The ride back to St. Philip was tense. As soon as I got the message, I tried calling Val. When there had been no answer, my stomach twisted into messy knots. As terrible as it sounded, the only thing I could think on the way to headquarters was for it not to be her. I didn't want it to be anyone, but I couldn't bear it if it was Val.
Ren and I didn't talk as we climbed the stairs and waited to be let in. It was Harris who opened the door¸ and honestly, I'd wanted to punch him in the face since I found out that he ran his mouth, but right then I didn't care.
"They're in the back room," he said, stepping aside.
I almost asked who it was, but I wasn't ready. Nodding at Harris, I crossed the room. There were several doors, and most led to training rooms, but the one all the way to the left led to David's office. We headed for the double doors.
The room was packed with about twenty of the forty-something members that were currently stationed in New Orleans. My gaze scanned the room, desperately searching for a splash of flamboyant color. When I didn't see her, pressure clamped down on my chest. Panic threatened to take root, and I pulled out my phone, checking it again and finding no response. I tried to prepare myself if it turned out to be her. I'd been down this road before, but I could already feel the bitter bite of pain in the back of my throat. My fingers opened and closed sporadically, and I wanted to be anywhere but where I was in that moment. I knew it was pathetic, but I didn't want to be here if Val didn't walk through that door.
"Not everyone is here yet." Ren placed his hand on my lower back, and my wide gaze swung to his.
His hand stayed there as I stared at the doors, squeezing my hands so tightly I could feel the nails digging into my skin. Faintly, I was aware that other members were doing the same thing, except Jackie Jordan, a tall and sleek woman in her early thirties. She was eyeing Ren with a sense of guardedness I could relate to. When the doors swung open and David strolled in, I almost keeled over from relief. Val was behind him, her gaze searching the room. It took every ounce of control for me to not rush over and squeeze the living daylights out of her. If I did, I knew a lot of the other members would see that as a sign of weakness, even if they were worried it was their friend who wasn't ever going to walk through the doors again. But to them, I was young, and that was strike one. They also thought I was crazy, so strike two.
I didn't need a strike three.
Val saw me standing next to Ren, and her expression relaxed. Stepping around David, she hurried to where I stood. Without saying a word, she found my hand and squeezed, and I returned the gesture.
Aware that Ren was watching us closely, I turned my attention to David. Weariness clung to every step he took as he walked to the middle of the room and placed his hands on his hips. In an uncharacteristic show of emotion, he hung his head.
"We lost Trent tonight," he said, and my mouth dropped open in shock. David lifted his head, his shoulders tensing as he surveyed the room. "He was found just outside of St. Louis Cemetery No 1."
That was the last name I was expecting to hear. Obviously, Trent and I weren't on friendly terms, but he was one hell of a strong guy, and he had a ton of experience. I could not fathom a normal fae getting an upper hand on him.
"How?" Rachel Adams asked. In her late thirties, she was a tall and slender woman who'd been in the city for the last year.
"His neck was broken." David's gaze drifted over the group, stopping and lingering on me for what felt like a second too long before moving on. "But that wasn't all. His arms and legs were also broken, as were his ribs."
"He was tortured," Ren said, his stance tensing, and I immediately thought of the gates. The knowledge of their location would definitely be something the fae would torture for. Val and I exchanged a look.
David nodded. "Appears to be that way."
"He's the fourth to die in what? Five months?" said Dylan. I didn't know his last name, but I was sure it was something French sounding. He was born and raised in New Orleans, and like Val, could track his roots way back. "We suffer losses every year, but this close together?"
Something occurred to me as I watched David. "Were the others like Trent? Were they tortured also?" It had never been said that they were.
As David turned back to me, someone in the back of the group muttered "Crazy" under their breath, and I felt Ren turn, searching out the source, but I ignored it.
"No," David answered.
Standing by the door, Harris rubbed his hand down his face, and instantly, I didn't believe David. I couldn't explain it, but I didn't believe him.
"I'm implementing some changes effective immediately," David continued, pacing. "From now until further notified, you all will be working in groups of two. No one hunts alone."
There were some grumbles from the loners, those who didn't play well with others, but they were quickly silenced by David. He began to team people up. Val was paired with Dylan, and I was left with Ren, which I was sort of expecting. There was a pall over the group as the meeting wrapped up, a heavy somberness that I knew from past experience—too many experiences—would linger for days. It didn't matter how close any of us were to each other. We were family nonetheless, and any loss was a shattering blow, a painful reminder that tomorrow was never promised.
I started to walk out with Val, Ren and Dylan behind us, when David called out my name. "I'll meet you guys outside, okay?"
I headed over to where David stood with another Order member—Miles Daily. Miles was virtually second in command. Though it wasn't entirely official, if something happened to David, Miles would take over until meetings could be held and another leader voted in to cover the sect.
