Wicked (A Wicked Saga #1)(9)
Author: J. Lynn

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.

I knew—God, I knew—it was my duty to finish the job. No creature of the Otherworld was allowed to survive in our world, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it, even though I knew I’d be in a world of trouble, maybe even kicked out of the Order. But I’d taken him home, created a leg splint out of popsicle sticks, and wrapped his wing with gauze while he sat there, a forlorn and pouty look on his cute face. I don’t even know why I did it. I hated anything from the Otherworld—no matter their size or what breed they were—but for some reason, I took care of the little brownie.

And he’d stayed.

Probably because he discovered the Internet, the TV, and my Amazon Prime.

So yeah, I knew exactly how I ended up with the brownie, and just didn’t understand why I had a weak spot for the little douche I’d named Tink.

I snorted.

Tink hated that nickname once I played the movie Peter Pan for him.

Peering into the bowl, I shook my head. He was shirtless, and cereal was stuck to his pale white wings, but at least he had pants on. Tink was wearing a pair of Ken doll trousers. Black ones with satiny stripes running down the sides.

I poked him in the belly.

He jerked away, arms flying as he sat up, snapping at my finger with wicked sharp teeth, coming dangerously close to making contact.

"Bite me," I warned, "and I will bury you alive in a shoebox."

His mouth dropped open as he popped out of the bowl, hovering above it. Pieces of cereal flew across the counter as his wings moved soundlessly. "Where have you been? You didn’t come home. I thought you were dead, and no one knows about me, and I would just be left here. Forgotten. I’d starve, Ivy. Starve."