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  Mine was next to my hipbone. None of us wore it an area visible to mortals or fae.

  So what I did with my life was important. I got that. The Order was my family. And I didn't regret any of what I had to do or what I'd given up. Even if the vast majority of people had no clue what the Order and I were doing, I was still making a difference with my life. I was saving lives.

  And I was one badass ninja when I wanted to be.

  That brought a grin to my lips.

  Slinging my bag over my shoulder, I grabbed my empty iced coffee and hopped to my feet. It was time to work.

  ~

  The fae I spotted outside of a bar on Bourbon Street reminded me of Daryl Dixon from The Walking Dead. Which was made of suck since I was going to have to kill him.

  He was wearing a tan button-up shirt with the sleeves cut off at the shoulders, the edges frayed and worn, and jeans almost faded out completely at the knees. He had that weirdly hot redneck vibe about him, especially with the shaggy haircut.

  The whole silvery skin tone and pointy ears really ruined the redneck ambiance though.

  In and out of the bars on Bourbon Street, the fae reminded me of a tourist, because each time he walked out, he had a new container in his hand. Rumor had it that human alcohol didn't affect the fae, but nightshade, a plant toxic to humans, worked just like liquor did.

  After seeing him with so many different containers and watching him for the past hour, I began to suspect that each of those bars might have a fae in them, because he was walking like he was three sheets to the wind by the time he wandered off Bourbon and passed the Gumbo Shop.

  I made a mental note to call David Faustin, the head of the New Orleans branch of the Order, to see if he'd heard anything from the other members about nightshade being served at the human bars. But first I needed to take care of the Daryl Dixon reject.

  I couldn't just walk up to the fae and get all stabby with him in front of people. I didn't want to spend a night in jail. Again. The last time someone saw me take out a fae, the police were called, and even though there was no body, I was loaded up with weapons, and that was kind of hard to explain.

  And I really didn't want to listen to David bitch about all the strings he had to pull and blah, blah.

  I'd probably sweated a pound off my boobs by the time the fae stumbled down an alley. Halle-freakin'-lujah. I was starving, there were beignets with my name written all over them, and since it was Wednesday night, there weren't a lot of fae roaming around, so I was totally going to lose my bet with Val.

  The weekend would be a totally different story. When there were more mortals to mess with and it was easier for them to do what they wanted and get away, they came out in droves.

  Kind of like cockroaches scurrying around at night.

  The fae blended in with the thick shadows of the narrow alley, and I was quiet as I followed him, keeping close to the damp brick walls. Sliding my hands off the straps of my backpack, I groaned when the fae stopped halfway down the alley and faced the building.

  His hands dropped to his zipper.

  Was he seriously going to pee? Really? Ugh, that was so not on my list of things I wanted to hear or see tonight. And could I really kill something while it was peeing? Seemed kind of unsportsmanlike to kick a dude with his pants down.

  I was so not going to wait for him to do his business. At the rate in which he was moving, I'd be here for about ten minutes before he got his zipper down.

  Keeping my gaze trained on the fae, I reached down and slipped my hand around the non-business side of the iron stake secured inside my boot. Iron had always been epically destructive to the fae. They didn't go anywhere near it. Just the touch of it singed them, and if you stabbed one in the center of the chest, it didn't kill them but sent them right back to their world.

  However, separating their heads from their bodies ended them. For realsies.

  But sending them to the Otherworld was enough, thank God, because obviously chopping heads off was messy and gross. Gates, hidden all over, were the doorways between our worlds. They'd been closed for centuries, but were still well guarded. Sending them back was a one-way ticket.

  I stepped away from the building, stake in hand as I moved swiftly down the alley. At my back was the hum of the busy street, muted conversations, and the distant drone of laughter.

  My fingers tightened on the stake as the fae shifted his legs, spreading his thighs. I didn't make a sound as I walked right up to him, but some kind of inherent instinct alerted him to my presence. Fae couldn't sense us, but they knew the Order were around.

  The fae twisted at the waist; his milky blue eyes met mine but were unfocused. Confusion splashed across his striking features.

  "Hi!" I chirped, cocking my arm back.

  His gaze flickered to my hand and he sighed. "Fuck."

  Even intoxicated and about to pee, the fae was freaking fast. Whirling around, he deflected my blow with one arm and lifted his knee. Spinning to the side, I narrowly avoided a kick to the stomach.

  I didn't glance down to see just how far he got with the zipper as I sprung forward and dipped under the arm he swung at me. Popping up behind him, I planted my foot in the center of his back.

  The fae grunted as he staggered a step then turned to me as I rushed forward, ready for this to be over. Swinging my hand with the stake, the sharpened edge wasn't even an inch from his chest when he spat, "Your whole world is about to end. He's—"

  I shoved the iron stake into his chest, cutting off his words. The stake cut through his skin like he was made of the cheapest tissue. For a second, he stayed completely intact, and he opened his mouth, letting out a high-pitched howl that sounded like a coyote getting run over by a Mack truck.

