The beautiful antebellum style home I grew up in sat nestled in the middle of the Garden District. With its wraparound porch, second-floor balcony, and the courtyard Mom and I had spent many sunny afternoons in, it was one of the houses that was an utter blast from the past—with the exception of the kitchen and bathrooms that had been renovated about five years ago.
There were days when I thought about selling it and moving on to anywhere but here even though I had been born in this home and New Orleans was a part of my blood just as much as the Order was. If I did decide to sell, I knew this home wouldn’t last a second on the market, but I couldn’t bring myself to let go of it. At least not yet, when I could still recall all those good memories.
But on nights like tonight, when I was rattled and exhausted as I unlocked the door my mom had decided to paint blue, I was swamped with the bad memories.
The attack had happened less than two blocks from here. We’d been so close to making it back, and I had to think that would’ve made a difference. Tink had been here.
Then again, if I hadn’t panicked and had fought back instead of flailing like a pinned insect, that could’ve also made a difference.
Swallowing down the bitter ball of emotion, I opened the door and stepped inside, locking it behind me. A lamp on the entryway table was on, casting a soft glow to the formal sitting room to the right—a room that legit was never used, and a cherry oak library to the left. I could hear some sort of conversation coming from the living area at the back of the house, on the other side of the kitchen.
I dropped the keys on the table and strode past the staircase, the heels of what I liked to refer to as my stripper boots clacking off the wood floors as I entered the dining room, another place in the house that saw little use. The kitchen was quiet, the under cabinet lights on, shining down on the gray and white quartz countertops.
Stepping under a rounded archway, I took in the living area at the back of the house. One entire wall was nothing but windows that overlooked the porch and courtyard. The blinds were drawn and the heavy, ceramic lamp was lit. On the screen, my favorite Stranger Things kid Dustin was currently trying to lure a baby demogorgon into the basement. There was an enormous bowl of Lucky Charms on the round coffee table. I knew this because the empty box was sitting next to the bowl. No milk. And it looked like all the colorful marshmallows had been picked out of the cereal.
Again.
I sighed as I counted the cans of open soda. Four. How anything could consume that much sugar and not slip into a diabetic coma, I had no idea.
Twisting at the waist, I scanned the normal hiding places. Behind pillows. Under the coffee table. Waiting behind the end tables. The room was empty.
Picking up the remote, I turned the television off and then I grabbed the bowl of cereal. I brought it back to the kitchen and placed it on the counter before returning to grab the empty soda cans. I tossed them into the recycling bin, all the while not thinking about what I’d done tonight or the Prince or how sore my throat was. Once I was done cleaning up, I went through the narrow hall that was lined with framed photographs of Mom and me, and older ones of my father. Back to the foyer, I double-checked the locked door.
Couldn’t be too safe.
As I wearily climbed the stairs, I spotted a tiny shoe no bigger than half my pinky sitting between two wooden spindles on the steps. Stopping, I looked for the other shoe, but didn’t see it and decided to leave that shoe on the step, because I figured it was there for a reason.
The upstairs hallway light was already on, so I turned it off as I reached the end of the hall and then closed the bedroom door behind me.
Feeling several years older than my age, I crossed the quiet room and walked into what used to be a small nursery, but had been converted into a walk-in closet ages ago.
Then I started my routine of becoming me again—becoming Brighton Jussier.
I bent down and got to unzipping the boots. Kicking them off, I reached up and moved my fingers through the hair, finding the extra bobby pins I used as an extra precaution. I plucked them out, dropping them in a glass tray sitting on the waist-high table in the center. Slipping the wig off, I placed it on the plastic mannequin-head stand and then peeled off the cap that helped keep my hair flat. I had no idea how to braid, so I worked with a low bun. After another half a dozen pins joined the rest in the tray, my hair was free, falling past my shoulders. A rush of blood hit my scalp and I closed my eyes, enjoying the tingles.
Lifting my hands, I looked up as I pinched my fingers, removing the contacts that had changed my eyes to blue. I placed them in their container.
The dress came off next, going straight into the trash. I never wore them twice. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it, because even though this one was sparkly and sexy, it would forever make me think of Tobias and his icy touch. It would always remind me of the first time I saw him and why I had hunted him down.
Undressed, I tugged on the fluffy robe and then padded barefoot back across the room to the bathroom.
I turned on the shower, letting the steam begin to fill the space. It took two towelettes to remove all the makeup on my face, but after a handful of moments, it was my face staring back at me in the mirror.
