Wicked (A Wicked Saga #1)(15)
Author: J. Lynn

I turned to the left, watching as Jo Ann Woodward dropped into the seat beside me. "Thanks. I feel even better now."

She laughed softly as she pulled the massive Statistics text out of her bag and tucked thick, almond colored hair behind her ear. "That was mean of me." The text thumped off the desk—the book was so big and thick, I was sure I could turn it into a deadly weapon. "Seriously, are you feeling well?"

I really liked Jo Ann. I met her my first year at Loyola in one of my Intro to Psych classes, and I’d immediately hit it off with the curvy brunette. She was genuinely nice and as sweet as a strawberry dipped in sugar. Like one of those rare people that honestly didn’t have a bad word to say about anyone, she was the kind of person I really wanted to be best friends with, and when I hung out with her, I felt . . . normal.

That feeling was rare and priceless.

Although Jo Ann and I had shared many late night study groups and we’d even gone out a few times, she really didn’t know what I did or who I was. Keeping the Order a secret put up a huge wall between us that no matter how close we got, would never breach.

And that sucked.

Glancing at my notes I’d taken from Wednesday, I shook my head. "I think I might’ve had a stomach bug yesterday or something." Such a lie. "I’m feeling better." Kind of not a lie. I wasn’t dying from pain, but my stomach was tender.

"Oh no, do you need anything?" she asked as her brown eyes grew to the size of mini spaceships.

For some reason, Jo Ann labored under the belief that I needed mothering. Not in an overbearing way, but it worried her that I lived alone in the city and she knew my immediate family was gone. Unable to tell her the truth of how they died, I’d gone with the trusty and tragic car accident.

"I’m okay. I promise," I told her as I glanced at the clock. Two minutes past the start of class. Maybe we’d get lucky, and the professor would be a no-show.

Jo Ann watched me as she twirled a pen between her fingers. "Are you sure? I can make a mean bowl of chicken noodle soup. Straight out of the can."

I laughed. "Yeah, I’m sure."

She grinned.  "You want to grab something to eat before I head into work?"

Jo Ann worked at a halfway home in town, proving she was near sainthood. I almost said yes but remembered I had to head to the Quarter for the weekly meeting. Disappointment surged. "I can’t. Maybe this weekend?"

Her lips split into a big smile. "Yeah, just text me. I’m off on Sunday."

Finally, our professor found his way to class, and again it appeared as if he dozed off mid-lecture. I wasn’t sure I actually learned anything by the time class wrapped up, and I still hadn’t figured out why it was a prerequisite.

I walked out of class with Jo Ann, ignoring the stitch in my side as we tried to navigate the packed hallway. "By the way," she said, nudging my arm with hers, "I like your hair like that."

"Huh?"

"You have it down," she pointed out. "You never wear it down. It looks good like that."

"Oh." Feeling self-conscious, I reached up and my fingers tangled with the curls as we hit the stairwell. "I really didn’t do anything with it this morning."

That part was true. I’d showered and let it air dry while I shoved my leftover beignets in my mouth.

She laughed. "Then you should do nothing more often. You . . ." Trailing off, she nearly walked into the railing as we headed down the steps.

"Whoa. You okay?" I asked.

Her naturally tanned checks turned red, and she seemed unable to form a word. A moment later I understood why. Coming up the stairs was Jo Ann’s future husband.

Except Christian Tran didn’t realize that.

I hid my smile as he rounded the landing and looked up. Black baseball cap twisted on backward, a shock of black hair curled out from under the band. His dark eyes were warm and friendly as they landed on Jo Ann.

"Hey," he said.

Jo Ann beeped. That’s what her response sounded like, and that was all she was able to do as Christian continued up the stairs. The two of them worked at the halfway home, but on alternate schedules. She didn’t know a lot about him. Hell, she didn’t even know if he was single or if he even liked the ladies, but she was madly in love with him.

I grabbed her hand, pulling her down the stairs. "You really need to talk to him."

Her eyes were wide again, panicked. "I can’t. You just saw that. It happens every time I try to talk to him. I sound like Beaker."

Tossing my head back, I cackled like a cracked out hyena. "Oh my God, you totally did sound like Beaker."

"I know," she lamented. "He probably thinks I can’t talk."

"He knows." I wanted to somehow give her better, more useful advice, but I was so out of it when it came to dating that last night was the closest I’d been to a member of the opposite sex.

The moment I thought of Ren, I was simultaneously angry and . . . and I didn’t know what else. There wasn’t a single word I could use to describe it. My heart did this weird flipping thing, and that made me not want to even think his name.

Exasperated with myself, I missed half of what Jo Ann was saying, and she had to rush to her next class to be on time. As always, she hugged me tight, like we’d known each other since we were in diapers, and I promised to text her over the weekend before we parted ways.

I caught a trolley to the Quarter, and with some time to kill, I made my way to Aunt Sally’s Shop to pick up a box of pralines for Tink. Not that he needed more sugar in his little body, but I knew it would make him happy.

Stowing the box in my backpack, I headed down Decatur. It was early Friday evening, and the streets were crazy. Tonight would be off the hook, and the fae would be everywhere. It didn’t feel right not hunting tonight, especially since I knew I could do it without hurting myself.

Mama Lousy was pretty busy as I passed by and peeked in. Jerome was behind the counter, looking as grumpy as an old man sitting on the front porch watching kids run across his lawn. He was retired, out of the Order for the last ten years, and he really was a poor choice when it came to working the shop.

Jerome was not a people person.

Grinning, I waved at him from outside.

He scowled in my direction as someone ambled up to the counter, dropping a fake skull on it.

I entered through the side and climbed the stairs. After a couple steps up, I glanced down, and relief coursed through me when I saw that the steps weren’t covered with my blood. That would’ve been gross.

The door at the top opened about ten seconds after I rang the buzzer. Expecting Harris when I stepped through, I bit back a sharp curse when I saw Trent.