I didn't know Miles very well. He was older than me, possibly in his mid-thirties, and he was quiet, almost aloof. While David looked angry half the time, Miles' expressions were always unreadable. As I approached the men, he looked bored to the untrained eye, but his gaze was sharp. The man missed nothing.
I thought about what we'd seen today behind the club called Flux. I knew I was required to report it to David, but something held me back. It was more than just his dismissal of what I'd experienced last week. Ren hadn't asked me to keep our activities tonight quiet, so it was my choice. I wasn't ready to say anything until I had enough evidence to back me up.
"You wanted to see me?" I asked as they both simply stared at me like they hadn't called me over.
David handed the phone he was holding over to Miles. "Where were you tonight?"
The question was unexpected. "I was out hunting with Ren."
"Where?" Miles asked.
My brows knitted as I shook my head. "We started out by Jackson Square, and then when we didn't see any fae, we headed over to the business district." That wasn't entirely a lie. "We ran into three fae. They had a human male. Ren called an ambulance for him as we—"
"So you weren't in the Quarter tonight, except for the beginning of your shift?" David interrupted.
"No." My gaze darted between them. Hardly anyone was left in the room except for Rachel, who was by the TVs hung on the wall which were showing video feed from the surveillance cameras randomly placed throughout the Quarter, and two more members who spoke privately by the door. I had no idea if they were paying attention to this conversation or not. "Why are you asking me this?"
A damn good question, especially since I hadn't seen them ask anyone else.
"Just checking." Miles glanced up from the phone. I saw that the screen was cracked.
"That's all," David said, dismissing me. When I turned, in a daze from my mind turning their question over and over, he stopped me once more. "Wait. How is your wound?"
I blinked. "Yeah, I barely even notice it." Not exactly true. Since I went toe to toe with a garbage can and lost, it had been throbbing quite steadily.
David held my gaze for a moment and then nodded. A prickling sense of unease washed over me, slow and unshakeable as I walked out of the room and down the stairs. They couldn't be asking me because they thought . . .
No. The idea that they'd think anyone in the Order had anything to do with a death was absolutely insane. I was rattled, which was making me paranoid.
"Everything okay?" Ren asked when I found them standing around Mama Lousy's entrance. Beside him stood Dylan. He was also a tall man, but Ren towered over him.
Smiling faintly, I nodded and then turned to Val. She bounced over to me, throwing her arms around my shoulders. "I just saw your message. I didn't see it."
"It's okay." I hugged her back. "I'm glad . . ." I shook my head as I stepped free. "I'm not glad that Trent is gone, but . . ."
"I know," she said, wrapping her arms around her waist.
Dylan shoved his hands in his pockets. "Trent was a dick, but someone got the upper hand on him? Tortured him? Man, that ain't looking good."
"No doubt." Ren ran a hand through his hair, knocking the wayward curls off his forehead. His eyes met mine before glancing away.
"We better get going before David comes out and finds us all hovered together," Dylan said, pulling his hands free. "Y'all be careful."
"You too." I promised Val I'd call her tomorrow, and we parted, heading in opposite directions.
"You two are close," Ren commented as we made our way toward Royal. The Quarter on a Monday night wasn't too busy. A lot of people were out, but you could walk without too much interference. "You and Val."
"We are. She was the first person I met when I moved down here. And she's really friendly with everyone so it's not hard to become friends with her."
Ren nodded. "I can see that. Seems like a very friendly girl." The way he said the last part made me look at him. He flashed a quick grin that didn't reach his eyes. "I'm pretty sure she's visually molested me a few times since I got here."
I laughed softly. "That's Valerie." I tucked a stray hair back as I blew out a breath. "Trent . . . I don't even know what to think."
"I do."
Deep down, I did too. "You think what has happened to Trent has to do with why you're here—the ancients?"
"Think about it. The identities of those guarding the gates are kept secret for the sole reason that if someone is tortured, they cannot give up the locations. You guys lost four members, and I don't know about you, but I wouldn't be surprised if the other three had similar injuries," Ren said, voicing my earlier misgivings. "For whatever reason, David is keeping that quiet."
"I know." I stared over the people, seeing the Chateau Motel looming ahead at the corner of Phillip and Chartres. "You know, every one of the members killed could've been guards. All of them were highly skilled. With the exception of Cora, they'd been in New Orleans for years."
"But what's the likelihood of the fae or the ancients stumbling across the guardians of the gates?" he asked.
My heart skipped a beat as we both looked at each other. A sour taste filled the back of my throat. Suspicion bloomed. "Unless they knew who to target."
A muscle ticked in his jaw. "There's only one way they'd even have a general idea of who could be guarding the gates."
Meaning someone within the Order would have to be assisting the fae, and God, that was horrific to even consider, but Ren was right if those who'd been killed were guardians. That was a big if, but it wasn't impossible.
