Wicked(118)

Oh God, I was head over heels, drowning underwater, in love with Ren—with Renald Owens. I was in love with a dude whose real name was Renald. This wasn't the first moment I realized that, but each time I thought it, it shocked me straight to my core.

Shaking my head, I turned to head back into the bathroom when my gaze danced over the dresser. I stopped, my heart feeling like someone had taken a tack to a balloon.

Ren had retrieved the thorn stake I'd dropped during my fight with the prince. Right now, it was on my dresser, lined up with my iron stakes.

Halfling.

I shut my eyes. It didn't make sense. The prince was just being . . . creepily weird. But that didn't explain what he'd done before Ren and the others showed up. He'd . . . put his hand on my chest and I felt this warmth inside me. I think he'd healed me. I know he did. That was the only reason why I was standing right now and not in an urn. But there was no way. I took a step toward the dresser, then another.

There was one way to find out. I knew what would happen if I cut myself with the stake. Either I would bleed normally and end up feeling stupid—ridiculously stupid but happy. Or it would . . .

I reached out, picking up the stake. I shook my head again and started to put it back on the dresser, but I cursed under my breath and opened my left hand, palm up.

"What are you doing?"

I gasped, turning around to see Tink in the doorway. Powdery sugar covered the front of his doll shirt. I started to say nothing, but the words tumbled out of my mouth. I hadn't told him anything of what had happened beyond what Ren told him. "When I fought the prince, he said something to me—I think he did something to me. You see, I was . . . I was really hurt. Worse than this." I gestured at my face with my free hand. I think he healed me. Is that possible or am I crazy?"

Tink said nothing and the sense of dread grew. I drew in a shuddering breath.

"He was going to kill me. I know he was. Even though he gave me a chance to leave, he was going to kill to me. But he healed me, and he . . . the prince . . . said halfling. When I was bleeding, he said halfling."

Tink's expression fell, and my heart followed. "Ivy."

I couldn't catch my breath. My skin suddenly felt cold.

He flew into the room and several moments passed. "We—the brownies—have always been able to sense the Otherworld in other creatures, no matter how minimal. In a way, it made us valuable to the others," he explained quietly, his pale gaze sharp and fixed on me. "Fae, ancient or not, aren't bloodhounds. They have to be right on someone to scent the half in them."

And the ancient who'd shot me, the one who opened the gate with Val's help, hadn't been standing right by me. He'd been several feet away. Was that something that the Elite hadn't realized?

"But you . . ." I couldn't even finish the thought. In the back of my mind, I knew Tink had been keeping even more information from me, but at that moment, I didn't care. That wasn't what was important right now. Maybe later I'd punt kick him through a window, but at this second, horror consumed me. "It wasn't a coincidence that I found you, was it?"

Tink cast his gaze to the floor, and the stake trembled in my right hand.

"Don't do it, Ivy."

And because he asked that, I did it. I had to. I had to know, and I swiped the sharp edge of the stake right across my palm. I didn't even feel the pain, but my skin split with a hiss, and my blood immediately bubbled and popped.

"Oh my God," I whispered.

Dropping the thorn stake, it clattered off the wood floor as I stepped back from it. I lifted my head, staring at Tink. His wings drooped to the side as he lowered himself to the foot of the bed. My heart was thundering, pounding so fast I thought I'd be sick.

"No," I whispered.

Tink looked up soberly. "I told you not to do it."

A raw sob rose from the depths of my soul. "No."

There was no response from Tink, and as my gaze crawled back to my palm, to where my blood still bubbled like it was being boiled, I staggered under one horrifying realization after another.

I was the halfling.

I was the halfling the man I'd fallen in love with had been sent here to kill.