Evie
“Return to your posts at once!” Evie called as she was jostled and shoved through the absolute upheaval of workers. The cobwebbed chandelier was swinging precariously above them with the stampede of movement, as was the ceramic chalice of cauldron brew in her hand. She called to the group, trying to reason with them. “I understand it has been a perilous week without him, and I understand the discontent about the pixies using the cauldron brew as bathwater, but it was just the one batch and we really must
—” She was shoved into her desk so hard, she almost toppled over completely.
Okay—that’s it!
“Hey! Vultures!” she screeched as hard as her lungs would allow. All at once, the workers halted. “Clear the floor this instant or we’ll have an impromptu Scatter Day and I’ll be sure to include everyone!”
Scatter Day, like many things in The Villain’s office, was equal parts horror and comfortable familiarity. At least, it was for Evie. She wasn’t sure the interns would concur, considering the event consisted of them being chased across the courtyard by whatever dreadful creature the boss deemed acceptable that day. He’d finally promised Evie before he was taken that he would cut it back to once a month, but given the fury on his face as he stared at the chaotic crowd, she had a strong inclination that the promise would not hold for very long.
“Did you not hear Ms. Sage?” The Villain roared. “Scatter!”
And they finally did, the wide-eyed humans, the pixies—even ravens fluttered out some of the open windows. People were practically breaking their necks as they moved away, so intent were they on staring at the boss. Not that she could blame them. He looked strikingly handsome this morning—though the dark circles under his eyes seemed more pronounced.
They matched hers.
She’d barely slept a wink before finally giving up and making the awful mistake of searching through her mother’s stack of letters, which were practically ruined. The scraps were barely legible, save for a few innocuous words. It was a wonder the king had wanted the letters in the first place— they would hardly be a help in locating her mother or her magic. But the letters were not the only thing stashed among the parchment she’d made off with the night before.
Gripping her journal tight, she pulled the papers from inside, then dropped the book onto her desk. “Sir, may I talk to you in private?”
The boss looked at her like she’d asked him to strip naked. “I suppose if you must.” Grimacing, he gestured to his office doors.
She scrunched her nose at the coldness but walked in, skidding to an immediate halt when she saw who was inside. “Lyssa!” Evie hissed. “What on earth are you doing here?”
Her little sister, who Evie had ensured was confined to their large rooms in the manor’s west wing for the past seven days, sat in the boss’s large black chair, twisting the end of her dark braid around her finger. She blinked innocently at Evie, but her brown eyes hinted at mischief. “I’m working. From what I’ve seen, you all don’t do very much of it.” Lyssa tried to push the chair out to stand, but it didn’t budge. “What are you doing?”
Evie gave a panicked side glance to The Villain, who was staring at his desk and the person in his chair with resigned acceptance.
“I’ve been replaced.”
Kingsley, well timed as always, hopped up onto the desk, holding up two different signs. MORE and COMPETENT.
“I should’ve let the king turn you into soup.” The Villain rolled his eyes at the animal.
Lyssa burst from the chair and ran toward them, Kingsley following near her like a guard frog. “Lord Trystan!” To Evie’s horror, Lyssa threw her arms around her boss, looking up at him with an elated expression. “I’m so happy to see you!”
“Are you certain?” he asked dryly.
When Lyssa stepped back, Trystan very studiously took her sister’s hand and bowed deeply over it. “How are you finding the manor, Lady Lyssa?” There was no teasing or malice to the question, simply earnest inquiry.
Evie would have to be dead to not swoon over that just a little—it was the law.
Her sister answered bluntly: “I’m very bored.” Evie winced.
A bemused look overtook The Villain’s forbidding aura, blooming into full warmth when Edwin, the manor’s ogre-turned-chef, barreled into the room, a tray of sweets in each hand. “Trystan!”
The Villain’s lips curved up at the ogre’s entrance. “Hello, Edwin.” But the smile dwindled when Edwin dropped the trays and hoisted The Villain into his large arms. “Edwin,” he rasped. “You’ll break my spine.”
Edwin dropped him, then used his white apron to wipe the tears fogging up the too-small spectacles perched on the tip of his nose. Ogres were notorious for their deep wells of emotion. “I missed you a great deal, Mr. Trystan.” Edwin noticed Evie off to the corner and nodded politely at her. She smiled in response.
The Villain cleared his throat uncomfortably. “I suppose, uh, I…missed… Um, thank you.” His black eyes were looking anywhere but at the ogre, falling to Lyssa, who was watching the interaction with interest while slowly sneaking a pastry from the dropped tray. The boss grinned at the sight. “Edwin, while I appreciate the sweets delivery, I wonder whether you might show Lady Lyssa how to make those lemon tarts you’re so famous for. I fear she is suffering from a case of boredom.”
