Wicked(54)

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?"