Wicked
Page 38
She giggled. "If I'm lucky."
Standing, I picked up my sweet tea and bag from the bookstore. "So do I get to meet hot guy who's going to make you walk funny by tomorrow sometime?"
Val stepped back, her skirt swaying around her legs as she smiled. "You'll get to meet him." Biting down on her lip, she winked. "Be careful, okay?"
I reached out, squeezing her hand. "You too."
Chapter Nine
On the way back to my apartment, I made a pit stop at Brighton and Merle's house, smack dab in the heart of the Garden District, not too far from my apartment. They lived in a true antebellum home, a gorgeous two-story with four large white pillars that supported the sprawling front porch and the balcony above. The shutters were painted a traditional black, but about a month ago, Merle got a wild hair up her rear and hired a contractor to paint the front door a pale blue. I'd thought the idea was odd, especially since the color was such a washed out shade; it was the exact color of fae eyes.
A wrought iron fence surrounded the property, and the gate squeaked like old bones rubbing together as I opened it. The sidewalk used to be cracked, resembling old plaster, but it had finally been repaired about a year ago. I stepped on the porch, wincing as the boards groaned.
Huge ferns swayed in the light breeze, hanging from the ceiling of the porch as I walked toward the wide, blue door. I hesitated for a second then knocked. Merle hated the doorbell, so I resisted the urge to push it. When there was no answer, I knocked again, and finally I had to hit the doorbell. Still, there was no answer.
Stepping back from the door, I looked around the porch. The beautiful wicker furniture was situated a bit haphazardly, and I knew that Merle sometimes moved it around, much to Brighton's dismay. Thinking that they might be in the backyard, I followed the porch around the side and walked down a set of three steps and into a glorious courtyard.
Fruit trees and flowers flourished, scenting the air. I was jealous of Merle's garden. It was absolutely stunning, like something straight off an HGTV show, and I knew both she and her daughter spent a great deal of time keeping it up.
But I didn't find Merle on her knees, yanking weeds or trimming the hummingbird bushes. Brighton wasn't sitting on any number of the thick cushioned lounge chairs or benches with a book in her lap. Flirty jazz music wasn't drifting out from the house. The garden was empty, too.
Geez, the one Sunday afternoon they weren't home was the one I stopped by.
I probably should've called Brighton, but she was terrible when it came to answering phone calls or even knowing where she left her phone. I didn't really have any other choice though. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out my phone and hit her number.
As expected, there was no answer. At the sound of the beep, I left a message. "Hey, Brighton. It's Ivy. Can you please give me a call when you get this? Thanks."
Disconnecting the call, I turned to walk back up the porch when, out of the corner of my eye, sudden movement caught my attention. I stilled, the bag from the bookstore dangling from my fingers.
Did I see . . . wings?
I swore I'd seen the flutter of wings by one of the bushes with the bright pink blossoms. Not butterfly wings, and they were too big, too transparent to belong to a bird. Pivoting around, I stared at the bush and quietly stepped toward it. I stood still, barely breathing for several seconds—there!
Through one of the bushes, I saw the movement again—the flutter of tan, transparent wings about the size of my hand. Was there a brownie in their garden? It was unlikely as hell, but I knew it wasn't impossible. After all, I'd found Tink in a cemetery. There could be more of him hanging around. Maybe even a female. Tink could have a girlfriend.
I wrinkled my nose. What in the hell was I thinking? Even if it was a girl brownie, it wasn't like I was going to capture her and take her home, serving her up to Tink like I was some kind of brownie trafficker.
"Hello?" I called out softly. "I won't hurt you."
A moment passed, and I was just standing in the courtyard, talking to a bush. Kneeling down, I reached out and carefully gripped the branches. I pulled the leafy stems aside and peered into the bush.
Nothing was there.
Letting go of the bush, I sighed as I stood. Either I was seeing things, or whatever had been there, brownie or not, skedaddled on out of there. I puttered around for a couple more minutes, but I didn't catch sight of anything strange. I left their property, closing the gate behind me.
Under the heavy oak trees, it was actually a pleasant walk and I didn't hurry. Too many times I found myself rushing to get nowhere. I didn't have anything planned for the day except to call Jo Ann and maybe grab dinner with her.
About halfway to my apartment, a strange chill snaked down my spine, causing the hairs along the nape of my neck to rise. I stopped at the corner, shivering as the feeling of being watched increased. It was so intense it felt like a person was standing directly behind me. Heart pounding, I looked over my shoulder and found no one there.
The stake inside my boot reassured me as I stood on the street. While most fae preferred the evening and night hours, nothing stopped them from coming out during the day. And the feeling of being watched didn't necessarily mean it was a fae. They weren't the only dangerous things in the city.
Scanning up and down the street, I turned in a slow circle. People were out in their yards, and across the street there was a small group of tourists viewing the homes, but no one was paying attention to me.
The feeling of being watched hadn't faded though, not even when I started walking again, much more alert and at a much faster pace. The sensation remained until I was about a half a block from my apartment. It faded like smoke in the wind, but the wariness lingered.
