Page 38 of Sincerely, Secretary of Doom

Dranian growled and turned back to the redhead. “Great,” he muttered.

“Why…” she mumbled manically to herself. “Why now? Why all of a sudden?” She poked the back of Dranian’s bare forearm again, but he still didn’t react. She poked the other one, and this time, he flicked her hand off seemingly in sheer aggravation.

She felt even more sick than before.

“Oh dear. It seems Trisencor hasn’t been abandoned by his rumoured High Court after all. You must be the guard dog he uses when he’s desperate.” The redhead’s cool voice crawled into Violet’s ears. She peeked around Dranian again.

There he was. The same lustrous, metallic-red hair, the same silvery eyes, the same strange, dark energy rolling off him. Violet could almost taste it, even this far away.

“Dog?” Dranian’s low growl seemed to curse the word.

“Dog. Mongrel. Mutt. Hound. Aren’t those what the humans call their pets?” the redhead asked, arching a brow.

“Not really,” Violet murmured, and Dranian shoved her behind him again.

“Ah. Violet Miller, we meet once more,” the redhead called to her. “Shall we make a bargain, Violet? If you come with me willingly, I won’t tear your guard dog to pieces,” he promised.

“No, you’ll just erase his memory and leave him passed out in the forest somewhere with his pockets full of rocks!” Violet shouted back, and the redhead’s face changed. Amusement flickered at the corners of his expression.

“Quiet, Human,” Dranian scolded. He spoke to the redhead fairy next. “I wish to challenge you, Shadow Fairy. One fairy duel winner. One dead loser. A simple faeborn fight here in this human street.”

Violet gaped. “Wait… what?!” She blinked a hundred times over. “You’re not actually going to fight to the death forme, right?”

“It seems Mor will only come home once this Shadow filth is dead. So, yes, I will take this opportunity gladly,” Dranian stated in a low voice. “Run, Human. You don’t want to watch what I’ll do to this fool.” He pulled out a gold and navy handle from his pocket. Before Violet’s eyes, a spear formed, bursting out both ends from the handle, seeming to materialize from nothing. A pulsing, buzzing sound filled the air. Dranian tipped the weapon forward, looking ready to ram the redhead through the heart with it, and Violet reeled back.

“How did you do that…?” She didn’t wait for an answer. She dropped her other heel to the street as she raced on wobbly legs toward the nearest alley. She caught the brick wall for support as she looked back, not wanting to watch, yet unable to stop looking.

“Who would win in a fight between you and Mor Trisencor, North Fairy? Have you ever fought him, even in practice?” the redhead asked Dranian, drawing two handles of his own. A pair of black blades formed from them. “Because I have. Many times. And of those fights, do you know how many times I beat him?”

“I assure you, however much you think you hate Mor, I hate you twice as much for hating him in the first place,” Dranian stated, refusing the question.

But the redhead answered himself. “Every time,” he said. There was a look in his eyes that promised he could kill without compunction, and Violet shuddered, thinking of all the women this guy had lured into the forest.

Violet almost missed it when they charged—the spear and swords shot out in a blur of colour. She scooted another step back, but she marvelled. Dranian was no joke; he deflected and spun like he was a weightless, horrifying creature from a legend. And the redhead…

He was faster. It was almost impossible to tell with their speed as his swords swung with terrifying accuracy. Violet placed a hand on her thudding chest as she watched.

Dranian didn’t let him get a hit. He used brute force to shove the swords back, keeping the redhead at a distance with his spear.

A young, screaming couple raced by Violet, snapping her attention to the people escaping in every direction down the street. A few pedestrians pulled out phones to film the scene from their hiding places.

Phone.

Mor.

She had to call Mor.

Violet scrambled through her pockets and pulled out her phone to call him… only it wasn’t her phone she had; it was his. She moaned. But when she looked back to the fight, fresh wind swooshed in, and her heart picked up an extra beat.

Mor stood in the street. A glistening sword was in his grip.

Dranian fell back and Mor stepped in like a practiced formation. Violet couldn’t believe her eyes as he swung and stabbed forward, body twisting. He landed a punch. She knew he could write, of course. She knew he could manage a newspaper. But never—never—did she imagine he could fight like this.

“What am I doing?” she whispered, snapping out of it. Someone was going to die here. If she didn’t want it to be her, she needed to leave.

Violet backed down the alley, watching the three fairies the whole way. And she almost screamed when the redhead’s blade plunged into Mor’s side. Mor ripped himself back, purplish blood speckling the road, and he charged again. Dranian stabbed for the redhead’s feet as Mor swung at the guy’s head.

Violet turned and ran, hoping she hadn’t just made an enormous mistake.

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