Wicked (A Wicked Trilogy 1)

world is about to end' crap, but this one? He called me a cow, that's about it."

David nodded, almost absently, and then with another swift reminder that I was off rotation, he left the room, leaving me staring into nothing. As I searched for my boots, I couldn't help but notice that the unsettled feeling in the pit of my stomach hadn't faded, even with David saying he was going to contact the other sects.

The thing was, as I found my boots under the small table by the bed, I couldn't shake the feeling that while David didn't appear to be too overly concerned about the potential of an ancient roaming around, this was just the beginning of something big.

Chapter Three

Getting home took a little longer than normal since I wasn't feeling up to hoofing it anywhere, which meant dealing with traffic. I caught a cab and used the time to inconspicuously—because the cabbie was starting to give me a weird look—reassure Val that I wasn't dead, currently dying, or going to die anytime soon.

That I knew of.

"I have bad news," I told her as we neared the Garden District.

Val snorted. "Other than getting shot by some punk?"

I decided to tell her it was some random jerk on the street that shot me, which didn't take a leap of faith to believe. The fae weren't the only dangerous things on the streets of New Orleans. The cabbie had hit the break at that point, and I thought he was going to kick me out of the car or something. "Yeah, besides that. I can't work Saturday night. David pulled me."

"Honey, the moment you told me you were shot, I expected that. And honestly, that's the last thing you need to worry about."

"Thanks," I murmured, glancing out the window then doing a double take. A guy was riding a . . . unicycle on the side of the road, wearing a . . . blue cape. What the hell?

Only in New Orleans.

"Do you want me to swing by before I head out tonight?" she asked.

I glanced at the driver. "Nah. I'm just going to clean up and sleep."

"Call me if you need anything. Promise."

The urge to tell her what really happened last night was hard to resist. Not because I wanted to gossip, but because I wanted to warn her to be on the lookout. Sighing, I gripped my cell tightly. "Promise, but hey, be careful. Please?" The very moment that left my mouth, icy fear wriggled into my chest. Losing Val, the only real friend I'd made since moving here wasn't something I wanted to even consider. "You promise me that, okay?"

Val's laugh was airy. "I'm always careful."

Hanging up the phone after saying goodbye, I realized we were on Coliseum Street and edging to a stop against the curb shaded by thick oak trees. I dug into my bag and handed over some cash before climbing out.

The cabbie looked happy to be getting the hell out of there.

I was lucky with the place the Order had helped me find upon arriving in the city. While most of the Order lived closer to the Quarter, I was thrilled to be in the absolutely stunning Garden District, with its tapestry of trees, rich history, and old homes.

The house, about a ten-minute walk from Lafayette Cemetery No.1 was an antebellum home converted into two apartments, one up and one down. There were separate balconies with the entrance to the first floor at the front, and the entrance to my place along the back, which was accessed through a gorgeous courtyard overflowing with potted plants and flowers.

The iron cornstalk fence surrounding the entire property was an added benefit.

Well, up until now.

A shudder worked its way down my spine as I latched the gate behind me, and before I headed through the courtyard, I stared out at the cars flowing down the street. A warm breeze caught the loose curls at the nape of my neck and tossed them as I drew in an unsteady breath.

General mankind had no idea that fae existed because the Order had been able to protect them so far. Yes, some we couldn't save, but as a whole, we did a damn good job keeping them safe. But if that fae I ran into last night was an ancient, and if there were more around, or if they were no longer susceptible to iron, we were so screwed.

I wondered who I could even talk to about an ancient. David was obviously not going to be that helpful. The only person who came to mind was Brighton Jussier's mother Merle, a woman who knew a lot about virtually everything, but she was kind of . . . whacked.

Rumor had it that Merle got caught by fae without the protection of a clover and it messed with her head. Before then, she had been well-known as a brilliant mind in the Order, but now her mental state changed by the day.

I turned from the road, walking down the cobblestone path in the courtyard. Normally I lingered, plucking off the dead petals from the flowers, but I was more tired than I realized.

I guessed bleeding like a 'stuck pig' was exhausting.

At the top of the outdoor stairs, I groaned as I spotted three small boxes from Amazon stacked in front of my door, just under the awning. "Oh, come on."

I did not order anything from Amazon recently, but I bet I knew who did. God, I really needed to change my password to my Prime account and turn one-click ordering off.

Cursing under my breath, I picked up the boxes. They were light, but my tummy was feeling tender. I unlocked the door and stepped into the living room, quickly scanning the couch. The peach colored blanket was no longer draped along the back but half on the cushion and half on the floor.

The TV was on, a movie playing where a boy wearing glasses was riding a broom, trying to escape a very angry, very large dragon. As I closed the door behind me, locking it, I murmured, "Harry Potter . . . and the Goblet of Fire? What the . . . ?"

I sighed.

I placed the boxes in a low sling back chair by the door that had a footstool placed in front of it, walking over to the slider behind the couch and pulling the drapes back. Potted flowers swayed in the breeze, but the wicker chairs with the awesomely thick cushions I'd paid an arm and a torso for were empty.

So was the bathroom in the hallway, but I grabbed the shower curtain with pastel colored fish on it and yanked it back. Bathtub also empty.

Opening the door to my bedroom, I was relieved to find everything in there the way I liked it and had left it—blinds and curtains closed. The room was a good twenty degrees cooler than any other place in my apartment, and I couldn't wait to face plant in my bed and snuggle with the super comfy chenille bedspread.

After I showered.

There was a smaller, second bedroom on the other side of the kitchen that faced Coliseum Street, and had another balcony accessed from it. People loved their balconies around these parts. I entered the kitchen, and my gaze immediately went to the open cabinet door where I kept my cereal boxes.

All twelve of them.

I liked my variety when it came to cereal.

Dropping my backpack in the chair near the bistro table by the large window that overlooked the courtyard below, I walked around the island and stopped in front of the cabinet.

On the counter, the box of Lucky Charms—how ironic—was tipped to the side, the plastic wrapper split open and the top of the box resting against the rim of a huge blue and purple bowl.

Having really no idea of what I was going to see, I slowly approached the bowl. A surprised laugh bubbled up my throat and I clapped my hand over my mouth to squelch it.

Lying in my bowl was a houseguest I wasn't quite sure how I ended up with but couldn't seem to get rid of. Tiny arms and legs were sprawled across a bed of cereal. Not a single marshmallow was in sight, and I'd bet all the money in my savings account that the best part of the cereal was in the distended belly of the brownie passed out in my cereal bowl.

Could brownies get intoxicated from sugar?

I had no idea.

Two and a half years ago, I stopped a fae from luring a small girl away from her family, and ended up chasing the sick bastard into Saint Louis Cemetery No. 1 where I was able to send him back to the Otherworld. But as I was in the process of leaving, I got distracted by the rumored tomb of Marie Laveau, and that was where

I found the little brownie.

Brownies were a rarity in the mortal realm. Frankly, from what I'd heard, they hated it here, supposedly preferring the forests of their realms, and honestly, there was no hiding what they were.

The gossamer wings kind of stood out.

Myths always portrayed them as being wingless, but they had them. They were also tiny, little things about the size of a Barbie doll. The brownie had been injured, suffering a tear in his frail wings and a broken leg. The moment he stared up at me with those big, pale blue eyes, I knew I couldn't just leave him there, hiding behind a vase with dried out flowers in it, standing among crusty Mardi Gras' beads. So I picked him up and put him in my backpack.

I'd taken the brownie home with me.