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  world is about to end' crap, but this one? He called me a cow, that's about it."

  David nodded, almost absently, and then with another swift reminder that I was off rotation, he left the room, leaving me staring into nothing. As I searched for my boots, I couldn't help but notice that the unsettled feeling in the pit of my stomach hadn't faded, even with David saying he was going to contact the other sects.

  The thing was, as I found my boots under the small table by the bed, I couldn't shake the feeling that while David didn't appear to be too overly concerned about the potential of an ancient roaming around, this was just the beginning of something big.

  Chapter Three

  Getting home took a little longer than normal since I wasn't feeling up to hoofing it anywhere, which meant dealing with traffic. I caught a cab and used the time to inconspicuously—because the cabbie was starting to give me a weird look—reassure Val that I wasn't dead, currently dying, or going to die anytime soon.

  That I knew of.

  "I have bad news," I told her as we neared the Garden District.

  Val snorted. "Other than getting shot by some punk?"

  I decided to tell her it was some random jerk on the street that shot me, which didn't take a leap of faith to believe. The fae weren't the only dangerous things on the streets of New Orleans. The cabbie had hit the break at that point, and I thought he was going to kick me out of the car or something. "Yeah, besides that. I can't work Saturday night. David pulled me."

  "Honey, the moment you told me you were shot, I expected that. And honestly, that's the last thing you need to worry about."

  "Thanks," I murmured, glancing out the window then doing a double take. A guy was riding a . . . unicycle on the side of the road, wearing a . . . blue cape. What the hell?

  Only in New Orleans.

  "Do you want me to swing by before I head out tonight?" she asked.

  I glanced at the driver. "Nah. I'm just going to clean up and sleep."

  "Call me if you need anything. Promise."

  The urge to tell her what really happened last night was hard to resist. Not because I wanted to gossip, but because I wanted to warn her to be on the lookout. Sighing, I gripped my cell tightly. "Promise, but hey, be careful. Please?" The very moment that left my mouth, icy fear wriggled into my chest. Losing Val, the only real friend I'd made since moving here wasn't something I wanted to even consider. "You promise me that, okay?"

  Val's laugh was airy. "I'm always careful."

  Hanging up the phone after saying goodbye, I realized we were on Coliseum Street and edging to a stop against the curb shaded by thick oak trees. I dug into my bag and handed over some cash before climbing out.

  The cabbie looked happy to be getting the hell out of there.

  I was lucky with the place the Order had helped me find upon arriving in the city. While most of the Order lived closer to the Quarter, I was thrilled to be in the absolutely stunning Garden District, with its tapestry of trees, rich history, and old homes.

  The house, about a ten-minute walk from Lafayette Cemetery No.1 was an antebellum home converted into two apartments, one up and one down. There were separate balconies with the entrance to the first floor at the front, and the entrance to my place along the back, which was accessed through a gorgeous courtyard overflowing with potted plants and flowers.

  The iron cornstalk fence surrounding the entire property was an added benefit.

  Well, up until now.

  A shudder worked its way down my spine as I latched the gate behind me, and before I headed through the courtyard, I stared out at the cars flowing down the street. A warm breeze caught the loose curls at the nape of my neck and tossed them as I drew in an unsteady breath.

  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."

  I folded my arms across my chest. "Doesn't look like you were starving. Looks like you were pretending to be a chipmunk and storing food for the winter by eating all of it."

  "I had to eat to get through the stress of being abandoned!" he shouted, raising a hand and shaking a fist the size of a thumbnail at me. "I didn't know where you were, and you don't engage in any bow-chick-a-wow-wee so you always come home."

  My lips turned down at the corners.

  Tink flew up until he was eye level with me, clasping his hands together over his belly as he gave me those big eyes. "I ate so much sugar. So. Much."

  Shaking my head, I turned and started picking the cereal up off the counter and tossing it into the bowl. "I don't even want to know what your blood sugar levels are."

  "We don't have blood in our veins." He buzzed to my shoulder and sat down. His small fingers gripped my earlobe. "We have magic," he whispered in my ear.

  I shrugged him off with a laugh. "You do not have magic in your veins, Tink."

