Holding the file close to my chest, I ducked my chin. Skirting around the group that was waiting on Miles, I passed several closed doors and then the surveillance room, where I could always find our leader. And there he was, standing before several rows of monitors hooked up to various cameras all across the city in the dimly lit room. He wasn’t alone.

  Rick Ortiz sat in one of the chairs, his finger clicking away on the mouse, changing the images on the top row of monitors. As I entered the room, he glanced over his shoulder and lifted a dark eyebrow. That was about the only reaction I got from the olive-skinned man that had transferred to NOLA from Houston. He returned to clicking through the video feed.

  Drawing in a short, irritated breath, I started to speak.

  “How’d the meeting go?” Miles asked.

  Did the man have eyes in the back of his head, hidden by the brown hair cropped close to his skull? “It went okay, but rather unexpected.”

  “How so?”

  Stepping forward, I cleared my throat. “Several of the younglings have gone missing. They’re worried that they may have met an… untimely demise at the hands of the Order.”

  Rick snorted. “Untimely demise?”

  “Well, yes.” I shifted my weight from one foot to the other. “Untimely because the Summer fae—”

  “Are not to be killed, I know.” Rick sat back in his chair and spun it around, facing me. The man was handsome, with dark hair and a neat, trimmed beard, but I also liked to refer to him as Rick the Dick, because his handsomeness was outweighed by his douchieness. “But I just find it funny that they call it untimely.”

  Having no idea why that was funny and deciding I was not going down that rabbit hole with Rick the Dick, I shifted my attention to Miles, who still wasn’t looking at me. He was focused on a camera that was across from the haunted LaLaurie House. The feed wasn’t set up for that home. Nope. It was for the rather plain, squat two-story home next to it, the location of one of the doorways to the Otherworld. Why was he watching that so intently? Was there activity there? My stomach dropped all the way to my toes.

  The Queen could come back. She had the means—a crystal that powered the doorways from the Otherworld. I started to ask, but I didn’t get a chance.

  Rick the Dick apparently wasn’t done. “You know what else I find funny? That they think we care that some of their spawn are missing.”

  Miles sighed so heavily it could’ve rattled the monitors.

  Taking a deep breath, I counted to ten. “They want to see if perhaps any of the Order members recognize them and to keep an eye out.”

  “You got photographs of them?” Miles asked.

  “Of course—”

  “Hang them up on the bulletin board, so everyone can see.”

  I started to frown. “I was planning to do that, but I thought I could check with them before the meeting gets started—”

  “That won’t be necessary.” Miles faced me then. The man was in his late thirties, possibly early forties, and he’d seen a lot of messed-up stuff, especially after David’s betrayal. He was the hardest man to read, and I couldn’t remember ever seeing him smile. Not even once. “Hanging up the photographs should be enough.”

  That wasn’t enough. I knew damn well no one ever looked at the bulletin board. There was still a picture of kittens Jackie had been trying to adopt out over a year ago. “Talking with them would only take a minute or so. One of these missing younglings is Faye’s cousin,” I added, thinking that would get him to agree, since Faye had helped the Order a million times over.

  Miles strode over to where I stood and took the file out of my hands. He opened it and thumbed through the photos. “None of them look familiar.” He turned to Rick. “What do you think?”

  Glancing over them, Rick lifted a shoulder. “Not to me, but they all kind of look the same.”

  “Really?” I tensed. “Did you really just say that?”

  He smirked. “It’s the truth.”

  “No, it’s not, and that sounds really—”

  “Don’t say racist,” Rick cut me off. “The fae are not human. They are not people.”

  “Wow.” I started toward where he sat and stopped myself. “They are kind of a race of beings, so the term racist would apply.”

  “That’s not how that works,” he replied, grinning that irritating shit-eating grin up at me.

  Miles spoke before I could. “Hang up their photographs, Brighton. I’ll tell those on patrol to keep an eye out for them.” Closing the file, he handed it back to me. “But I’m telling you now, if one of them did come across one of those younglings and it ended badly, ain’t none of them going to come forward with that info.”

  I figured that much, but hearing Miles say it like it was no big deal sent a wave of disappointment through me. “They should. They’re not supposed to harm them. If you think they have, shouldn’t there be consequences?”

  Rick laughed—straight-up laughed.

  “What?” I demanded, feeling my cheeks start to warm.

