Page 14 of Sincerely, Secretary of Doom

She looked down at her outfit again.

“I think I need to go to the police,” she said.

“I think you need to sleep it off,” Zorah said back. “But if you’re worried, stop at the station on your way into work. I’m guessing you’re planning to head to The Scoop with averywell-rehearsed excuse as to why you missed a whole morning. I’m surprised they didn’t even try calling while you were sleeping.” She took a long knife from the drawer and carefully began cutting the pie into slices. “Also, can you grab my glasses?” She pointed to them with her toe.

Violet huffed and grabbed the glasses off the floor. She set them on the counter and headed back up to her room to change.

Something had happened. She felt in her bones; the familiar loss of a thing she couldn’t put her finger on, the unexplainable feeling of having misplaced something important. She could have walked back downstairs and forced her aunt to believe her, especially because if she didn’t have Zorah’s concern, she had no one’s. But Violet wasn’t sure she wanted to force Zorah into this without finding out what had really happened first.

The last time Violet had woken up with amnesia, Zorah had sacrificed everything for her. And while Zorah was a positive person by nature, she’d been a young, struggling student at the time. Even though her aunt had never complained about it, Violet knew it had been hard on Zorah back then to take care of a young girl while carrying the weight of classes and finances on her shoulders.

Violet checked herself over quickly as she pulled off her clothes—arms, legs, fingers, toes—for bruises or cuts. There was nothing apart from a few scrapes on her elbows. She didn’t feel like she’d been assaulted or hurt, but if shehadbeen attacked and had put up a fight, she’d likely have the attacker’s DNA beneath her fingernails. She lifted her hands.

Her dusty-rose nail polish was chipped on the ends and her nails were jagged, like she’d savagely filed them down. It was so bizarre she couldn’t stop staring at them.

Maybe after she went to the police station, she could spend the afternoon getting a manicure so Zorah would think she was working. A grunt-moan escaped her as she thought about having to tell Zorah the truth about The Sprinkled Scoop job. It was a true saving grace that Zorah didn’t watch the news, or she would have already figured out that Violet had been let go based on that horrid interview Violet had done in the rain yesterday—Why had she done that?

She flopped back onto her bed.

A wave of light-headedness made the room spin, and she wondered if she’d missed taking her iron pills last night. For a split second, she considered maybe her iron deficiency was to blame for her patches of memory loss. But it was too weird. She’d never had trouble remembering quite like this, even during her worst days of dizzy spells.

Her hand came up slowly to her temple as she got up, squirmed out of her clothes, and pulled on a comfortable pink summer dress. Once she smoothed down her hair, washed her face, and redid her makeup, she looked at her reflection in the mirror, reliving her worst day all over again. She had to admit—this felt a little like that day. Lost. Filled with questions. No one waiting at her bedside to tell her what had happened. Her skin pebbled, and she hugged her arms to herself, shivering and shaking the thought away.

The police station was loud and busy. Violet almost turned around and changed her mind, positive she was inconveniencing the Toronto police officers who seemed to have too much on their plates already. She could hardly hear the officer calling her over when it was her turn to approach the desk for crime reporting.

She brushed a hand down her hair to position it back in place, and she ventured over, pushing past a few people to reach her spot. She shifted her purse to her lap as she sat down in the open chair which looked anything but sanitary.

“What brings you here this afternoon, Miss?” the officer across the desk asked as he punched some buttons on his keyboard.

“Um. I’m not really sure. There’s a chance I was attacked,” Violet said as quietly as she could. She didn’t want the whole station to know.

“There’sa chanceyou were?” The officer looked up from his computer. It was remarkable he could hear her over the noise.

“I mean, I don’t remember. I think my memories were erased. Listen, I’m a journalist, and I’ve been following some pretty weird, unexplainable stories. Like potentially magic, folktale type stuff.” She held up her hand to stop the officer when his face changed. “Don’t assume I’m eccentric just yet. I have evidence and all the facts point to something going on in this city that doesn’t always seem human in nature. I’m sure you know about the memory loss case—”

“Hey, Baker!” the officer suddenly shouted toward a far desk in the corner, making Violet jump. A young, blonde officer looked up from the desk. She had her sleeves rolled up, revealing two armfuls of tattoos. “This one’s for you!” The guy nodded toward Violet as he yelled, and Violet blushed as his volume turned heads. The officer glanced back at Violet. “Go see Officer Baker. She’ll listen to your story.”

“B… but…” Violet raised a finger to protest, but the officer pointed back toward the corner desk again.

“We have an officer who specializes in… well, you know—weird, supernatural, mythological… anything unexplainable, basically. You’re best off telling your story to her,” he said.

Violet’s jaw tightened a little. She was used to people not believing in the stories and articles she wrote with her opinions on the odd happenings in Toronto. But half of her facts she’d gotten from the police themselves. This officer was clearly uninformed about that. She bit at her lip in frustration as she picked up her purse and weaved through the crowded station toward the waiting blonde officer.

Books as thick as the Bible were piled on her desk. Violet stole a look at the title of the one on top: MODERN FOLKTALES. Another was splayed open with a loose paper tucked in like a bookmark. Notes were written on it in messy cursive. Violet reached over and carefully lifted the cover to see the title: CANADIAN ODDITIES AND OTHER MYTHS OF THE NORTH.

It seemed this Officer Baker person was the right cop for Violet after all.

“Can I grab your name, friend?” Officer Baker said through a wad of gum. She tugged the book away, making the cover slip from Violet’s fingers. The officer slapped the book shut and added it to her stack of colourful tomes.

Violet worked her jaw, wondering what this officer was trying to hide from a mere curious journalist. “We’re not friends,” Violet pointed out. “I don’t know you, and you don’t know me.”

Officer Baker nodded and pursed her lips. “My bad, citizen.”

“Citizen?” Violet huffed a skeptical laugh.

Officer Baker settled her gaze on Violet across the desk. She slowly blew a large bubble with her gum, and Violet watched it grow and grow. When it popped, Baker clawed it all back into her mouth with her teeth. She didn’t break eye contact once, and for the first time, Violet shifted uncomfortably in her seat.

“You haven’t given me your name yet and you complained when I called youfriend. So,citizenit is,” the officer finally said.

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