Page 28 of Sincerely, Secretary of Doom

“Am I what?” Mor walked past her to fetch the broom and began sweeping up the debris in the living space. It would be nice to be able to inhale without tasting dust again.

“A hundred? Or like… older?”

Mor stopped. He turned back to her. He blinked.

“Two hundred, then?” she tried, wincing a little. Her eyes widened when he didn’t answer. “Oh my gosh… Are youthree—”

“Are you out of your faeborn mind?” Mor growled. “Do I look a hundred years old to you?!”

Violet bit her plum-coloured lips together.

Mor released a snarly huff and began sweeping in rigid strokes. He’d hoped to clean in peace today. It seemed that was a wild dream now. He got only four sweeps in before he spun back on her.

“Threehundred?” He glared. “Three hundredyears old?”

Violet folded her arms. “You’re obviously of the legendary, non-human type,” she defended. “My instincts were right. Since the beginning my gut has been telling me you’re a vampire. You know, with your creepy stringed music and dark cathedral. And frankly, every time you get close to my neck, I think you’re going to bite it.”

Mor burst out laughing, utterly amused. But he stopped when he noticed Violet eyeing his teeth like she was searching for sharp canines. He shut his mouth, set his jaw, and went back to his sweeping.

“I already told you I’m nothing of the sort. You’ve been reading too many fictional books written by humans. If you like those sorts of stories, I can recommend a few that’ll keep you awake for hours when you want to sleep,” he promised.

Violet’s arms squeezed across her middle, as though she was questioning whether he meant they were such good stories that she wouldn’t be able to put them down, or if they were so terrifying, she’d be too scared to go to sleep afterward. He tried not to snort a laugh at her dilemma.

He heard Violet swallow again. “If you’re not a vampire, then what are you? Tell me right now and don’t drag it on any longer. I don’t have the patience for people who beat around the bush. And I need to decide if I can stomach…” she cleared her throat, “being here.”

Mor finished his sweeping and leaned the broom along the fireplace mantle. “Will you write an article on me if I tell you all my secrets?” he challenged.

“Probably,” she admitted.

“Why?”

“Because people need to know the truth.” She seemed perfectly serious. Mor imagined her trying to expose the fairy assassins living quiet lives in this bustling city. But Kate and Cress had written a book about such things, and still no humans believed it was real. His chances seemed fairly good.

“Very well, Human.” Mor marched over to the end table and grabbed The Fairy Post. “You want to know what I am?” He turned the paper to show her. He didn’t point anywhere, he just held it up and waited for her to figure it out.

She stared at it. A strange look crossed her face, and she lifted a pretty brow. “A fairy?” She almost laughed. “As in… a cute, little, magic-wand-wielding fairy like in Cinderella?”

Mor’s fist tightened around the paper, crumpling the edge. “Cute?” he asked, and Violet’s smile faded. He lowered The Fairy Post and stepped toward her, eyes becoming deadly and threatening. He let just a flit of his power ripple off his skin. A strand of her deep brown hair brushed back over her shoulder in a breeze that had no business being inside an enclosed building. “Do I seemcuteto you?” he asked when she was blanketed in his shadow.

She tried to take a step back. Mor took a step right after her.

“Are you trying to scare me?” she asked from a seemingly dry throat.

“Yes,” he said darkly. “Is it working?”

She nodded a little.

“Do you still think fairies are cute then, Human?” he asked. If only she knew half the things he’d done. Half the things he could do still if he wanted.

“I think you’re evil,” she stated with more gusto than what showed on her face.

Mor nodded, satisfied. “Good.” He drew back and grabbed the dustpan off the chair. He’d just turned to sweep up his dirt pile when she spoke again.

“But even if you’re evil, I don’t believe it was you who hurt all those young women,” she said.

“Also, good.” Mor sloshed the dust, dirt, and brick into the dustpan. He carried it down the hall and into the kitchen. The ruckus of her heels trailed after him, though she wasn’t stomping anymore.

Mor dumped the debris into the garbage bin and put the broom away. He washed his hands at the sink and dried them on the towel, knowing full well she was watching him. Marvelling, perhaps, that an evil, dangerous fairy also had the skills to tidy up his living space when it was required. He hid a small, gloating smile.

---