  “You don’t patrol, honey. You sit behind a desk and you read books and study maps, sometimes you help out in the infirmary and you handle shit
that we don’t need to know about. If you did patrol, then you’d know that shit happens out on the street and one second of hesitation can get yourself killed. We’re not going to punish someone for doing their job.”

  Heat blasted my face, and I came so close knocking him out of the chair and explaining to him that I knew exactly what happened when you hesitated, but I managed to restrain myself. “First off, don’t call me honey, and more importantly, don’t sit there and talk to me about how dangerous these streets are. I know better than you do.”

  He opened his mouth, but I wasn’t done. “We’re not supposed to harm the Summer fae. End of story. That’s not our job and the new protocols—”

  Rick scoffed as he lifted his hands. “Fuck the new protocols.”

  “Do you hear him?” Exasperated, I turned to Miles. “I mean, you’re standing right there.”

  “Thank you both for stating the obvious and speaking as if you are the leader around here,” Miles replied dryly. “Hang the pictures, Brighton. And you?” He turned to Rick. “Shut the hell up, Rick, and get out there.”

  And with that, Miles stalked out of the office, whistling loudly to gain the attention of everyone who waited in the main hall.

  I was dismissed without really even being dismissed. How freaking messed-up was that? Not that I should be surprised. Again, to Miles and to everyone here I wasn’t essential.

  Rick rose, brushing my shoulder as he walked past me. He stopped at the doorway and waited until I faced him. “What?”

  He studied me a moment. “I don’t get it.”

  “Get what?”

  “Why you’d even care about those fucking fae, after what they did to your mother—did to you?”

  Nausea twisted up my insides, but I pushed past it. “The Winter fae attacked my mother and me. Not the Summer fae. Not these boys.”

  “Does that really matter? What court they claim to belong to? Does that make a difference?” he challenged.

  “Yes. It does.” It had to.

  Something akin to pity crossed his face. “Whatever. You do realize that hanging their photographs up is pretty pointless, right?”

  “Why?” I lowered the file. “Because no one is going to care?”

  “Well, yeah, that. But it’s pointless because if they’re legit missing and one of us does recognize them, they’re probably no longer in this realm. They’re dead for all intents and purposes.”

  Chapter 11

  I’d copied the photographs and tacked them onto the bulletin board, over Jackie’s year-old kittens’ poster, even though Rick didn’t think it would make a difference. I’d also managed to corner Jackie before she headed out for patrol. She hadn’t recognized any of the younglings, and I believed her. Jackie might be old school and not exactly a fan of any fae, but she wasn’t a liar.

  When I got home, I’d made Tink and me pan-fried hamburgers for dinner, cleaned up and then went upstairs to change.

  There was another spot in the city the fae frequented called, ironically, The Court on Canal. It was a little more laid back on the first level, featuring a bar that was surprisingly busy for fae on a Monday night. The second floor was not laid back. It was… well, I had seen some things up there. Things boric acid couldn’t erase from my eyes or my brain.

  The place was near the Quarter, a little hole in the wall that tourists and many of the locals overlooked. I’d spotted one of my targets there once before, but I’d lost sight of him once he left.

  The Court on Canal couldn’t be discovered on a Google search or on any must-see lists for when someone visited New Orleans.

  The place was where nothing should be.

  I’d found it on one of my mother’s maps and one day I’d checked out the location and discovered that it was very much a real place—a place that not even the Order seemed to be aware of.

  Once I was done finding the fae who’d attacked that night, I’d hand over the maps to Miles. I would tell him about The Court… and the other places. Just not yet.

  I was hoping tonight would be as fruitful and not as eventful as Saturday night. I wasn’t worried that I’d run into the Prince again, even though he so obviously knew it had been me Saturday night. I’d been to The Court numerous times and hadn’t spotted him once.

  Plus I was planning to keep an eye out for the missing younglings during my travels. I knew it was unlikely, at least I hoped, that I’d see one of them at The Court.

  After a quick shower, I pinned my hair flat and got down to becoming someone else. Walking into the closet, I knew the perfect dress for tonight.

  Black. Short. Simple.

  Plucking it off the hanger, I wiggled into it, relieved to see that the material was some kind of stretchy knit as I tugged the hem down. It ended mid-thigh. I turned to the floor-length mirror and did the bend-over test.

  Breasts pushed against the plummeting neckline, coming this close to falling out, and the cheeks of my butt peeked out under the stretchy material.

  I straightened, smoothing my hands down the sides of the dress. Okay. Definitely not bending over in this in public.