Standing, I picked up my sweet tea and bag from the bookstore. "So do I get to meet hot guy who's going to make you walk funny by tomorrow sometime?"
Val stepped back, her skirt swaying around her legs as she smiled. "You'll get to meet him." Biting down on her lip, she winked. "Be careful, okay?"
I reached out, squeezing her hand. "You too."
Chapter Nine
On the way back to my apartment, I made a pit stop at Brighton and Merle's house, smack dab in the heart of the Garden District, not too far from my apartment. They lived in a true antebellum home, a gorgeous two-story with four large white pillars that supported the sprawling front porch and the balcony above. The shutters were painted a traditional black, but about a month ago, Merle got a wild hair up her rear and hired a contractor to paint the front door a pale blue. I'd thought the idea was odd, especially since the color was such a washed out shade; it was the exact color of fae eyes.
A wrought iron fence surrounded the property, and the gate squeaked like old bones rubbing together as I opened it. The sidewalk used to be cracked, resembling old plaster, but it had finally been repaired about a year ago. I stepped on the porch, wincing as the boards groaned.
Huge ferns swayed in the light breeze, hanging from the ceiling of the porch as I walked toward the wide, blue door. I hesitated for a second then knocked. Merle hated the doorbell, so I resisted the urge to push it. When there was no answer, I knocked again, and finally I had to hit the doorbell. Still, there was no answer.
Stepping back from the door, I looked around the porch. The beautiful wicker furniture was situated a bit haphazardly, and I knew that Merle sometimes moved it around, much to Brighton's dismay. Thinking that they might be in the backyard, I followed the porch around the side and walked down a set of three steps and into a glorious courtyard.
Fruit trees and flowers flourished, scenting the air. I was jealous of Merle's garden. It was absolutely stunning, like something straight off an HGTV show, and I knew both she and her daughter spent a great deal of time keeping it up.
But I didn't find Merle on her knees, yanking weeds or trimming the hummingbird bushes. Brighton wasn't sitting on any number of the thick cushioned lounge chairs or benches with a book in her lap. Flirty jazz music wasn't drifting out from the house. The garden was empty, too.
Geez, the one Sunday afternoon they weren't home was the one I stopped by.
I probably should've called Brighton, but she was terrible when it came to answering phone calls or even knowing where she left her phone. I didn't really have any other choice though. Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out my phone and hit her number.
As expected, there was no answer. At the sound of the beep, I left a message. "Hey, Brighton. It's Ivy. Can you please give me a call when you get this? Thanks."
Disconnecting the call, I turned to walk back up the porch when, out of the corner of my eye, sudden movement caught my attention. I stilled, the bag from the bookstore dangling from my fingers.
Did I see . . . wings?
I swore I'd seen the flutter of wings by one of the bushes with the bright pink blossoms. Not butterfly wings, and they were too big, too transparent to belong to a bird. Pivoting around, I stared at the bush and quietly stepped toward it. I stood still, barely breathing for several seconds—there!
Through one of the bushes, I saw the movement again—the flutter of tan, transparent wings about the size of my hand. Was there a brownie in their garden? It was unlikely as hell, but I knew it wasn't impossible. After all, I'd found Tink in a cemetery. There could be more of him hanging around. Maybe even a female. Tink could have a girlfriend.
I wrinkled my nose. What in the hell was I thinking? Even if it was a girl brownie, it wasn't like I was going to capture her and take her home, serving her up to Tink like I was some kind of brownie trafficker.
"Hello?" I called out softly. "I won't hurt you."
A moment passed, and I was just standing in the courtyard, talking to a bush. Kneeling down, I reached out and carefully gripped the branches. I pulled the leafy stems aside and peered into the bush.
Nothing was there.
Letting go of the bush, I sighed as I stood. Either I was seeing things, or whatever had been there, brownie or not, skedaddled on out of there. I puttered around for a couple more minutes, but I didn't catch sight of anything strange. I left their property, closing the gate behind me.
Under the heavy oak trees, it was actually a pleasant walk and I didn't hurry. Too many times I found myself rushing to get nowhere. I didn't have anything planned for the day except to call Jo Ann and maybe grab dinner with her.
About halfway to my apartment, a strange chill snaked down my spine, causing the hairs along the nape of my neck to rise. I stopped at the corner, shivering as the feeling of being watched increased. It was so intense it felt like a person was standing directly behind me. Heart pounding, I looked over my shoulder and found no one there.
The stake inside my boot reassured me as I stood on the street. While most fae preferred the evening and night hours, nothing stopped them from coming out during the day. And the feeling of being watched didn't necessarily mean it was a fae. They weren't the only dangerous things in the city.
Scanning up and down the street, I turned in a slow circle. People were out in their yards, and across the street there was a small group of tourists viewing the homes, but no one was paying attention to me.
The feeling of being watched hadn't faded though, not even when I started walking again, much more alert and at a much faster pace. The sensation remained until I was about a half a block from my apartment. It faded like smoke in the wind, but the wariness lingered.
