Torn (A Wicked Saga, #2)(23)

I sat forward, resting my elbows on the table as I dragged both hands through my hair, holding the curls back from my face. I opened my mouth but had no idea what to say.

A sympathetic look pinched Brighton’s features. “I know you’re already dealing with a lot, but I didn’t know who else to go to. You’ve always been so patient and understanding with my mom. She trusts you. I trust you.”

I nodded and drew in a deep breath. Neither of them would trust me if they knew the truth, but that was neither here nor there. I scanned the table as I collected my thoughts. Okay. First things first. “Do you have any idea where she could’ve gone?”

“Before she left, she told me it wasn’t safe any longer and that she was going to them. I didn’t know what she meant at first,” Brighton explained. “But I think she was going to them—to these fae who don’t feed on humans.”

Other than how absolutely crazy that sounded, I wondered why Merle would leave Brighton behind if she felt things were no longer safe. That didn’t sound like Merle at all. No matter what kind of mental state she was in, her daughter was always a priority. There was more to this than we knew.

A hell of a lot more, I thought as I stared at all the journals. “So do we have any idea of where these . . . good fae could be living?”

“Maybe.” Brighton reached over, choosing a longer and wider journal. “This one has maps of the city, places marked where hunts have been carried out and locations of kills. I’m hoping there’s something in there. It’s just going to take a little bit to search through it. Not like I can skip a page.”

“Are there anymore like that?”

“Not that I’ve found.” She placed the journal in front of her, then pressed her fingers to her mouth. “There was something else she said before she left.”

At this point, I had no idea what to expect. “What?”

Her cornflower-blue eyes met mine. “Before she left, she told me to contact that young man Ivy brought with her. Ren? She said Ren would know what to do.”

~

Ren would know what to do.

Back at my apartment, I sat cross-legged on my bed and stared at the journal Brighton had allowed me to take. I’d spent the last couple of hours reading through it, and if any of this was fake, it was an extremely well put together hoax, spanning decades.

“It’s not a hoax,” I whispered, reaching up and tucking a stray curl behind my ear. I was convinced that this crap was true or that Merle believed it to be true, and she had believed that for years, well before she was captured by the fae.

Closing the journal, I glanced at the clock as I rubbed the back of my neck. It was a little before one in the morning. Ren would be here soon. I’d texted him when I got back to my place, but I hadn’t mentioned anything about Brighton or Merle. I figured that would be a conversation to have in person.

Ren would know what to do.

Did he know there were fae that were . . . good? How could he not have brought that up at some point? I squeezed my eyes shut as I dropped my hand. He was a part of the Elite, and they probably had access to all kinds of information we normal and not so cool members didn’t. And could I get mad at him for not telling me? All things considered, probably not.

Good fae? I laughed under my breath and opened my eyes. How could that theory be so surprising? I lived with a creature of the Otherworld—a brownie. Tink was annoying. He was expensive, and he had this horrible habit of not being exactly forthcoming with information, but he wasn’t evil. Before I met him, I’d assumed that all creatures from the Otherworld were bad. Obviously I had been wrong. So it could be possible that there were fae who were like . . . like humans.

I had so many questions though. Without feeding, how did they use glamour to hide their appearance? From what we knew of the fae, they had to feed to use their magic. Were we fed false information?

I’d asked Tink about good fae when I got home. He’d been busy on my computer, creating If Daryl Dies We Riot memes. He’d genuinely appeared confused by my line of questioning. According to my pint-sized roommate, all fae were bad. There was no such thing as a good fae.

Something had occurred to me while I’d watched him concentrate, the white glare from my computer lighting up his face. “Do you ever leave this house, Tink? Go anywhere?”

He’d frowned up at me like I’d asked him why I should watch The Walking Dead. “Why would I leave? This place has everything I need, and if it doesn’t, I can order it from Amazon.” He’d paused. “Though, on second thought, we could use a live-in chef, because you can’t cook for shit.”

I’d left the conversation at that point.

So there was a good chance, if Tink was being honest, that he hadn’t been out to possibly figure out that there were good fae. I thought about the day I’d stopped over at Brighton and Merle’s looking for them and saw what I’d first believed was another brownie. I’d caught a glimpse of translucent wings. I’d chalked it up to me seeing things, but now I wasn’t so sure.

I wasn’t sure about anything anymore.

But what changed with the Order? And why was it buried so effectively, that a few decades later, no one even knew about it with the exception of the older members?

All this thinking was giving me a headache.

Flopping onto my back, I flung my arms out to the side and lay there until I heard a key turning in the front door. I didn’t move an inch. My bedroom door was halfway open, so I knew he spotted me the moment he entered. Or spotted half of me.