Wicked (A Wicked Saga, #1)(63)

Relieved, I let go of his arm and we started up the sidewalk. Just as we reached the front porch, the door opened and Brighton stepped out, her golden hair pulled back in a high ponytail.

Brighton was in her late twenties, and as far as I knew, she'd never been married—never got close to that. She used to be active in the Order, but after the incident with her mother, her life revolved around taking care of Merle. It couldn't be easy and had to be lonely.

Wearing jean shorts and a tank top, she came down the steps, her sandals smacking off the wooden boards. Tiny pieces of dirt clung to her shorts. Brighton was gorgeous in that southern way. Like if this was a hundred years ago, she'd blend right in with the belles at the ball; she had that kind of delicate beauty.

Her serious and somber brown gaze moved from me to Ren as she drew up short in front of us. I stepped forward. "Brighton, this is Ren. He's a part of the Order."

She gave him a small, reserved smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. "You're new."

"Yes, ma'am," he drawled, doling out the charm. "I'm from Colorado. Just transferred here at the beginning of the month."

She smoothed her hands along her shorts. "Wow. You're a long way from home."

Ren smiled, the curve of his lips effortless. "That I am. Your home is beautiful. We don't have houses like these back home."

"Thank you." She turned sideways, glancing back at the house before addressing me. "May I ask what you'd like to see my mother about?"

I didn't know how happy Ren was going to be with the amount of info I was about to share, but he was just going to have to deal with it. "There's some crazy stuff going on in the city. As you know, we've lost four members in a very short period of time, and we think . . . we think they were guardians of the gate."

Brighton's eyes widened with alarm. "What?"

"We think the fae are trying to open the gate here," Ren chimed in. "And you know that the gates are weakened on the equinox—"

"They can only be opened on the equinox and the solstice," she corrected, folding her arms across her waist. "What does David have to say about this?"

"We haven't told David yet." Here came the tricky part. "Brighton, if the members killed were guardians, and it looks like they might've been, then someone within the Order has to be feeding the names to the fae. We can't—"

"You can't trust many then, if that's the case." She pressed her lips together as she shook her head. "You want to talk to my mom about the location of the gate?"

"If anyone knows, it would be her."

"If she remembers," she said softly, casting a nervous look in Ren's direction. "You know how her head is. Some days . ."

"I know. So does Ren. We're prepared for her not to know, but even if there's a slim chance, we'll take it."

Brighton nodded slowly. "She's having a good day."

"Okay." I looked at Ren and was happy to see not a single look of judgment on his face. Since each of us was raised to value mental and physical strength above everything, so many of the Order members looked down on Merle. "We won't take long."

She hesitated for a moment and then turned. "She's in the garden."

Leaving our helmets on the wicker chair, we followed Brighton around the porch. As we neared the back of the house, the soft thrums of jazz drifted out the back door. We stepped off the porch, following the walkway into the thick of the courtyard.

Merle was kneeling in front of a rosebush, her green gloves covered with dirt as she patted the fresh soil around a newly planted flower. A pitcher of tea sat on a small table, two glasses half full.

Brighton cleared her throat. "Mama—"

"I know we have company, sweetheart. I may have a few bats in the belfry, but I'm not deaf," Merle said, her voice level and sugary sweet. "And y'all weren't exactly quiet making your way into the courtyard."

Ren lifted a brow at me, and I grinned. "Hi, Merle," I announced.

"Hello, dear." Tugging off her gloves, she dropped them on the ground and then stood, turning toward us. Merle was in her mid-fifties, but she could pass for someone a good decade younger. With hair the color of wheat and nearly flawless alabaster skin, I had no idea how she stayed so pale and wrinkle-free when she spent most of her time out in her garden. Only the skin by her eyes and mouth crinkled when she smiled. "It's been a while since I've seen you, and you brought someone other than that hussy with you."

I bit the inside of my cheek as Ren's eyebrow climbed even higher. "She's talking about Val—"

"The hussy," Merle said again, floating over to the chair near the small table. She plopped down with little grace, hooking her knee over one leg.

"Mama." Brighton sighed, moving to stand behind her mother's chair.

"I wish you wouldn't call her that," I said. "Valerie's really nice. Just because she dates a lot doesn't make her a hussy."

Merle tilted her head to the side as she picked up her glass. "Honey, that's not what makes her a hussy."

I wanted to know what did, but the last thing we needed was to get off track, so I decided it was time to change the subject. "Merle, this is Ren—"