  "Whatever. What do you know?" He landed on the counter and started kicking cereal across it. I sighed. "So where were you, Ivy Divy?"

  "I got shot last night."

  "What?" Tink shrieked as he slapped his hands on his cheeks. "You got shot? Where? How? By who?" He zipped up in the air, darting left to right, right to left. "Did you cry? I would've cried. A lot. Like a river of motherfucking tears."

  A whole half a minute went by as I stared at him. "Okay. You're normally like a little fairy on crack—"

  "Just because I have wings doesn't mean I'm a damn fairy!" He then slipped into a language that sounded faintly like ancient Gaelic before saying, "I had a lot of sugar, okay? Is that a crime? You left me here alone all night! What else was I supposed to do?"

  "Can brownies have strokes?" I asked, a little concerned by the way the vessels were starting to pop out along his temples.

  He cocked his head to the side as he screwed up his face. "Is that when you blow something in your head? I don't know. Wait. Oh my, Queen Mab, do you think I'm having a stroke?" He zipped up to the light fixture in the ceiling, disappearing behind the silver dome-shaped shade. A second passed, then he peered over the side. His white-blond hair was sticking up in every direction. "I'm having a stroke. Shite."

  "Get down from there, Tink. Good God," I muttered as the fixture swayed. "You're not having a stroke. Forget I said anything."

  "I hate it when you call me Tink."

  I grinned. "I know."

  "Evil woman." He hesitated and then made his way back down to the counter, where he sat with narrowed eyes. "So . . . anyway, you got shot?"

  I nodded as I finished scooping up the cereal. "A fae shot me."

  "When did they start using guns?"

  Grabbing the box and bowl, I took them over to the trash and dumped them. Not like I'd be eating any of that after he'd taken a nap in it. It wasn't weird talking about my job with Tink. He seemed to take it in stride. "I don't know, but the fae didn't have silver skin either."

  When Tink didn't respond, I turned around, half expecting him to have passed out, but he was awake and his eyes were wide. "And the fae conjured a gun out of thin air," I said.

  Tink swallowed.

  "And I stabbed him with an iron stake and it did nothing," I added, walking over to him.

  He hopped up to his feet. "That sounds like an . . ."

  "An ancient?"

  His head shook back and forth. "They are badass. Scary, but badass." He tip-toed to the edge of the counter. "Was he near you when he shot you? Like was he far away?"

  That was a strange question, but then again, it was Tink. "He was a good distance away from me. If he'd been close to me, I doubt I'd be standing here right now."

  He paled. "I've never seen an ancient here."

  "Exactly how long have you been in this world, Tink?"

  One shoulder rose. Not like I expected an answer, or at least a helpful one. Tink didn't even know what gate he'd come through or how he ended up here. He said that he woke up in our world, in the cemetery, and had no idea how it all happened. Based on the condition he'd been in and his personality, I suspected he'd gotten the crap beat out of him and someone pitched him through a gate. Tink also never told me his real name since knowing any Otherworld creatures' real name gave you power over them, even the fae. All I did know was that he loathed the fae as much as the Order did. From what I gathered, his kind had been hunted to near extinction by the fae in the Otherworld, and Tink's entire family had been slaughtered. His hatred of the fae put us on the same team, even if other Order members wouldn't agree.

  "I've seen the ancients in the Otherworld," he said in a stage voice. "I've even seen the prince."

  "Really?"

  He nodded. "The prince . . ." Throwing out his arms, he spun in tight circles that were actually dizzying to watch. "The prince is dreamy."

  Uh.

  "But so are most fae, aren't they? Gorgeous but deadly, arrogant bastards." He stopped spinning. "The prince is also really scary."

  I leaned against the counter, ignoring the steady ache that was increasing in my stomach. "You've seen the prince? Like the real prince of the Otherworld?"

  "Yep. Saw him three times." Eagerness crept into his expression. "Once he was in this meadow. Kind of like the meadow in that movie with the sparkly vampires and crazy hair."

  Oh Lord.

  "He didn't see me, which was a good thing. The second time was when I was near their palace. It kind of looks like something on the show you watch where everyone dies."