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“I want to go home,” I announced.
He slid his phone into his pocket. “I was told to accompany you.”
My eyes narrowed. “He owns my nights, not my days.”
“I figured.” He held his hands up. “Is there anything you want me to tell him?” He blinked at the string of curses that fell out of my mouth, but he smiled. “Do you want me to repeat that word for word?”
“Please.” I started to turn but remembered I did need Roark to get me out. Damn it.
He stepped to my side. “Ready?”
I locked my knees and sucked in a breath. “Yes.”
Maybe I was getting used to nipping, because it wasn’t nearly as bad as the other times. We appeared in a quiet corridor, and I recognized the polished marble floor of the Avalon. Activity hummed in the distance, the hotel already stirring for the day.
“Car is out front,” Roark told me. He must have seen the surprise on my face that he was actually going to respect my desire to leave alone. “Look, I think he’s worried you’ll vanish.”
“I don’t know why,” I said sourly. “He can yank me back here whenever he wants.”
Roark’s jaw worked for a second, like he was chewing on how to respond. “He would never forgive himself if something happened to you.”
I blinked. “Nothing’s going to happen.”
But he only nodded and gestured toward the lobby. He didn’t follow me as I hurried out of the Avalon, but his words did. They niggled at me as I left the hotel and chased me down the front steps. For a second, I considered walking past the long, black Mercedes idling at the curb, but I’d already made a stand about having a chaperone, and it was quite a walk from here to my place.
The driver opened the door as I approached, and I slid into the back seat. For a minute, I simply drank in the quilted leather seats and the silver-plated champagne flutes and bottle of Cristal waiting in the center console. The touch screen on the back of the passenger seat welcomed me with a selection of massage settings.
The driver got behind the wheel and looked back at me. “Home, Miss Holloway?”
I didn’t ask how he knew my name or where I lived. If I had armed guards in the Otherworld, it was safe to assume that Lachlan was going to be overbearing in my own world. It was one of the reasons that I shouldn’t get comfortable here, but for now, what choice did I have?
I smiled politely at the driver. “Actually, I need to make a few stops first.”
…
At this hour of the morning, the streets of the French Quarter were empty of the tourists who came out at dusk for the bars and restaurants and music. Elsewhere in New Orleans, the real world had already risen, but most of the Quarter was sleeping off its hangover. I loved the city when it was quiet and deserted. It was easy to imagine I’d stepped back in time, looking at the wrought iron galleries dripping with ferns and flowers, the rainbow of cottages and shotgun houses, and the cobbled sidewalks. But today I couldn’t help seeing the wrought iron as a danger. A man playing guitar on the corner had eyes too dark to be human; even the very air seemed to shimmer with barely suppressed magic.
My world wasn’t my own anymore. It was bigger, fuller, scarier.
I could have cried with relief when we reached our first stop and it looked exactly the same as it always had, the air heavy with the tempting aroma of sugar and oil.
Haley sat at the nurse’s station, looking like she’d been through hell. She spotted me and tried to tuck a loose braid into her now limp bun but gave up with a weary groan.
I swallowed, wishing I could jump in my scrubs and give her a break. “Back already?”
“Never left.” She yawned, stretching her arms over her head. “Why are you here?”
There was no bite to her words, just exhaustion.
“I popped by to see Channing, but I took your advice.” I held up the bag I’d brought for Garcia.
Haley glanced around, then waved for me to follow her. She lowered her voice as we headed into the staff lounge. “The police took Channing into custody this morning until his hearing—or someone bails him out.”
The news hit like a punch to the gut. I’d known it was going to happen, but the reality of my choice was entirely different. I reminded myself that, according to the internet, illegal possession of a firearm wasn’t as serious an offense in Louisiana as in some states. Channing would probably get probation for a first offense. The thought didn’t quite soothe me.
Haley eyed me as she grabbed two cups and filled them with coffee. She passed me one before sitting at the table.
“Good,” I managed. I hated the idea of him being in jail, but I hated the idea of him being caught up in this more.