Immediately, the busy street I sat on faded away. It was just me and . . . God, three years later and it still cut deep to even think of Shaun, and it took no effort to picture those soulful brown eyes. Some of the detail was beginning to fade—the image of his face had begun to blur, but the pain had not lessened.
A seed of sadness rooted deep in my stomach, and I desperately ignored it. Because what did my mother used to say? Not my real mom. I had been too young when she was killed to remember anything about her. My foster mother—Holly—used to say if wishes were fishes, we'd all cast nets. It was a quote she picked up from some book, loosely translated into there was no point in spending time on wishes.
At least that's how I took it.
It wasn't as if I didn't know how important my job—my duty—was. Belonging to the Order, a widespread organization full of knowledge that had been handed down through families, generation after generation, meant my life had more meaning than most.
Or so they said.
Each of us was marked with a symbol signifying that we belonged to the Order, and the tattoo, which were three interlocking spirals reminiscent of a Pre-Celtic design. Ours had three straight lines underneath it, though. It had been adopted as the Order's symbol of freedom.
Freedom to live without fear. Freedom to make our own choices. Freedom to thrive.
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."