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 revisiting. Sorry to hear that Merle is missing, but she ain’t with no good fae. And there ain’t nothin’ to tell.”
“Jerome, please. You obviously know something about these fae.” I fought to keep my patience. “What can it hurt by you telling me about it?”
He laughed. “Girl, ya don’t know anything.”
“That’s why I’m here.”
“There’s nothin’ to tell,” he repeated.
I counted to ten before I continued. “Obviously there’s a lot to tell. There were fae who didn’t harm humans at one time. Why can’t you tell me about them, about what happened?”
Jerome was quiet.
“You know the knights and the prince came through those gates and—”
“And that got nothin’ do with what used to be some thirty or so years ago. They can’t help ya, because they ain’t existin’ no more,” Jerome snapped, his voice thick with the cold. “Sorry I ain’t got the kind of news ya lookin’ for, but it’s time for you to go.”
“Jerome.” My hands curled into fists.
“I mean it, Ivy. Ya need to go. Now.” His gaze cut to mine. “Don’t make me ask ya again.”
I held his gaze. I didn’t get it. He knew something. He’d pretty much confirmed that there had been good fae once upon a time, but refused to go into any detail about it and I couldn’t figure out why. Why was it such a big deal for it to be known that there were fae who didn’t feed on humans?
“Ya know where the door is,” Jerome said.
As much as it ticked me off, I knew when it was time to give it up when it came to Jerome. Pressing my lips together, I rose. “Hope you enjoy your pie,” I said.
He didn’t say anything until I reached the door, and then he stopped me by saying, “Don’t go around askin’ other people about that either. Heed my advice on it. There ain’t nothin’ you need to know about any of that.”
I didn’t respond as I walked outside, closing the door behind me. As I walked down the steps, my phone rang. I pulled it out and saw that it was David. My heart skipped a beat and I willed my voice to stay level as I answered it. “What’s up?”
“Is Ren with you?”
I stopped walking. “No. Why?”
“Shit,” grumbled David. “He was supposed to come back and talk with me last night about some shit that was urgent. He didn’t show. I called him last night and this morning. No answer. Like he’s done dropped off the face of this planet.”
Chapter Sixteen
The conversation with Jerome and the whole situation faded into the background. My heart was thumping fast as I stared at my phone. Ren couldn’t be missing. Twenty-four hours hadn’t even passed since the last time I’d seen him. Granted, the length of time didn’t matter, but I refused to believe he had just disappeared. No way. My brain couldn’t even process that.
There was a good chance he was taking some unplanned and unapproved leave time after I’d dropped that bomb on him, but would he really not tell David? Ren was too responsible to do that.
As I walked back toward the Quarter, I ignored the way my pulse was all over the place, and called Ren. The likelihood of him answering my call when he wasn’t answering David’s was slim, but I had to try.
The phone rang and went to voicemail. For a moment, I didn’t know if I should leave a message or not, and then told myself I was being stupid. The words tumbled out. “Ren, this is Ivy. I’m calling you because David is looking for you. He’s been trying to reach you and you—well, obviously you know you haven’t returned his call.” Rolling my eyes, I stopped at the corner of St. Louis and Basin. “Anyway, can you call him back? I don’t expect you to call me. But just call him back. Please.”
Hanging up, I slipped my phone back in my bag and then brushed the fine wisps of hair back from my face. I glanced over at the cemetery. Nervous laughter could be heard as a tour guide regaled them with stories about Voodoo queen Marie Laveau and her daughter.
Acid churned in my stomach like I had drunk bad milk. What if the prince had gotten hold of Ren? The mere thought of that robbed the air from my lungs. Ren could hate me and want to gouge his eyeballs out at the sight of me, but I wanted him to live.
Okay. There was no need to panic right now. I had to go to the headquarters because David reminded me about the stupid report before he’d hung up, but I’d be passing where Ren had parked his truck yesterday afternoon. I could see if it was still there. If it was there, then that . . . yeah, that could be something to get concerned over.
I picked up my pace, and it took about fifteen minutes to get to where Ren had parked. Entering the small, dimly lit garage, I shivered since it was at least ten degrees cooler here than outside. He’d parked on the second level, the top floor. I headed toward the cement stairs. The garage was small, only fitting about fifty cars, but some days it was packed like a can of sardines. Today was one of them. The entire place smelled of gas fumes and body odor.
I rounded the second-
floor landing and hurried toward the back of the garage, walking around the stained pillars as I scanned the row of vehicles. I knew he’d parked somewhere in the middle, but as I reached the back, I didn’t see his truck anywhere.
That was a good sign, I told myself as I looked out the dust and dirt-covered window, down to the street below. His truck being gone meant he came back to it at some point last night. The truck being here would have meant he’d never made it back, and there would be very limited reasons that didn’t include something horrific for why that would happen.
Still, as I turned around, I wasn’t exactly relieved. I took a step and then stopped as I heard footsteps. My gaze swung to the right as my eyes narrowed. My paranoia blew through the roof, and my hand drifted to the dagger concealed at my hip, under my shirt.
A second later, a tall and slender man stepped out from behind a dark green van. On first glance, he looked super normal. Long-sleeved shirt and denim jeans, but within seconds the façade of normalcy faded away, revealing the truth beneath the glamour I’d been warded at birth to see through.
Holy shit.
He was a fae.
There was an actual fae in the garage, and normally this wouldn’t be a big deal, but since no one other than my lucky ass had seen a fae since the gate had opened, this was huge.
The fae walked into the center of the garage, his steps slow and measured. He appeared older than most, and his silvery-white hair was shorn short. I unhooked my dagger.
He stopped, raising his hands at his sides in a universal don’t-kill-me gesture, which I knew better than to trust. I tightened my grasp. The fae opened his mouth as if he were to speak.
Another fae appeared at the top of the stairs. Crap. A female stalked forward purposefully. No fae in days and days, and I end up with two of them?
Oh, but I had a lot of pent-up aggression to work out of my system, so this could be a good thing.
The male turned, his arms dropping. “No—” His words were cut off as the female fae rushed forward, her long, icy-blonde hair streaming out behind her. She held something—a dagger, most definitely an iron dagger.
Torn (A Wicked Trilogy Book 2) Page 14
