Ren and I made plans to meet up after the meeting on Friday. I didn’t tell him that I thought I might know someone who’d have info on the gateway. I wasn’t about throwing names out there, and he hadn’t pushed it. Instead, he insisted on seeing me home, which was ridiculous considering I roamed the streets at all hours of the night due to my schedule, and he hadn’t done so the night before.
Unless he had followed me home Thursday night and lied about checking my file just for the contact info, but if he hadn’t done that, making sure I didn’t get abducted on the way home or something was kind of sweet. Barely. However, the whole scaling the wall outside and letting himself into my apartment uninvited totally canceled out the sweetness.
Tink was passed out on the throw pillow when I locked the door behind me a little before three in the morning. His war paint was faded on his face and smeared across the fabric. I couldn’t even begin to know how to get that out without it staining. Could you wash pillows? Ugh, Tink was going to owe me for this.
He must’ve been exhausted, because when I scooped him up and carried him into his bedroom, he remained asleep. I placed him on the small dog pillow he’d fashioned into a mammoth-sized bed.
Most of the time I avoided going into his bedroom, and as I backed out of it, I quickly realized that had been a good idea. He had an army of troll dolls lining the built-in bookcases that covered the length of the wall opposite his bed.
“Ahhh,” I murmured as at least three hundred glassy black eyes seemed to be sizing me up. “So creepy.”
I closed the door behind me and grabbed a Capri Sun pouch out of the fridge. Then I checked the French doors that led to the balcony off the living room. Pulling back the soft blue curtains, I found that the door was locked. Had to be Ren, because I doubted Tink would lock them.
After drinking my fruit punch, I poured myself into bed, and this time when I fell asleep I wasn’t woken up hours later with some random dude sitting next to me. Close to ten in the morning, I forced myself to put on my running sneakers and not go into the kitchen and overdose on sweet tea or some other form of caffeine. That would be my reward if I made it back to my apartment alive.
Being a part of the Order required that I stay in shape, so I made myself run at least three miles four times a week. Combining that with the various mixed martial arts training we did with other members was the only reason why I didn’t weigh a billion pounds since I ate pretty much everything and anything in front of me.
I needed to run since I hadn’t done anything truly physical for any length of time since Wednesday morning. Couldn’t fight the fae if I was winded easily.
YOU ARE READING
Things are about to get Wicked in New Orleans. Twenty-two year old Ivy Morgan isn’t your average college student. She, and others like her, know humans aren’t the only thing trolling the French Quarter for fun… and for food. Her duty to the Order is...