Page 7 of Wicked (A Wicked Trilogy 1)

I knew—God, I knew—it was my duty to finish the job. No creature of the Otherworld was allowed to survive in our world, but I couldn't bring myself to do it, even though I knew I'd be in a world of trouble, maybe even kicked out of the Order. But I'd taken him home, created a leg splint out of popsicle sticks, and wrapped his wing with gauze while he sat there, a forlorn and pouty look on his cute face. I don't even know why I did it. I hated anything from the Otherworld—no matter their size or what breed they were—but for some reason, I took care of the little brownie.

And he'd stayed.

Probably because he discovered the Internet, the TV, and my Amazon Prime.

So yeah, I knew exactly how I ended up with the brownie, and just didn't understand why I had a weak spot for the little douche I'd named Tink.

I snorted.

Tink hated that nickname once I played the movie Peter Pan for him.

Peering into the bowl, I shook my head. He was shirtless, and cereal was stuck to his pale white wings, but at least he had pants on. Tink was wearing a pair of Ken doll trousers. Black ones with satiny stripes running down the sides.

I poked him in the belly.

He jerked away, arms flying as he sat up, snapping at my finger with wicked sharp teeth, coming dangerously close to making contact.

"Bite me," I warned, "and I will bury you alive in a shoebox."

His mouth dropped open as he popped out of the bowl, hovering above it. Pieces of cereal flew across the counter as his wings moved soundlessly. "Where have you been? You didn't come home. I thought you were dead, and no one knows about me, and I would just be left here. Forgotten. I'd starve, Ivy. Starve."

I folded my arms across my chest. "Doesn't look like you were starving. Looks like you were pretending to be a chipmunk and storing food for the winter by eating all of it."

"I had to eat to get through the stress of being abandoned!" he shouted, raising a hand and shaking a fist the size of a thumbnail at me. "I didn't know where you were, and you don't engage in any bow-chick-a-wow-wee so you always come home."

My lips turned down at the corners.

Tink flew up until he was eye level with me, clasping his hands together over his belly as he gave me those big eyes. "I ate so much sugar. So. Much."

Shaking my head, I turned and started picking the cereal up off the counter and tossing it into the bowl. "I don't even want to know what your blood sugar levels are."

"We don't have blood in our veins." He buzzed to my shoulder and sat down. His small fingers gripped my earlobe. "We have magic," he whispered in my ear.

I shrugged him off with a laugh. "You do not have magic in your veins, Tink."

"Whatever. What do you know?" He landed on the counter and started kicking cereal across it. I sighed. "So where were you, Ivy Divy?"

"I got shot last night."

"What?" Tink shrieked as he slapped his hands on his cheeks. "You got shot? Where? How? By who?" He zipped up in the air, darting left to right, right to left. "Did you cry? I would've cried. A lot. Like a river of motherfucking tears."

A whole half a minute went by as I stared at him. "Okay. You're normally like a little fairy on crack—"

"Just because I have wings doesn't mean I'm a damn fairy!" He then slipped into a language that sounded faintly like ancient Gaelic before saying, "I had a lot of sugar, okay? Is that a crime? You left me here alone all night! What else was I supposed to do?"

"Can brownies have strokes?" I asked, a little concerned by the way the vessels were starting to pop out along his temples.

He cocked his head to the side as he screwed up his face. "Is that when you blow something in your head? I don't know. Wait. Oh my, Queen Mab, do you think I'm having a stroke?" He zipped up to the light fixture in the ceiling, disappearing behind the silver dome-shaped shade. A second passed, then he peered over the side. His white-blond hair was sticking up in every direction. "I'm having a stroke. Shite."

"Get down from there, Tink. Good God," I muttered as the fixture swayed. "You're not having a stroke. Forget I said anything."

"I hate it when you call me Tink."

I grinned. "I know."

"Evil woman." He hesitated and then made his way back down to the counter, where he sat with narrowed eyes. "So . . . anyway, you got shot?"

I nodded as I finished scooping up the cereal. "A fae shot me."

"When did they start using guns?"

Grabbing the box and bowl, I took them over to the trash and dumped them. Not like I'd be eating any of that after he'd taken a nap in it. It wasn't weird talking about my job with Tink. He seemed to take it in stride. "I don't know, but the fae didn't have silver skin either."

When Tink didn't respond, I turned around, half expecting him to have passed out, but he was awake and his eyes were wide. "And the fae conjured a gun out of thin air," I said.

Tink swallowed.

"And I stabbed him with an iron stake and it did nothing," I added, walking over to him.

He hopped up to his feet. "That sounds like an . . ."

"An ancient?"

His head shook back and forth. "They are badass. Scary, but badass." He tip-toed to the edge of the counter. "Was he near you when he shot you? Like was he far away?"

That was a strange question, but then again, it was Tink. "He was a good distance away from me. If he'd been close to me, I doubt I'd be standing here right now."

He paled. "I've never seen an ancient here."

"Exactly how long have you been in this world, Tink?"

One shoulder rose. Not like I expected an answer, or at least a helpful one. Tink didn't even know what gate he'd come through or how he ended up here. He said that he woke up in our world, in the cemetery, and had no idea how it all happened. Based on the condition he'd been in and his personality, I suspected he'd gotten the crap beat out of him and someone pitched him through a gate. Tink also never told me his real name since knowing any Otherworld creatures' real name gave you power over them, even the fae. All I did know was that he loathed the fae as much as the Order did. From what I gathered, his kind had been hunted to near extinction by the fae in the Otherworld, and Tink's entire family had been slaughtered. His hatred of the fae put us on the same team, even if other Order members wouldn't agree.

"I've seen the ancients in the Otherworld," he said in a stage voice. "I've even seen the prince."

"Really?"

He nodded. "The prince . . ." Throwing out his arms, he spun in tight circles that were actually dizzying to watch. "The prince is dreamy."

Uh.

"But so are most fae, aren't they? Gorgeous but deadly, arrogant bastards." He stopped spinning. "The prince is also really scary."

I leaned against the counter, ignoring the steady ache that was increasing in my stomach. "You've seen the prince? Like the real prince of the Otherworld?"

"Yep. Saw him three times." Eagerness crept into his expression. "Once he was in this meadow. Kind of like the meadow in that movie with the sparkly vampires and crazy hair."

Oh Lord.

"He didn't see me, which was a good thing. The second time was when I was near their palace. It kind of looks like something on the show you watch where everyone dies."

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