Lyssa beamed, jumping up and gripping Edwin’s large hand in her own, practically dragging him toward the door. “Yes, please! Can I wear an apron?” Edwin gave the boss a knowing look as he followed Lyssa with a soft smile on his face, shutting the door behind them.
Evie gaped. “You busied her in less than two minutes. What kind of wizard are you?”
The Villain let out a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort as he walked across the room, lightly bumping into her usual chair on the way, causing it to tilt slightly toward the window. “Have a seat, Sage,” he said, rounding his desk and lowering slowly into his chair.
She smiled lightly, realizing how much she had missed their morning briefings. “Your cauldron brew, sir,” she said, placing the ceramic chalice in front of him, frowning slightly. “I had intended to give it to you earlier—I even tried to make a skull with the milk—but I fear it’s gone cold. Your first day back, maybe I should just—”
She reached to pick it up, but The Villain had already snatched it from the
desk and taken a hearty sip. “I shall enjoy it just like this, thank you,” he said gruffly, staring at her rather strangely while she seated herself. The sunlight was pouring in, brushing her cheeks, and it felt lovely.
“What did you want to talk about?”
She got right to the point. “My mother’s letters are mostly ruined.” She stood again, leaning over slightly, and placed the papers on his sleek black desk, sliding the parchment closer as loose curls fell in her face. His eyes moved in three different directions: first to the pants hugging her thighs, then to her red lips, then back to the papers. He made no expression, but his hand was gripping the desk so tight, his knuckles went white.
Don’t read into it, Evie.
Tucking the wayward strands of hair behind her ear, she kept speaking in hopes it would calm her fast-beating heart. “The only words I could truly make out are ‘hasibsi,’ ‘love,’ ‘starlight,’ and this dirty little rhyme that makes absolutely no sense.”
The boss looked at her, suddenly alert, but she continued on.
“Oh! And there was something else stashed between the pages. My, um, informant also slipped in this.” She dropped the glowing, silver-edged page on the table. “I think… I think it’s a page from Rennedawn’s Story. It details tools to enact the prophecy, to save the kingdom and its magic.”
His eyes widened as he scooped up the single sheet of parchment with an alarmed swiftness. Scanning furiously, he breathed out, “The seal.” He ran his hand down the inked marking toward the top—the one glowing from ancient magic. “By the gods, it appears you beguiling a Valiant Guard was an advantage indeed.”
Her brow furrowed in indignation as she tugged at the top of her green floral corset; it was much tighter suddenly. “I didn’t beguile anyone, sir.”
His eyes followed her hand and shot away fast as he grumbled, “Of course you didn’t.”
She had every intention of telling the boss of her plans, of exactly who she had colluded with, of how she’d done it. But it was that little twinge of anger, that fleeting sign of discontent in his voice, that made her stop. He was bothered that he’d been shut out of what she’d done, and Evie found that she enjoyed that very much.
“It’s occurring to me, sir, that if you want to prevent Benedict from fulfilling this little plan, you might consider gathering the tools necessary and simply enacting the prophecy yourself.”
He gripped the page tight in his fist, giving her a cynical expression as he read the words aloud, the bitterness in his voice giving the whimsical magic a biting sound. “The person who saves the magical lands will take Fate’s youngling well in hand; when Fate and starlight magic fall together, the land will belong to you forever. But beware the unmasked Villain and their malevolent dark, for nothing is more dangerous than a blackened good heart…” He stopped, eyes widening. “I’m in this?”
Evie nodded. “You are.”
The Villain flipped the paper over and made a twisted expression when he realized that was all that was there. “Your informant couldn’t have given us the whole book?”
“No.”
“Why in the deadlands not?”
She shrugged before saying cheekily, “It wouldn’t have fit in my dress.”
The Villain groaned, collapsing back in his chair, holding the paper before him like it was about to detonate. “Fulfill the prophecy ourselves and then…what? The land will be mine?”
She took her seat and folded her arms. “That’s what it says. It’s why he wanted to unmask you, I think, so that the beginnings of the prophecy would take hold. Assuming this is all real, that is.”