  Holy shark teeth!

  Four incisors were razor sharp and elongated. They reached his lower lip and reminded me of a mutant saber-toothed tiger. Fae could bite. It wasn't pretty. Actually, all creatures from the Otherworld had a tendency to get nippy.

  Snapping back, I lowered the stake as the fae was sort of sucked into itself. From the top of his shaggy head to his sneakers, he folded like a ball of paper being crumpled, going from over six feet to the size of my hand before there was a crack of sound, like one of those bang snap fireworks, and a flash of intense light.

  Then there was nothing.

  "As last words go, that was kind of cliché and lame," I said to the spot where the fae had stood. "I've heard better."

  "I'm sure you have."

  Heart slamming against my chest, I whirled around. Visions of spending the night in the city jail danced in my head. Despite the fact that I'd probably already been caught red-handed, I shoved the stake behind my back.

  Thankfully, it wasn't one of the city's finest standing at the mouth of the alley, but a man wearing black pants and a white shirt. As he lazily walked forward like he was out for a midnight stroll, I felt no measure of relief.

  The dude obviously saw me stab the fae. This could only mean one of two things. The man belonged to the Order, but wasn't a part of the New Orleans branch, because I didn't recognize him. Or he was a servant to the fae, a human entranced to them. They could be just as dangerous.

  And when you stabbed them, they didn't pull the poof, be-gone act. They bled. They died just like everyone else did. Sometimes slowly. The Order didn't have a no-kill human policy because it was a necessary evil at times, but it had to suck something fierce to kill one.

  My fingers spasmed around the stake. Please don't be a servant. Please be some whack job who thinks I'm his redheaded stepchild or something. Please. Please. "Can I help you?" I asked, bracing myself.

  The man cocked his head. Oh, I didn't like this. Every muscle in my body tensed. He stood a few feet inside the mouth of the alley, and then I saw it.

  Pale, washed out blue eyes, slanted at the outer corners—fae eyes. But his skin wasn't silvery. It was a rich olive color that stood out against blond hair so pale it was almost white, and that hair was long, like
Legolas in the Lord of the Rings long.

  Legolas was kind of hot.

  Okay. I so needed to focus because this dude was not right. Every instinct in me fired off warnings. I took a step back as I eyed the newcomer. There was no glamour on this guy, and he didn't carry the typical glazed over look servants favored. He looked human but not, and there was something about him that screamed he wasn't going to get friendly in any way I'd be happy with.

  The man smiled as he lifted his arm. Out of thin air, a gun appeared in his hand. Just like that. Hand empty one second and the next he was holding a gun.

  What in the holy hell?

  "I wish you could see your expression right about now," he said, and then lowered the gun, aiming it right at me.

  Chapter Two

  The man pointing a gun at me was so not a human, because the last time I checked, we didn't have nifty abilities that enabled us to conjure guns out of thin air. I didn't even think fae could do that.

  But this man—this thing had to be a fae.

  "Not cool." I backed up, no longer bothering to hide the stake. "Kind of tacky to bring a gun to a knife fight."

  The thing laughed, and the sound was as chilling as winters in the north. No humor. No empathy or humanity attached to it. "Kind of stupid to let you walk up behind me and stab me like the last one just did."

  "That's a good point." I kept slowly moving backward as my heart pounded. I was nearing the other side of the alley. There was only one option for me. "You're not a normal fae."

  A tight-lipped smile appeared. "And you're not a stupid cow?"

  "What are you?" I ignored the derogatory term fae called humans. Cow. Cattle. Sustenance for them. Whatever. I'd been called worse.

  He opened his mouth, but that second of distraction was all I needed. Like I'd been trained a hundred times over, I centered myself and cocked back my arm. Stepping forward, I let the stake fly.

  It struck true, just like I knew it would.

  The pointy end embedded deep in the thing's chest, knocking him back a step. A slow, satisfied smile split my lips. "Wait, I know what you are. A dead fae."

  He glanced down and his shoulders rose with a deep, irritated sigh. "Really?" Annoyance colored his tone as he reached up with his free hand and proceeded to pull the stake out of his chest. He tossed it aside, and my eyes widened as the iron stake clanged off the pavement. "How weak do you think I am, cow?"

  Holy shit.

  Fae did not do that. They couldn't. But this one did, and this was so bad it wasn't even funny. I did the only thing left I could do, proving I wasn't a stupid cow. If you couldn't be sure you could win the fight with a fae? When in doubt, get the fuck out.

  I turned and ran.

  That's what we were taught when we were going down shit creek, nearing shitville, population unlucky you, without a shitty paddle. A good warrior knew when to retreat, and this was totally one of those moments.

  My backpack thumped off my back as I hauled ass, picking up speed as I neared the narrow opening in the alley. Something popped behind me, and almost immediately a fiery pain exploded along the left side of my stomach, knocking the air out of my lungs.

