"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 let people get close to you, do you?"
Again, really freaking uncanny. Sliding my bag over my shoulder, I forced my voice to stay level. "You get close to people and they end up dying on you. Not really too keen on that."
Ren rose. "Not everyone is going to die on you."
"Everyone dies, Ren."
He smirked. "That's not what I meant, and you know that."
I did, but whatever. I walked around the table, and didn't take many steps before Ren caught up to me. I expected him to keep pushing the subject, but he didn't. We ended up making plans to pay a visit to Flux on Saturday, the night both of us were off. We figured it was less risky to put some time between Monday night and when we ventured inside Flux due to the fact they probably realized the Order had killed three fae just outside their doors. Also, since we weren't on the schedule we didn't have to worry about anyone wondering where we were and what we were up to.
Every night that Ren and I worked, we kept an eye on Flux. Twice we saw Marlon there, and he wasn't with the ancient who shot me, but last night, Friday evening, we saw a different ancient arrive at the club with Marlon. Both men were too perfect in appearance, their features pieced together in an extraordinary way that turned their beauty cold and artificial. There was absolutely no doubt in our minds that he was also an ancient. The way he walked into the club was inhuman, just as Marlon did, as if the wind itself moved their limbs. Nothing in this world was as graceful as the fae.
That meant there were at least three ancients in the city. Three fae that even Order members could mistake as mortals. Three fae who held untold power and could not be stopped by an iron stake.
I didn't tell Val about our plans since I had no idea what we'd be facing in there, and I knew if I did tell her she'd demand to be involved. So it was yet another secret I was hiding, but as Saturday evening approached, I knew keeping her out of the loop was the best decision even though she'd be pissed the second she found out.
But I had other, more pressing concerns at the moment anyway.
Standing in front of the full-length mirror hung on the back of the closet door, I studied my reflection with a critical eye. I hated wearing dresses, but I'd seen how the girls had looked going into the club, dressed in a way that ensured men would gladly drop to their knees. They'd looked great—classy and sexy. Two things I wasn't quite sure I knew how to pull off without looking like a little girl playing dress up. A huge part of me wanted to slip on a pair of jeans, but I needed to blend in.
I owned three dresses. One was a brown and white floor-length maxi. The second was in a shorter, peasant style that was definitely not dressy enough. What I was wearing was my final option, the only one that came remotely close, and I hated it.
I'd bought the thing two years ago on a whim while shopping with Val. I don't even know why, but I guess it was some kind of weird fate guiding the purchase. The dress was black, and the material was very thin, one step away from being sheer. Loose at the top, it hung off the shoulders and had short, flirty sleeves, and I had a feeling if I bent over, everyone and their mama would get an eyeful of my breasts squeezed into the most uncomfortable strapless bra known to man. The soft material was cinched at the waist and the skirt was loose. And short. Incredibly short. Only reaching my mid-thighs, I knew that bending over would give the world a show that went further than a glimpse of my breasts.
I felt naked.
Hiding weapons had also proved difficult, and I ended up having to strap a stake to the outside of my thigh which meant I was praying to God no sudden wind blew my skirt up because the scrap of material barely hid what I was concealing. The only other option would've been to wear boots, and I did have a pair of sleek, knee-high boots, but pairing them with this tiny as hell dress would've made me look like a hooker. Actually, I still kind of looked like a hooker.
Hopefully an expensive hooker.
So I went with a pair of black heels I'd owned for a couple of years and worn only once. They were already pinching my toes.
"You look like you're going out trolling for sex. Like the dirty, nasty kind that ends up with a wide array of STDs."
I cast a scowl over my shoulder. Tink was sitting on my dresser, munching on a carrot stick. "Thanks for the input." I turned from the mirror and headed into the bathroom, grabbing a tube of lipstick out of the basket.
"Are you sure this isn't really a date?" Tink called out. "Because it looks like a date."
"It's not a date," I said, and then applied lipstick. Then checked out my mascara and eyeliner to make sure it hadn't smudged, and finally shook my curls out of the clip I was holding them back in. The red ringlets fell over my shoulders, the ends curling just below my breasts. I fluffed my fingers through them and froze, my arms askew, fingers tangled in the curls.