“Oh, it’s real,” he said grimly. “Trust me.” Shaking his head, he pushed away from his desk and walked toward the windows. The sunlight shone a little brighter, like it was eager to kiss the skin of his cheeks. Evie understood the feeling all too well. “I never wanted the land. I merely wanted to terrorize it—and Benedict—until one of us succeeded in destroying the other. I’m the one meant to ensure all hope is lost, not that hope still endures.” There was a vulnerability in his voice, which cracked at her heart like an ice pick against a glacier.
She came up behind him, wrapping her arms tentatively around his middle and laying her head gently against his back. He jumped at the touch but didn’t pull away. It gave her the courage to say, “There is nothing written in any text, gods-created or not, that says we cannot be more than one thing. You’ve been told for a very long time that you are made for destruction, but there is nothing that says you cannot be more. You can be capable of bad and do good. You can do good things and still be bad. Nothing is set in stone, and if it helps, I’ll stand by you no matter who you choose to be.”
A ragged, self-deprecating laugh left his lips. “Why?”
She couldn’t reveal the real reason without throwing them both completely off their axes, so she merely said, “Because I like who you are, not what you’re capable of.”
He ripped himself from her hands and fell back against the wall, looking astonished, looking…revolted? “Sage, are you of the delusion that everything can be fixed with a hug?”
The lack of composure he was exhibiting in their interactions was growing addictive. “No,” she said sweetly. “But don’t they help?”
“No.”
Kingsley held up a sign: YES.
The boss narrowed his eyes at the frog before sighing in resignation. “So, we are enacting the prophecy. We are saving the magic.”
Evie grinned, clapping gleefully. “What better way to torment the kingdom than for you to take it over? We have the guvres, we have you, and according to the story, all that’s left is…” She swallowed. The thought had not fully registered until just then.
“Your mother and her starlight magic. We must find your mother,” he finished for her, picking up the ruined letters. “Sage—will you be okay? I know that your mother…”
“I’ll be fine, sir,” she assured him, though whether she could assure herself of the same was another question entirely. It had been many years since her mother abandoned her family—would Evie ever truly be able to face her again? Clearing the lump from her throat and trying to hold back her sense of foreboding, she said curiously, “But without the letters, we don’t really have a place to begin.”
The Villain seemed to assess her as if he were not sure she could truly be believed. That makes two of us, sir. “Read the dirty rhyme she left behind, Sage. Aloud, if you will.” He handed her the stack of letters.
Licking her lips, she looked down at the discolored paper and to the suggestive words at the top. “Where the oaks begin to kiss—” She paused, hoping the blood would leave her cheeks. “The caves below are where the gods once lived. Retrieve the dust that makes wishes come real—”
“Or you shall become the monster’s next meal,” The Villain completed and then immediately angled his head at her, looking very disgruntled.
Her heart was beginning to beat at a race hummingbirds would find disagreeable. “You know this rhyme?”
He gaped. “Yes. Why on earth did you think it was dirty?”
Marvelous. Now all the blood in her body was racing upward. Her face was on fire. “I, um…I suppose the kissing and the…caves might have given that impression.”
There was no emotion in his voice when he said, “Does your mind live in the gutter?”
She shook her head, tapping a finger against her lips. “No, but it rents there on occasion.”
The smile that stretched across his cheeks was sudden, with just a peek of a dimple before it disappeared. Come back! “The real estate of your thoughts aside,” he said, “this rhyme is exactly how we’ll begin our search. The kissing oaks aren’t terribly far away.”
“Wait, what? It’s a real place?”
He took the paper back from her and rescanned the words. “Indeed. It’s a short journey there. Pack your things, Sage; we’ll leave first thing tomorrow.” His eyes stayed down, and she hoped they remained off her inflamed cheeks. “If we don’t find your mother there, at the very least we’ll be able to retrieve a piece of magic that helps uncover lost things.” He raised one dark brow, eyes catching now on the anxiety she thought she’d been hiding so well. He watched her closely as he finished. “Stardust.”
She only managed to nod stiffly, could barely process that such magic existed—she was too busy remembering her mother’s face, hearing her final screams on the last day she’d seen her.
The Villain’s voice was muddled as he called her name. A blurry hand reached for her. “Sage? Evie?”
The use of her first name snapped her away from the terrible memories. Pasting on a smile so wide it almost split her lip, she jumped away from his touch. It would cause her to crumble, she knew. “I’ll prepare promptly! Let me know if you need anything else, sir!”
She was out the doors before he could say another word, her body reacting violently to the thought of seeing her mother again after so many years. Her chest was heaving against her constricting corset, and she had a wild urge to rip the thing off so she could take in a full breath of air. Stumbling to her desk, she reached for her journal to write it all down, to calm herself.
But it was gone.
