Torn

by Jennifer L. Armentrout

  deep, even breath. My face felt crusty. That was gross, maybe even a little bit pathetic. Not that crying made you weak or pitiful. Once upon a time, I used to think that, and then I grew up.

  But I had gotten the tears out. Even though my chest felt like I’d driven a stake through it and all I wanted to do was plant my face in the pillow, I couldn’t.

  I was hurt. I was grieving Val. I was heartbroken, but I couldn’t wallow in any of it.

  There was too much to do, and I didn’t know how much time I’d have. At any moment, the prince—Drake—could reappear, and while I was convinced of my badass ninja skills, I knew I wouldn’t win a battle against him. Not yet at least, especially with how easily he . . . he had taken care of Val last night. I hadn’t even seen him move. If he came to take me, I’d be gone.

  And who knew if I would be turned over to the Order or the Elite by Ren? They could come for me at any second, even if . . . even if Ren didn’t turn me in. This Kyle guy could figure it out all on his own, because he knew the halfling hadn’t been Val. So there wasn’t time to waste.

  I needed to check in with Brighton to see if she had discovered anything about the supposed communities of good fae. I needed to fill out a stupid report even though going to the headquarters felt like I’d be walking into the lion’s den with meat hanging around my neck. Paying a visit to Jerome was also on the list.

  I also needed to go withdraw from classes.

  Time to get moving.

  With a low groan, I rolled over onto my side and swung my legs off the bed. My thoughts started to drift toward Ren as I undressed the rest of the way, but I pulled the brakes on that car crash of a thought process. Then Val’s face popped into my head, and I had to hold my breath until I felt dizzy. Nope. Nope. A thousand nopes. I was not going to spend a single second thinking about him, Val, or how I felt when I had work to do. Later, when I had time, I’d let myself have those moments again, but until then, I had to keep my shit together.

  After showering, I started to walk out to the kitchen in my old, tattered robe, but stopped at the bedroom door. The thing was practically see-through in certain areas, and Tink wasn’t this asexual little brownie anymore.

  My cheeks heated as I recalled every time he’d gotten an eyeful. No need to repeat that. Pivoting around, I changed into a pair of worn jeans and a long-sleeved thermal.

  Hair half dried, I twisted it up in a knot and secured it as I walked into the kitchen. Tink was standing by the sink, peering down into it. He didn’t look up as I walked to the fridge. “You came home alone last night,” he said.

  I ignored the question as I opened the fridge door and grabbed a Coke.

  “And he’s not here now,” Tink continued. I turned around and realized he had a little stick-looking thing in his hand with a fine thread dangling off the end of it, disappearing into the sink. “Not that I’m complaining. I needed a break from him.”

  I popped the tab off the Coke and took a drink. Tink had filled the sink up with water. I had no idea what he—

  Tink cocked his arm back and moved the stick—no, it was a pole—forward. My eyes widened.

  I shot forward, almost dropping the soda. “What the fuck? Tink! Are you fishing in my sink?”

  He looked up. “Yeah,” he said, drawing the word out.

  Sitting the Coke on the counter, I slowly approached the sink. “If there are fish in my sink, I swear to God, I’m flushing you down a toilet.”

  Tink shot me a bored look. “As if I’d fit down a toilet.”

  “Tink!”

  He sighed. “Relax. They’re not real fish.” Dropping to his knees, he reached into the water and pulled out a small, red plastic fish. “I tried to order real ones from Amazon, but alas, they do not sell them.”

  I fell back against the counter, breathing a sigh of relief. Thank God for the small things in life.

  “So where is Renny Tin Tin?”

  Knowing that Tink wasn’t going to drop it until I answered the question, I decided to go with the partial truth since I wasn’t exactly feeling ready to discuss what had truly happened. “We had a fight yesterday.”

  “Really?” He sounded way too happy about this as he dropped his fishing pole into the water.

  I nodded as I picked up my Coke and took a huge drink that burned my throat. “I don’t think he’ll be around for a while.”

  “That big of a fight?” Tink cocked his head to the side. “You . . . you didn’t tell him, did you? About what you are?”

  There wasn’t a moment where I considered telling him that I had, because there was no point in freaking him out. “I didn’t tell him.”

  He studied me for a moment. “Then why did you fight?”

  “It’s not something I really want to talk about.” I finished off the Coke and dumped the can in the trash. I looked over at where he stood as something occurred to me. “Why are you this size now?”

  “Why not?” he said, hopping along the edge of the counter.

  “Because I know you’re not really this size,” I pointed out. “So why are you staying small?”

  He shrugged. No answer.

  As I watched him hop back along the counter, going in the opposite direction, I thought of something else. “What would you do if I died?”

  He stopped, one leg raised. His head turned slowly in my direction. “Why would you even be thinking about that?”