  The bastard shot me!

  For a moment, I couldn't believe it. Surely he did not shoot me with an actual bullet from an actual gun. But the pain told me he had.

  My step faltered, but I didn't stop. If anything, I ran faster—harder. Pain shrieked through me, and I felt like a lit match had been pressed against my side. I cleared the mouth of the alley and didn't look back.

  Dodging drunks and tourists, I darted around the packed sidewalk and kept running as I reached into the back pocket of my cutoff jeans and pulled out my cellphone. Crossing Royal Street, I hit David's name and could barely hear the phone ringing over the sound of my pounding heart and the street traffic. I needed to tell him what happened—how the fae required no glamour and had summoned a gun out of nothing. This was huge. A total game changer.

  The phone rang and rang until I cursed and disconnected the call. Clutching the cell in my hand, I slowed down to a jog, not because I wanted to, but because my toes were starting to tingle and my breath was wheezing out of me.

  I'd never been shot before. Stabbed? Yes. Thrown around? Most definitely. Almost set on fire? That too. But being shot . . . wow, this sucked donkey balls.

  Reaching out with my other hand as I stepped around two college-aged guys who were seconds from toppling over, I pressed my palm against my stomach. Wincing, my vision blinked out for a second then came back fuzzy before I could see clearly.

  Oh dear.

  Doubting I'd make it to a hospital in time, I hung a left onto Dauphine Street. The Order's headquarters was located on St. Phillips above an Order-owned gift shop called Mama Lousy that sold all kinds of cool iron stuff amidst an obscene amount of fake voodoo crap and authentic n'awlins spices and pralines.

  God, I'd really love a praline right about now. I would shove two in my mouth.

  Except there was a good chance I was bleeding to death.

  In the back of my head, I thought it might've been a good idea to give Val a call, but I didn't want to worry her. I was so close to the Order anyway. I just had to keep walking.

  My breathing was labored, and the hand I had pressed to my stomach was feeling way too wet and sticky, but as I spied the deep burgundy three-story building with its intricate wrought iron railings and thick, bushy ferns, I told myself I could do this. Just a couple more steps and I'd be okay. The wound couldn't be that serious. I doubted I would've been able to walk this far if so. Doc Harris would be there. Having a small one-room apartment on the second floor, he was always there.

  The rest of the walk was a blurring of faces and sounds. Already closed up for the night, the gift shop was dark and unwelcoming as I pushed myself past the entrance and to the side door. Gripping the handle with a shaky hand, I yanked it open and stumbled into a dimly lit stairwell, panting as the pain dulled to a steady ache.

  I didn't want to, but I had to take a moment before I climbed the damn stairs. They seemed so long, and the door looked as if it was a mile away. Yelling would've been pointless. The halls were soundproof, as were the rooms above.

  "Get up the stairs, Ivy," I told myself. "Get up the damn stairs."

  Putting one foot in front of the other was hard. I made it six steps before the sweat on my brow turned cold and tiny bursts of white light danced in front of my eyes. That couldn't be good.

  The steps zoomed up to meet me as my knees turned to jelly. I caught myself with one hand before I face-planted, then my arm got all wobbly, and before I knew it, I was on my back slipping down a step or two. The pain from the bumpy ride didn't even register.

  Dammit, all that progress for nothing.

  In my hand, my cellphone vibrated. Maybe it was David finally calling me back. Or it could be Val rubbing it in my face that she already got two, possibly even three kills, and here I was, bleeding out on steps that kind of smelled like powdered sugar … and feet.

  Ew.

  I needed to answer the phone, but the buzzing stopped and I couldn't will the energy to move the phone to a point where I could use it.

  Someone would find me. Eventually. I mean, there was a security camera at the top of the stairs, and Harris had to check the monitor at some point. Plus, other members of the Order would be in and out during the night.

  Maybe I'd just take a nap.

  In the back of my head, a tiny voice ranted how bad of an idea that was, but I was so tired and the steps were becoming surprisingly comfortable.

  I had no idea how much time passed, but I heard the door above me open, and I thought I heard Harris's accented voice echoing through the stairwell. I wanted to lift my arm and give him a happy little wave, but that required effort. Then, there was another deep voice. One I didn't recognize.

  I blinked, or I thought that was all I did, and when I opened my eyes, I seriously considered that I might have died.

  As cheesy
as it sounded, as my vision focused on who was above me, I was staring into the face of an angel. Or at least that's what the paintings of angels in the million and one churches in the city told me they looked like.

  The guy couldn't be very much older than me or it was the head full of curly brown hair that made him appear so young. One matching eyebrow arched as I stared into eyes the color of leaves in the spring, a rich almost unnatural green. Cheekbones were broad, jaw strong and cut like it was made of marble, and those lips were impossibly full as they curved into a slow grin on one