  Rolling my eyes, I grabbed my makeup case and went into the bathroom. The makeup took awhile, because I had to take my time to get it right, but when I was done, my face was virtually unrecognizable. Cheeks contoured until they were sharp and high. Lips outlined to be plumper and filled in with a color that was only a shade or two darker than my natural lips. I even filled in my eyebrows before tackling the eyes. I gave myself what I thought was a dark and smoky, mysterious look. Since I was leaving the contacts out, I put on some false eyelashes, and decided that if I didn’t end up with a sty at some point during this, I was a mutant.

  Back in the closet, I browsed the selection of wigs as I nibbled on my fingernail. Blonde. Red. Brown. Black. Purple. The vibrant wigs would draw too much attention at a place like The Court, so I picked the short, chin-length black wig and slipped it on, securing it in place and then combing it down so it was smooth and sleek.

  The boots were… difficult. Made of some kind of stretchy material that covered the calves and knees with no zipper, I almost winged them across the bedroom trying to get them on. Sweat dotted my forehead by the time I was completely dressed.

  And I was panting, a little out of breath as I slipped the iron cuff on my wrist.

  Done, I turned to the mirror and grinned at my reflection. “I look like Aeon Flux,” I said, cocking my head to the side. “A much sluttier version of Aeon Flux. Perfect.”

  * * * *

  The Court on Canal looked like a, well, like a dump from the outside. The kind of place you’d expect to get a little food poisoning with your crawfish if you were brave enough to actually eat whatever they served, but the inside was all upscale.

  Bar and booths made from wood refurbished from Katrina. Thick, leather-cushioned stools. Shiny, always clean high top round tables, and I’d never so much as seen a stray napkin in any of the private booths that sat back from the tables, lining the walls.

  I carried only a black clutch as I strolled to the bar, wholly aware of the glances that lingered and followed while pretending that I wasn’t.

  It was weird to me. The knowledge that dressed like this, looking like this, I wasn’t invisible. I was no longer a ghost, but I was….

  What had the Prince said to me?

  You are nothing but lies and façades.

  Ugh.

  He was right, and I really, seriously disliked him for that.

  I wasn’t this incarnation of myself. I could feel the warmth of embarrassment creeping up my throat in a prickly flush as I heard a low whistle from a man who was at one of the tables.

  But I also wasn’t the Brighton before the attack. She was gone, dying the night I should’ve died. Because while I was embarrassed by the attention, there was still a half grin that appeared on my lips.

  Maybe the Prince was wrong.

  Maybe I wasn’t completely a façade.

  I had no idea.

  C
limbing onto the stool as ladylike as humanly possible, I crossed one leg over the other and placed my clutch on the bar top.

  A human bartender was behind the bar, but so was a fae. I wasn’t quite sure if the female actually worked here, but she was the one I always saw when I came here, ferrying Nightshade back and forth to the non-human clientele.

  Right now, she was carrying an entire tray of glasses to one of the booths along the wall. My gaze skipped away. There were a handful of fae among the humans chatting and drinking. None of them recognizable.

  And definitely none of the younglings.

  So far.

  “What can I get you?”

  I turned back to the bartender and smiled. He was young and his gaze was clear. Focused. Obviously not under any trance or control, but he had to know that not everyone who was served here was human. There was no way he couldn’t, what with the Nightshade being served and what went on up on the second floor.

  “A rum and Coke,” I said.

  “Coming right up.” He picked up a glass and got to making the quick, easy drink. “Tab or pay now?”

  “Cash.” I opened my clutch and slid the money over to him. “Thank you.”

  The man smiled and then he was off, serving someone at the other end of the bar. Sipping my drink, I twisted around on the stool so I was facing the main bar floor, but was able to keep an eye on the back hallway, where the elevator serviced the second level. I pulled out my phone and pretended to be engrossed in it as I scanned the floor.

  Within a few moments, two more fae entered the bar, their glamouring fading away to reveal their silvery, luminous skin. They made a beeline for the back hallway.

  The second floor was a… different kind of service area, one that didn’t just cater to fae looking for their dinner, but also sex.

  Lots of sex.

  Only once had I gone up to the second floor, and that had been pure luck, sneaking in behind a group of humans who were being led by two fae. Once was enough.

  The humans I’d tagged along with had not been entranced. Based on their giggling and whispered dares to one another, they knew at least one of the things that went on upstairs.