  It was my turn to shrug. “I’ve thought about it before, but just . . . you know, with everything going on, there’s a chance. There’s always been a chance, Tink. What would you do?”

  Tink opened his mouth and then closed it. His wings drooped. “I don’t know what I’d do,” he said. “I guess I’d have to go find someone else who has Amazon Prime.”

  “Nice,” I said, shaking my head. “Seriously. You’d have to leave here eventually, you know? Take on your . . . um, bigger form. Granted, you won’t necessarily blend in that way, but you wouldn’t be the size of a doll with wings.”

  Tink was surprisingly serious when he answered, “I know what I’d have to do, Ivy. You don’t need to worry about me.”

  A weird sense of relief hit me, and I nodded. I started toward the hall and then stopped again. I turned back to him. “Do you want fish? Like, as a pet? Not to fish for in my sink.”

  His eyes widened into little saucers. “You’d get me some if I said yes?”

  “Yeah,” I replied, deciding that I would. “I can start you off small. Like with a beta or a goldfish—”

  “Can I have a ferret?” he interrupted.

  I blinked. “What? No. No ferret.”

  Tink pouted as he flew over to the table by the window. “What about a cat? Sometimes I see cats out in the courtyard. I watch videos of them on the YouTube. They seem to be . . . sort of mean, and I kind of like that about them.”

  “Tink, a cat would probably eat you if you stay that size.” I paused. “And it would definitely tear one of your wings.”

  “Nah.” He planted his hands on his hips. “I think a cat would love me, especially if you get me a kitten and I raise it.”

  “Obviously you’ve never been around a cat,” I said dryly. “It doesn’t matter if you’ve raised it—the cat will try to kill you at some point.”

  His brows knitted together. “I refuse to believe that.”

  I sighed. “How about a tortoise?”

  He rolled his eyes. “What would I do with a tortoise?”

  “I don’t know.” I threw my hands up. “What would you do with a cat or ferret?”

  “Pet it. Hug it. You can’t do that with a damn tortoise.”

  “I think you can pet it,” I reasoned.

  He rose into the air. “I want something fluffy.”

  I shook my head and turned around. “You know, forget I said anything about this—”

  “Nope. Not ever going to forget.” He followed after me as I walked down the hall. “I will never forget this. Ever.”

  I rolled my eyes as I picked
up my purse and then went into the bedroom, dropping my phone into my bag and then weaponing up. “Look, if you had a cat, you’d have to take care of it.”

  “I know that.” Tink flew up to the ceiling fan and grabbed one of the blades, dangling from it. “I’d have to get a litter box—preferably one of those self-cleaning ones, and cat toys and—”

  As I exited the bedroom, I hit the switch and turned on the fan, grinning when he shrieked.

  “That was screwed up!” he shouted as he was flung across the room. “I’d never do that to a kitten!”

  “Goodbye, Tink.” I closed the door, shutting him out, and stepped out onto the porch.

  Cold air immediately greeted me. Holy crap was it chilly. I was glad I’d grabbed a long-sleeved thermal. What the hell was up with the weather? Normally it was still in the eighties during October.

  Making my way through the courtyard, I noticed that some of the vines were withering. I slowed my steps, walking up to the wrought-iron fence. Vines were hardy creations. They lasted all year usually, and I’d only seen them affected once during a severe drought. I scanned the length of the fence. The whole network of vines looked dull and frail. And that was weird, because just a few days ago they were flourishing and taking over everything.

  I reached out, curling my fingers around a section. The plant immediately shrunk up and then broke apart, scattering into tiny pieces that slipped through my fingers until only a fine layer of dust remained on my hand.

  ~

  After making a pit stop at Loyola to withdraw from classes, which was full of suckage, I called Brighton before I caught a ride over to the Quarter. She was still poring over the maps, and there were many according to her, but none of them were marked with helpful asterisks that identified the places of good and happy little fae.

  She still hadn’t heard from her mother, and when I told her I was stopping over at Jerome’s, she hadn’t been exactly hopeful that I’d get any information from him.

  I was praying I could prove her wrong.

  What other choice did we have if she couldn’t find anything in the maps? Especially since her mom was MIA.

  Jerome used to live in St. Bernard Parish, but his home was destroyed during Hurricane Katrina. Ever since, he’d lived over in Tremé, in a Creole cottage. Tremé gets a bad rap. Of course there were some grittier areas, but the neighborhood was ancient and beautiful and proud of its heritage. There was more crime over in the Quarter, and walking in Tremé wasn’t like you were in Little Woods—an area absolutely devastated due to the storm, and years later still forgotten—or Center City, which could get a wee bit rough.

