On Wednesday, Ren headed back to work, and tomorrow, if I was feeling up to it, I would head into the Quarter to see David. With us losing so many members, I needed to get back out there. Not that anyone was pressuring me, but I needed to.

I needed to find Val.

That was going to be priority number one, and while I knew David and the Order members were looking for her, no one knew her better than I did. No one. I didn't plan on telling Ren, since I knew he'd flip, but I had to try and find her.

Shuffling into the bathroom, I cringed as I got a good look at myself. My left eye was now opened to a thin slit. The entire left side of my face looked like someone had smacked me with grape and strawberry jam. My lower lip was swollen and torn in the middle. I looked like road kill with greasy, limp curls. Hot.

I heard the front door open then Tink shouted, "Aren't you supposed to be at work?"

"You're not my keeper," was Ren's response.

Curious why he was here as it was only seven in the evening, I ambled out to the bedroom just as he filled the doorway. Concern immediately blossomed in the pit of my stomach. "Is everything okay?"

He grinned as he strode toward me, one arm behind his back. Over his shoulder, I saw Tink hovering in the air. "I just wanted to stop by real quick. Make sure you're okay."

"You could've texted me . . . wait." I sniffed the air. "What is that I smell?"

He stopped in front of me, moving his hand out from behind him. He was holding a bag from Café Du Monde.

Tink squealed like a fifteen-year-old girl at a One Direction concert. Zooming into the room, he snatched the bag from Ren's hand and flew out. Ren turned, frowning. "Save one for her, you little ass!" He turned back to me, narrowing his eyes. "I really don't like that thing."

"I'm sure the feeling is mutual, but thank you for the beignets."

"It was really just an excuse to see you." Reaching out, he started to unbutton my cardigan. "I hate the idea of leaving you alone right now."

I watched him as he lined up the buttons with the correct holes since I'd haphazardly clasped it together. "I'm not alone."

"That little freak doesn't count."

"Hey. He's my freak."

Ren shook his head then cupped my unmarred cheek. "Are you sure you're okay? I can talk to—"

"I'm okay. I swear. I plan on taking a shower, then crashing on the couch, and hopefully, if Tink doesn't devour all of them, eat sugary goodness until I pass out."

"Okay." Dipping his head, he gently kissed the corner of my lips. "I'll be home as soon as I can."

Home? Here? Here was home to him? Oh my God, my heart swelled to the point I thought I'd float up to the ceiling. I don't even know what I said to him when he left, but I was still standing in the middle of my bedroom like a doofus.

Oh God, I was head over heels, drowning underwater, in love with Ren—with Renald Owens. I was in love with a dude whose real name was Renald. This wasn't the first moment I realized that, but each time I thought it, it shocked me straight to my core.

Shaking my head, I turned to head back into the bathroom when my gaze danced over the dresser. I stopped, my heart feeling like someone had taken a tack to a balloon.

Ren had retrieved the thorn stake I'd dropped during my fight with the prince. Right now, it was on my dresser, lined up with my iron stakes.

Halfling.

I shut my eyes. It didn't make sense. The prince was just being . . . creepily weird. But that didn't explain what he'd done before Ren and the others showed up. He'd . . . put his hand on my chest and I felt this warmth inside me. I think he'd healed me. I know he did. That was the only reason why I was standing right now and not in an urn. But there was no way. I took a step toward the dresser, then another.

There was one way to find out. I knew what would happen if I cut myself with the stake. Either I would bleed normally and end up feeling stupid—ridiculously stupid but happy. Or it would . . .

I reached out, picking up the stake. I shook my head again and started to put it back on the dresser, but I cursed under my breath and opened my left hand, palm up.

"What are you doing?"

I gasped, turning around to see Tink in the doorway. Powdery sugar covered the front of his doll shirt. I started to say nothing, but the words tumbled out of my mouth. I hadn't told him anything of what had happened beyond what Ren told him. "When I fought the prince, he said something to me—I think he did something to me. You see, I was . . . I was really hurt. Worse than this." I gestured at my face with my free hand. I think he healed me. Is that possible or am I crazy?"

Tink said nothing and the sense of dread grew. I drew in a shuddering breath.

"He was going to kill me. I know he was. Even though he gave me a chance to leave, he was going to kill to me. But he healed me, and he . . . the prince . . . said halfling. When I was bleeding, he said halfling."

Tink's expression fell, and my heart followed. "Ivy."

I couldn't catch my breath. My skin suddenly felt cold.

He flew into the room and several moments passed. "We—the brownies—have always been able to sense the Otherworld in other creatures, no matter how minimal. In a way, it made us valuable to the others," he explained quietly, his pale gaze sharp and fixed on me. "Fae, ancient or not, aren't bloodhounds. They have to be right on someone to scent the half in them."