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.
~
Like Saturday, Ren was waiting for me outside of Mama Lousy, lounging against the wall like he had nothing better to do with his time. I was wary as I approached him and ran a nervous hand over my hair, smoothing the stray curls back into the twist I was trying to keep them in. The humidity was back with a vengeance, and all I really wanted to do was peel my jeans and shirt off and go half naked like everyone else did.
All day a weird knot of nervousness, excitement, and dread bounced around inside me like a rubber ball thrown against a wall. I didn't want to look too closely at the source, but the moment I saw Ren, I thought about what Val had said yesterday and what I'd done that morning.
Heat crawled across my cheeks, and I almost spun around. But where would I go? Hide in an overflowing garbage can? Running from Ren when I'd gladly fight a fae was just stupid. I had no reason to be weird or embarrassed or anything. I needed to chill out. Squaring my shoulders, I tipped my chin as I walked past the entrance of the gift shop.
Ren tipped his head in my direction and smiled. Two dimples appeared as he extended his arm toward me. Between his long fingers was a deep blue, almost violet rose on a single stem.
My gaze flipped from the rose to him then back to the rose. "I . . . I don't understand."
"For you," he said, pushing off the wall and coming to his full height.
I dragged my gaze back to his. "Me?"
His eyes glimmered. "Yes."
"Why?"
"Honey, if you don't want that rose from him, I'll take it," came from a woman, a random woman just strolling down the road. She eyed Ren with a saucy grin. "And I'll take him."
The heat in my cheeks increased, and the woman's laugh as she stumbled on down the street was eventually lost in the call of police sirens from somewhere nearby.
"I saw this on my way here, and I thought of you." Lifting the rose, he tapped it on the tip of my nose. The petals smelled fresh. "They almost match your eyes."
My lips parted as I stared at him.
Lowering the rose, he dipped his head as he leaned in. His nose grazed my cheek as he spoke in my ear. "This is the part where you take the rose from me."
A series of tight shivers danced over my skin as my pulse exploded from the slight, innocent touch. I watched him pull back, his green eyes searing. Mouth dry, I took the rose. "Thank you."
He cocked his head to the side. "I'm actually surprised."