  Tremé had received minor damages during Katrina, mostly due to the raised porches on the old homes, but there’d been a decent amount of work done on the neighborhood. Or at least, that was what I’d been told.

  Since I didn’t have homemade cake to bring him, I stopped at a bakery on Phillips and picked up a chocolate pie, which I thought was the next best thing, and then hoofed it over to his house.

  Jerome’s place was small and white with a bright red door and a raised porch. I passed three kids chasing each other on the sidewalk, one of them carrying a basketball. The wood creaked under my feet as I climbed the steps. Shifting the boxed pie to my other arm, I knocked on the door.

  “What?” boomed Jerome’s voice from inside, followed by a hacking cough.

  My eyes widened as I turned sideways. “It’s Ivy.”

  “So?” came the response, but it sounded closer. Kind of.

  I bit back a retort. “I came to see how you were feeling.”

  “Feelin’ like I don’t want visitors.” The door opened, though, and Jerome was standing there in a forest-green robe. He looked haggard as hell. We eyed each other for a moment. Then his gaze dropped to the box I held. Without saying another word, he shuffled aside.

  Stepping through the door, I glanced around the living room. I’d known where Jerome had lived for a while, but I’d never been to his place before. The leather furniture screamed single man. So did the game playing on the flat-screen TV.

  “Ya look like crap,” he said, squinting at me. “Thought ya should know.”

  “Well, your house smells like dust and Vick’s VapoRub,” I replied.

  Jerome snorted and then coughed as he made his way over to the recliner and plopped down. “Insultin’ me while I might be dyin’ is a new low even for ya, the red-headed demon.”

  I rolled my eyes. “But hey, I brought you chocolate pie.”

  “That goes some distance for makin’ up for your rudeness.” He adjusted his robe as he said, “Put it on the kitchen counter, will ya?”

  That wasn’t so much of a question, but I decided not to point that out as I walked the small distance to his kitchen and placed it on the counter next to a sparkling clean coffee maker.

  “Where’s that boy of yours?” he asked.

  Pain pierced my chest as I walked back into the living room. “He’s out doing . . . guy stuff.”

  Jerome shot me a look that was a cross between “are you stupid?” and “why are you wasting my time?” “Heard about Val,” he said.

  “Yeah.” I cleared my throat, not wanting to go there. I sat down on the edge of the couch and placed my hands on my knees. “So, you’re not feeling any better?”

  That look on his face increased. “Girl, I know ya ain’t here to check on my well-being.”

  “I’m kind of insulted by your lack of faith in me,” I said.

  “Shit.” He laughed and then coughed. “Why ya here? Did David send ya to tell me to get my ass back to the shop? Because ya can tell him to go shove that—”

  “Yeah, no. David doesn’t even know I’m here. No one does, actually.”

  That silenced him, but that wasn’t the only change. His right hand slipped off the arm of the recliner, inching toward the crease in the cushion, and I knew immediately what he was going for.

  A dagger.

  Or a gun.

  “Jesus,” I said, throwing up my hands. “I didn’t come to kill you. What the hell, Jerome?”

  His hand stilled. “Ya can’t be too safe these days.”

  That was sad but true. “Look, I’m here for a reason. I have a question to ask you.”

  Suspicion still clung to his features. “Uh-huh.”

  I decided not to beat around the bush. “I want to know about the fae who don’t feed on humans.”

  Disbelief flickered across his face a second before his features settled into their typical grumpy position, but I’d seen it. Mother-freaking bingo. I’d seen it. “I don’t know what ya—”

  “Yes, you do,” I went on, leaning forward. “And it’s important.”

  “Ya crazy.” He shook his head, looking away. His dark eyes narrowed. “Ya shouldn’t be asking questions like that. Ya don’t know—”

  “I know that the Order worked with these fae before, up until a couple of decades ago, and I know that the Order buried it so deep that no one knows about it.”

  He was silent for a moment. “Merle’s been talkin’.”

  Excitement rose. “Actually, not really. She’s missing.”

  His gaze shot to me. “What?”

  “She’s gone. I think she might’ve gone to one of these communities.”

  “No way.” He shook his head again. “That ain’t possible.” His slippered foot started tapping. “And not because of the why ya think. Those communities ain’t in existence anymore.”

  Holy crap, I was a bit breathless. Jerome was actually talking to me. “You—so, you’re saying that there are communities of fae that don’t feed on humans? That are good?”

  “I said ‘was,’ and that means in the past. They’ve all been . . . dealt with.”

  I frowned.

  Jerome rubbed a thick hand over his forehead. “David don’t know about this. This was before he came on as sect leader and was just some boy workin’ the streets. Ain’t no one around here besides Merle who knows about this. And that�
��s the way it needs to stay.”

  “Wait. What?”

  “All of that is in the past and it ain’t a past anyone is