Torn (A Wicked Trilogy 2)

“I’ll miss you,” he said finally.

Oh.

Well then.

Ren leaned down and kissed me. It was short but powerful, and better than cheese and bacon-smothered Tater Tots.

He swaggered off down Canal, heading back in the direction we came from, and I was left standing there, staring at him, a little weak in the knees.

Goodness.

Drawing in a deep breath, I looked down and fished out my cellphone. Dusk had fallen, and since it was a little too early for Val to be at Twin Cups, I decided to go ahead and make my way there. It wouldn’t hurt to scope out the place and talk to a few of the bartenders.

Twin Cups was located about two miles past the Quarter, in the Bywater neighborhood, and it was hidden inside another bar that lo

oked like any other bar outside the Quarter—slightly less smelly, a little quieter, the floors a little less sticky.

With the night just kicking off, the streets were crowded and it took about forty minutes for me to hoof it to Bywater. The whole time I kept an eye out for fae. I didn’t catch sight of any silvery skin, but an ancient could be around. They were harder to pick out since they didn’t use glamour like the rest and blended in with humans.

Muscles aching in my butt and legs, I wanted to sit down by the time I reached my destination. Laughter and shouts greeted me as I walked into the bar, squeezing past the high top tables. No one paid attention to me as I headed for the hall in the back of the two-story building. I passed the restrooms and stopped in front of a Coke vending machine.

Reaching into my purse, I snagged two dollars out of my wallet and fed them into the machine. Instead of hitting one of the soda options, I reached around and hit the button along the side.

The machine rumbled to life and I stepped back. No soda dropped, but what looked like a regular wall beside it cracked open.

So fancy and secretive.

Grinning, I opened the door to a narrow staircase that led upstairs. At the top there was another door which opened with a turn of the knob. Nothing extraordinary there. Just a regular door.

The Twin Cups was super low key. TVs were on, and like downstairs, some game was playing, but the volume was turned down. There weren’t any high top tables, just couches and low chairs surrounded by coffee and end tables. A wall of books faced the doorway. One time, when Val had been a bit tipsy, she’d ventured over to the shelves and discovered that some of the books contained old, hand-drawn maps of the city. Others had drawings of buildings. Pretty cool.

I almost could see Val standing there, her curly hair falling prettily around her shoulders, wearing something bright, most likely in orange or fuchsia. She’d be in a loose-fitting skirt, and multi-colored bangles would be dangling from her wrist.

But she wasn’t dancing in front of the shelves.

Only a few people were in Twin Cups. Two men sitting on a couch, and a group of women surrounding a coffee table with books stacked on it. It looked like a book club or something, and I was immediately envious of their smiles and whispered conversation about book boyfriends. For a moment, I allowed myself to imagine sitting with them, chatting about books. I could picture Jo Ann with me. Maybe even Val.

But that wasn’t my life.

It never had been.

My chest heavy, I turned to the left and recognized the bartender. He was an attractive, dark-skinned man in his mid-twenties. His name was Reggie, and he went to Tulane. I was pretty confident he and Val had hooked up in the restroom behind the bar more than once.

He looked up from whatever he was doing and smiled. “Hey there, Curly. Been a long time.”

“It has.” I made my way to the shiny, polished bar and hopped up on a stool. I snagged my sunglasses off my head and placed them in my purse. “How’ve you been?” I asked him.

“Good.” He moved a tray of shot glasses to the back bar. “Only have two classes this semester that are really giving me trouble. How’s Loyola?”

“Um, it’s going . . . fine.” Stupidly embarrassed, I was unable to admit that I was dropping out.

His brows furrowed as he walked over to where I sat. “You sure you’re okay? Looks like you have a black eye.”

And I guessed my makeup was fading. “I got mugged about a week ago.”

“Fuck. For real?” He leaned his elbows against the table. “This damn city, man.”

My eyes widened slightly as I stared down at my hands. “I have a question for you,” I said.

“Ask away.”

I smiled. “Have you seen Val recently?”

“Val? Hell, I haven’t seen her in . . .” His brown eyes rose to the ceiling. “I haven’t seen her in a couple of months. Probably not since July.”

Dammit.

Reggie worked every Sunday evening and most of the nights throughout the week. If he hadn’t seen her, she probably hadn’t come by and wasn’t going to. But for her to not have been here in months? Obviously, the whole working for the fae thing wasn’t something new that had happened in the last couple of weeks.

“Did you two have a falling out or something?” he asked.

“You could say that.”

A wry grin formed. “Sounds like a good story. I got time.”

I started to respond, but my phone rang from inside my bag. Holding up my hand, I hopped off the stool and pulled my cell out. It was Brighton, which was weird because that woman was terrible when it came to using the phone, finding the phone, and returning calls. Needless to say, I was surprised.

“Hey,” I answered, turning and leaning against the bar. “What’s—?”

“My mom is gone,” Brighton blurted out.

My spine stiffened. “What?”

“She’s gone, Ivy. But that’s not all.” Her voice was pitched and strained. “Can you come over? I . . . This isn’t something I can talk about over the phone. You have to see it.”

“I’ll be right there.”

~

Brighton and her mother Merle lived in the Garden District, not entirely far from my apartment. They lived in a gorgeous antebellum with one of the nicest kept courtyards, the kind that put my overgrown mess to shame.

Normally Merle would be out back, and Brighton would be watching over her. The doors would be open and jazzy music would be drifting out from inside the house.

The front door opened as I stepped through the wrought-iron gate and approached the sprawling porch. Brighton stood in the open doorway, her blonde hair in a loose ponytail at the nape of her neck. She was in her mid-thirties, gorgeous in an all-American, beauty pageant winning way.

“Thank you for coming over right away.” She stepped back, letting me into the cool interior of the house. The place was very traditional, with old furniture and walls papered with dainty flowers in muted, pastel colors. It probably had been that way since the house was built, lovingly taken care of through the ages. “I didn’t know who else to call. I don’t really trust the other members and I know things are really bad right now.”

I couldn’t blame her for not trusting the Order. Merle had been fed on by the fae and hadn’t fully mentally recovered from that. A lot of the Order members were dicks when it came to Merle, but before the incident with the fae, she was pretty high up there.

This wasn’t the first time Merle had disappeared. Sometimes she roamed off, but I’d never seen Brighton this stressed out about it before.

“What’s going on?” I asked her.

She walked through the sitting room and into the dining hall. There were several journals and handwritten notes laid out on the oval, cream-colored table. “Mom hasn’t been acting right since the gate opened.” She paused, picking up a short glass of what I assumed contained liquor. “More so than normal. It’s like she knew this was going to happen.”

I thought back to the last conversation I’d had with Merle. The woman had known a lot—all about halflings, the fact there were two gates—and she’d always had a major problem with Val. I’d always believed Merle was just being a Judgey McJudgers over Val’s dating habits like some older people tended to be, but now I was wondering if she was just seeing something we’d all been blind to.

“Tell me what happened.”

She took a swig of her drink then stopped. “You want something to—”