Blonde hair fell limply around cheeks that were pink from all the scrubbing. Faint shadows clung to the skin under eyes that reminded me of my mother. They were wide-set and brown. Someone once called them doe eyes, and I think they might’ve been suggesting that my eyes gave them the impression of a deer in headlights. Right now, that would be accurate. I stared at myself like I didn’t recognize anything about my own face. My gaze lowered, to where my lips were slightly parted and then lower still.
Pale blue marks had formed on either side of my throat.
Without having to try, I heard the sound the Prince had made when he’d tipped my head back. Smoothing my fingers over the faint bruises, I wondered if the Prince had seen them. Was that why he’d… growled?
What in the hell was the Prince even doing at Flux?
And I couldn’t help but wonder why he hadn’t struck back at me. He could’ve. I’d kicked him. Swung a chair at him. Hit him, and all he did was restrain me and then told me to leave. He’d been pissed, that much I was sure of, but he didn’t try to hurt me.
Steam crept across the mirror, blurring my reflection as I pulled my hand away from my throat. When I’d left the room, there hadn’t been a single fae in the alcove on the second floor. The couches and chairs were empty. There wasn’t even a human in sight. The Prince had done something to the fae.
I didn’t think he’d warned them off.
He’d taken them out, and that made sense. The fae that frequented Flux were the Winter fae, the enemy of the Summer Court and humans, but what didn’t make sense was why he was looking for Tobias.
I knew why I’d been there. Just like I knew I would go back to Flux, because eventually the remaining two fae would make an appearance. They always did, and I would do the same thing I’d done tonight. Watch them. Learn their habits. Strike fast and get out, hopefully without The Prince showing up. I would kill them or die trying, and there was a good chance that would happen, because one of the two remaining fae was an Ancient.
And he’d been the cruelest, the sickest.
I shuddered as I gripped the sink. Closing my eyes, I inhaled deeply and then held my breath a second before the all-too-familiar thought blasted forward, shoving everything else out of the way.
This isn’t who you are.
Stalking the fae and putting myself in ridiculously dangerous positions wasn’t who I used to be. That was who I’d wanted to be, but what I had become was some kind of twisted version of that.
Being consumed with vengeance was something I never thought I’d experience, but I was knee-deep in it and I wasn’t coming out anytime soon.
Who I used to be was a woman I could barely remember. I’d once thought that my life had changed when I was twelve and that my life could never be that rattled again. I’d foolishly believed that every human had a cap to what kind of tragedy they’d experience, and I’d already had my fair share. My father had died in the line of duty, as many Order members did, before I could even form one memory of the man. My mom had been brutalized but survived to never be a hundred percent the same again. I’d watched friends die in the battle against the fae, and naïvely, stupidly thought that we were free and clear, because how could anything else happen to me or my mother? We’d experienced enough tragedy to last a lifetime. God couldn’t be that cruel to deliver yet another soul-crushing blow.
I’d been so wrong.
Thinking back to the night of the attack, I wondered if I had misjudged the reason for Mom being antsy. Maybe it wasn’t a sign that she was about to have another episode. Maybe it was some kind of primal instinct had told her what was coming that night. What if she had known that those were the last hours of her life?
Guilt churned, flooding the pit of my stomach with acid as I walked myself back through the night. Our shouts of surprise and screams of pain had been quickly silenced. They’d swarmed us within seconds, pulling us into the courtyard of the empty home.
They’d torn through clothing, skin, and muscle. The pain… God, it had been shattering and devastating. They hadn’t even attempted to feed on us. I’d learned later from Ivy that Gerry and the others hadn’t appeared to have been fed on either. The attack was all about pain and blood, and there’d been so much blood. It had coated my skin and soaked my hair.
I’d fought to stay conscious, but it was all too much. The pain. The blood. The sounds. The shock of it all. I wasn’t able to hold on, and the last thing I’d felt was my mother’s hand slipping from mine. The last thing I’d seen had been her. I’d seen what they had done to her. No human could survive that.
My chest and throat burned until the point I started to feel faint. Dragging in a deep breath of air, I opened my eyes and saw nothing but mist.
Leaning forward, I dragged my hand across the mirror, wiping away the steam until I could see myself staring back at me.
It was my face and my hair. No makeup or special contouring. Those were my lips and my eyes. I was staring at me, but I….
I didn’t recognize who I’d become.