Page 2 of Sincerely, Secretary of Doom

Heat filled Kate’s stomach, and she tore back. “What?”

“Fine. Sixteen,” he said. “But I won’t negotiate for less than that. My powerful bloodline must be carried on.” He smiled, but not quite in the way that assured her he was joking, more in the way like he was imagining seventeen pointy-eared children running through the café. “And I got you a betrothal present. It sounds like he just arrived,” he added.

Kate looked down at her stomach, having a fully awake nightmare.

“Come in!” She was only half conscious of Cress calling to someone. The bell rattled and Kate tore her gaze away from her ‘betrothed’to see Connor wandering in, timid and twisting his police cap in his hands. He stopped before Kate. Then he dropped to his knees at her feet.

“Just so we’re clear,thisis what grovelling looks like,” Cress whispered to Kate with a satisfied smile.

“I’m sorry, Kate!” Connor said. He didn’t look her in the eyes. “I should have never gone near you. I see that now! I’ll never reach or look or…” He paused to think.

“Breathe,” Cress reminded him.

“…orbreathein your direction again. I’ve brought shame to the great name of the police department, and I don’t deserve to be a cop after how I’ve behaved! Please forgive me?” Connor pleaded.

Kate turned to Cress. “Seriously? You made him do this?”

Cress’s smile turned sheepish. “It was worth a simple and harmless scare tactic, don’t you think?”

For a split second, Kate almost laughed. But she bit it back and pulled Connor to his feet instead. She cleared her throat and cast Connor Backs a serious look. She’d been waiting a long time for this moment. Frankly, it wasn’t that terrible of an engagement gift. “I forgive you, Connor. Go be a good cop. Your coworkers are the best cops on the planet, and you should be, too,” she said.

Connor nodded,bowed, and rushed back out of the café as quickly as he’d come in.

“You didn’t enslave him or something, did you?” Kate asked. “You promised you were done enslaving people.” The temptation to remind Cress once again that he’d made her stuff her face with red velvet cake in front of cameras was nearly impossible to resist, but by the grace of God, she managed.

“Of course not!” Cress waved a hand through the air. “I just told you; it was a simple scare tactic. I merely growled a little. Broke a few non-valuable things. Ripped a cookie from his mangey paws and flung it at the window and all that.”

It was a mild comfort, though Kate desperately hoped Cress hadn’t caused the scene he’d just described at the police station. She folded her arms. “Well, at least you didn’t gouge his eyes out with a human toothpick,” she said sarcastically.

Four seconds of comfortable silence went by as they stared out the café windows where Connor had left. Cress wrapped an arm around Kate’s shoulders and hugged her to him as they watched the spring breeze dry the streets outside. Then he muttered, “Yet.”

There are three things you should never do when chasing a story about an evil, deadly creature of legend.

1)Don’t knock on its front door out of curiosity. (Remember, curiosity kills cats and on some rare and unfortunate occasions, it also kills humans.)

2)Don’t let it talk you into taking a job.

3)And don’t, no matter what, no matter who, when, how, or where, under any circumstances, fall in love with it.

If you fail to succeed at number three especially, you’re doomed.

1

Violet Miller and the Phone Number that Led to Nowhere

In the grand scheme of things, one should always carry at least six pens for emergencies. One to write down a great article idea, a witness quote, or to keep track of the facts. Another as a spare in case the first one runs out of ink. And the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth… Well, these spares can be useful tools for stabbing in self-defence should one find themselves facing certain death.

As the calm spring drifted away and summer crept into the streets of Toronto, a young, aspiring journalist with a chip on her shoulder walked at a brisk speed, stress eating a cinnamon roll. But despite her icing-splattered blouse, her ugly scowl, and her loudly clicking heels, Violet Miller wasn’t angry. Moreso, she was desperate. And possibly a little dizzy, though in this instance, her anemia wasn’t to blame.

The fragrance of kissing the spring days goodbye and welcoming the sunny heat laced the air as Violet headed up the stairs into the reporters’ lounge of The Sprinkled Scoop—the most hipster online news outlet in the city. Only the most elite journalists had blogs on this channel. Only the prettiest and most well-known reporters got to appear on the video stream.

“Have you seen this?” Fil was asking the other interns as Violet came in. He waved a newspaper around. “I haven’t seen a real print newspaper in like five years. And who calls their paperTheFairy Post?”

“Don’t feel threatened by some newbie reporter trying to drag everyone back to the stone age,” intern Uriah mumbled as he adjusted the lid of his coffee.

“I think it’s cool. I miss real newspapers,” Alice piped up.

Violet ignored the insignificant gossip of her fellow interns and marched past, sneaking into the hallway leading to her boss’s office. She pushed her way through his half-open door, her pink faux-leather purse slapping against the doorframe and announcing her presence—cinnamon and icing-speckled blouse and all—to her boss sitting in his chair…

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