"Can we stop for a second?" Ren asked, and then he took my hand, leading me under the balconies of the Chateau. Brown waves toppled onto his forehead as he dipped his chin. "How is your stomach? No bullshit, okay?"
"It's . . . it's a little tender, but it's not a big deal. I'm not bleeding or anything. It's fine." My fingers itched to reach up and brush the curls aside, but that seemed wildly inappropriate. Not that Ren appeared to be the type who cared about that.
"And how are you?" When I didn't answer, Ren reached up, placing the tips of two fingers against my temple. "How are you up here?"
"I'm . . ." It was another question I wasn't sure how to answer. No one really asked any of us that kind of question. We'd been raised in this world, so I guessed people assumed we just dealt with things. "Trent wasn't always easy to get along with. The things he said has half the Order thinking I'm crazy, but I'd never wish him dead."
"I wouldn't think you would," he replied softly.
Swallowing hard, I took a step back and leaned against the wall, suddenly bone weary. "Do you think David knows more than what he's putting out there?"
His shoulders rose with a deep inhale and he lifted his gaze. He didn't speak for a long moment, and the sense of unease deepened. His eyes met mine. "I don't know. Anything is possible, but everything has to be connected. The fae migrating here, the ancients engaging with the Order, members with experience dying and being tortured, and that club where ancients and human cops are hanging out at? Something is going down there. We need to get into it."
I nodded. "We do."
Chapter Twelve
There would be no funeral held for Trent.
As far back as I could remember, the Order did not remember the dead with wakes or funerals. Throughout the years, the bodies of the fallen were buried with little to no fanfare until the Order began cremating the remains some thirty years ago.
I remembered asking Holly once, when I was a small child, why we didn't have funerals. Her response had stayed forever etched into my mind. "The Order wants to remember the fallen as they were before, all that they have given, and not what remains once the greatest sacrifice for freedom has been made."
To this day, I still didn't understand how that was a show of respect.
A dismal part of me thought it had more to do with the fact that so many Order members passed in a year's time from all the sects around the world, that if we did have funerals, we'd constantly be attending one.
It was kind of depressing to think about. The world had no idea all that we gave to protect them, and when, as Holly had said, we gave the ultimate sacrifice, not even the Order stopped to remember us. Here one second and gone the next without so much as a few words uttered over our urns.
Brighton called me back on Wednesday while I was in the shower, and it took several hours to reach her on the phone again. Turned out she and her mom were in Texas visiting family. They wouldn't be back for another week, and I made plans to see them upon their return. When I told her about Trent, she seemed surprised and saddened. Not that he and Brighton were close, but like everyone else, she couldn't believe that he'd fallen to the fae.
"Be careful," was the last thing she said to me before we hung up.
Those words haunted me for the remainder of the day and then some, because for some reason, I didn't feel careful. I felt reckless. A week ago, I knew what I was doing and what to expect every day. As crazy as my life was, in some respect, it was static. I got up. Went to class if I had them, and hunted fae if it was my night to work. My job had always been dangerous, but I knew the fae and my own limitations. I didn't keep secrets, especially from David. I didn't have clandestine missions, and I sure as hell didn't suspect any member of the Order of joining up with the fae. There had been no Ren. But everything had changed in a short period of time.
The world as I knew it was different.
On Tuesday, Ren met me outside the café on Canal before our shift. I was slurping away on an iced coffee while skimming notes from class. Like Val had done so many times before, he plopped down, but beside me, not across from me.
"What are you reading?"
Setting my coffee aside, I debated whether or not I should answer him, but decided staying quiet about it seemed dumb. "Notes from my juvenile delinquency class."
"That's right. You're a sexy college student," he said, but I had a feeling he hadn't forgotten that at all. "I do think it's pretty cool that you're doing that."
I picked up my coffee and sucked some down as I eyed him through my sunglasses. "Do you?"
"Yeah. I've never had a real desire to enroll in college. I mean, I know I could if I wanted to, but I never have. So that's just cool to me that you do this." He paused as he watched a group pass us. Then he turned those ultra-bright eyes on me. "Got to take a lot of drive though, to do this plus go out and hunt Monday through Friday."
I shrugged. "I don't have classes Tuesday and Thursday, so it's not that big of a deal, and I want . . ." Blushing for some dumb reason, I clamped my mouth shut.
"You want to be more. I get it." He reached out, found a curl, and tugged it straight. "What do you want to be?"
Staring at him, I wondered if he was able to read minds because it was uncanny how easily he read me. Kind of freaky. "A social worker," I admitted.
"That's good," he said quietly, and let go of my hair.
Unsettled by the entire conversation, I closed my notebook and shoved it in my bag. I started to stand when he spoke. "You don't