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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.
Okay. It kind of felt like I was prepping for a date. It really did because I remembered going through these motions when I knew Shaun was coming over. The all too familiar pang in my chest throbbed, though a bit more faintly this time.
Sighing, I dropped my arms. My blue eyes looked way too big for my face at the moment, my mouth wider and fuller with the red lipstick.
This was not a date.
I left the bathroom, and Tink let out a low whistle. "If you were a foot tall, I'd be all over you."
Giggling at the absurdity of that statement, I gave him a very half-assed curtsy. "So I don't look like I'm going to end up with an STD later?"
"You still kind of do, but one that goes away with treatment. Not the gift that keeps on giving kind of STD," he clarified.
"Gee, thanks."
Tink flew off the dresser and followed me into the kitchen. "Are you sure this is smart?"
No. Heading into the club was wildly dangerous. "I'll be okay."
"If there are ancients there, Ivy . . ." Tink landed on the counter and stared up at me earnestly. "You shouldn't be near them."
Confiding in Tink about our plans to infiltrate the club hadn't been an easy decision, but he hated the fae just as much as I did. Still, being that he was a creature from the Otherworld, there was always that small fear he wasn't what he appeared to be.
"We have to get in there, Tink. It's the best chance we have of finding out what they're up to." I walked around the counter and grabbed the soda I'd been nursing.
Tink cocked his head to the side, eyes narrowed. "I do not like this Ren."
I arched a brow at him. "You've only seen him once."
"There are a lot of people I've never seen that I don't like," he pointed out, storming down the length of the counter. "He's just one of many."
"Tink." I sighed.
"Whatever. I think you should just get some action from him and kick his ass to the curb."
My mouth dropped open. "Okay. That is the most bizarre string of advice I have ever heard. You don't like him, but you think I should have sex with him and then get rid of him? And obviously I can't because he's a member of the Order." That was the one thing I didn't tell Tink—what Ren truly was. "You make no sense."
"I make perfect sense. In my world, you don't even have to like another to have sex with them. It's all about the natural urges to get it on and . . ."
As Tink ranted on about the peculiars of his species' particular mating preferences, I picked up the sugar canister and dumped a small pile of sugar on the counter.
"You just need to let those animalistic—holy brownie balls!" Tink dropped to his knees in front of the pile of sugar. He started moving the tiny granules to another pile, counting softly. "One, two, three, four, five, six . . ." Pausing, he glanced up with a frown. "Where did you learn that?"
I shrugged as I bit down on my lower lip. "Saw it on an episode of Supernatural."
Tink gaped at me.
"What?" I giggled, gesturing at the two piles of sugar on the counter. "I didn't think it would actually work."
"I've been fooled by a Winchester wannabe." He clasped his hands over his chest and swayed before toppling over onto his side. "
There is no way to save face. I shall off myself now."
Laughing at the sight of him, I leaned over and poked his leg. He threw up an arm, flipping me off, and then he sat up, starting to count all over again. "I hate you," he muttered. "Look at me. I'm like a crack fiend. I just need to know how many are here. There could be hundreds, or maybe even thousands. I have to know the exact—"
The doorbell rang, and my stomach jolted unsteadily as I glanced at the clock on the stove. It was a little past nine, so it had to be Ren. My gaze shot to the hallway and then to where Tink was meticulously counting sugar. "You need to go to your room."
He looked up, his eyes wide. "But—"
"Forget about the sugar. Ren is here and he can't see you."
Tink scowled. "I'm not afraid of him."
"I didn't say you were afraid of him." Exasperated, I placed my hands on my hips. "You know he can't see you."
The knock came again, and I grabbed Tink by the waist. "Hey!" he shouted, gripping my fingers with his hand. "Careful, Godzilla-sized woman. You're squishing my insides."
