Page 39 of Sincerely, Secretary of Doom

Shadow Fairy. That was what Dranian had called the redhead. Violet had been afraid of him the first time she saw him, sure, but her nerves had subsided when she thought he couldn’t touch her. Now it felt like a beast of her childhood nightmares had crawled out of the closet and was looking for the life he was owed.

Violet swallowed as she burst into her house, kicking aside pebbles. She rushed for the kitchen cupboard and flung it open so hard the door snapped off. It clattered to the counter, tipping the saucers off the teacups, and everything smashed over the floor as Violet grabbed her bottle of iron supplements and twisted off the lid. She knew she needed to run, to possibly never come back here. It was the only logical thought racing through her spinning mind as she threw a pill into her mouth and guzzled water from the kitchen faucet.

“Well, you can’t go back to your human home now that it’s been fairy tricked. Anything you touch will alert the Shadow Fairy that you’re there, even nudging a single pebble.”

She looked around at the mess as she wiped a drip from her lip. “Well, that’s problematic,” she muttered to the Master of Doom’s voice in her head. She raced for the hall closet and yanked out her pre-packed overnight bag. Then she turned and took one last look at her garden home she shared with Zorah. As soon as she could, she would call her aunt and tell her to stay away from the house.

Minutes later, Violet was blinking rapidly at the busy downtown street, begging her supplements to kick in. The stress made everything worse—Violet was sure she would pass out on the roadside and end up in an ambulance. And she didn’t doubt the Shadow Fairy’s ability to stalk her all the way to the hospital.

She had to get back to the café. She took a few wrong turns, thinking they were right turns, certain she had the worst sense of direction of anyone in Toronto when her mind felt like chalk and clouds. She knew she wasn’t going to figure anything out until she could think straight, so she half-crawled into an alley to wait it out, shoving her overnight bag ahead of her. She sat back against the cold brick wall, hugging her knees to herself and clutching her purse.

Someone walked up to Violet with a weird glare and a questioning face. The young woman looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties with a long braid of red hair roped around her neck and resting over a green knit vest. A name was carefully stitched across the left bust pocket of the vest: GRETCHEN.

“Where’d you get that sweater, Human?” she snapped in a high voice. “My sisters and I agreed not to make you one. That faeborn assassin didn’t ask politely.” She moved in to block the morning light from Violet’s eyes, and Violet squinted up at her. She recognized her from the knitting store Mor had brought her to yesterday.

“I smelled our yarn on my way by,” the young woman added. “That sweater doesn’t belong to you. Give it back.”

“I… I can’t…” Violet choked out.

A cool breeze brushed through the alley, running along Violet’s neck and sending a shiver down her spine. She watched the wind flutter Gretchen’s red hair, and Gretchen stiffed. The woman’s nose wrinkled like she smelled something bad, and she turned her head toward the end of the road.

Violet’s gaze followed. She was too dizzy to scream, but her fingers tightened around her purse when she saw the redhead guy there.

He stood, eyeing Gretchen. A bead of dark blood ran down his chin, and a swelling bruise covered half his jaw, but he looked strong.

Violet jumped to her feet, gluing herself back against the wall. She stuffed a hand into her purse, searching for anything she might use as a weapon. Her fingers curled around a fountain pen, so she tore it out and ripped off the lid, holding it high above her head. She wouldn’t go down without a fight—a fountain-pen-stabbingfight.

Gretchen looked the Shadow Fairy over the same way he studied her. There was a strange tension in the air that was so thick, Violet almost choked on it.

“Step aside,” the redhead said. “I want a conversation with that human.”

Gretchen’s nose wrinkled again. “Can’t you see what she’s wearing, you foolish male?” Do you want the whole Sisterhood coming for your throat?”

The redhead glanced at Violet’s pink sweater. “Yes, I did notice that delicious little fact,” he said. “Perhaps we can make a bargain for her?”

Gretchen’s hands slid beneath her knit shirt at the back, and Violet’s eyes widened as the motion revealed two long, silver knitting needles flush with her spine. “No bargain,” Gretchen said. “She’s wearing our yarn, which means she’s under our guard. Even if we didn’t agree to it.” The last part sounded bitter.

The redhead guy’s broad, diabolical smile returned. “Too bad you’re here alone, then,” he said to Gretchen, his eyes glittering.

Gretchen’s jaw tightened. She clasped the needles behind her back and drew them out, making it clear she wasn’t planning on running. “Let’s go, then,” she stated.

The redhead guy vanished, and Violet gasped, her eyes darting around the alley until Gretchen stabbed backward into the air. He reappeared behind her and nearly took her needles into his neck. He dropped to a knee to avoid them and thrusted his boot into Gretchen’s side. It happened so fast Violet almost missed it.

Gretchen slid over the asphalt, ripping the fabric of her pants at the knee. Her head whipped back to stare the redhead down with a look of menace. She jumped and kicked off the wall, soaring high into the air, and sheshrank. Violet watched with wide eyes as the young woman transformed into a winged creature the size of her thumb that darted back and forth like a bullet. The two went at it—vanishing fairy and tiny fairy—until Gretchen reappeared in full size with a swinging kick that caught the redhead in the leg.

He stabbed backward as he took the hit…

The blade went into Gretchen’s stomach.

Violet shrieked and dropped the fountain pen as Gretchen released a high, raspy gasp. The redhead yanked his blade back out and Gretchen tumbled to the ground in a heap. She didn’t move after that. The redhead turned on Violet before Gretchen’s blood even started leaking onto the asphalt.

Something flashed in his brown and silver eyes as he drew a step toward her. “Take off that sweater,” he insisted in a sweet, articulate voice.

Violet pressed back against the wall as hard as she could, shaking her head and clutching her collar. Her skin was useless—this sweater was the only thing she had left to protect her.

He leaned in, trapping her there as his cold and musty earth scent filled her senses. “Take it off,Violet. Or I’ll take it off you myself.”

18

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