Page 51 of Sincerely, Secretary of Doom

“No, actually I think it’s going to be rather terrifying. This job doesn’t just come with a quiet office and fancy ink pens, Human. You’ll also be required to take annoying phone calls, clear my schedule at a moment’s notice, and eventually, help me bury a body.”

Violet blanched. “You see the thing is, I’m having a hard time telling if you’re joking today.”

“Once I catch the fox and kill him eight more times,” he clarified. And then, “Don’t worry your pretty little painted face over it. No one will miss him. He has no friends.” He sipped his drink again, tilting the mug to get the last drops. Violet’s jaw dropped.

“That’s a terrible thing to say,” she scolded.

Mor looked up at her in surprise. “Is it? It’s true.”

Violet’s mouth moved a few times. “You know, I didn’t think it was possible to feel bad for that redhead, but you’re starting to make me sympathize with him a little.”

“What?” Mor blinked.

“You know, like when you’re watching a horror movie and you accidentally start rooting for the crazy axe-murderer because he has a sense of humour. I think Luc could be viewed as cool, in a psychopathic, dark villain sort of way.”

Mor slammed his mug down on the counter, making her jump. “Don’t do that, Human,” he warned.

“Do what?”

“Start to like him. He will enchant you if he finds out, whether he has to burn his face off to do it or not.”

Violet released a sound and rolled her eyes. “As if.” Honestly, she had no idea what weird fairy nonsense he was talking about. But she stole another look at Mor as he stood and carried his empty mug to the sink. He didn’t seem like the naïve sort, but the fact that he thought she could actually fall for the sinister redhead was astounding.

Violet tore her eyes away from his perfect skin and interesting tattoos to look out the window. She didn’t see him approach until he was already on her side of the island. He reached for her iced tea glass, leaning over her where she sat, and her heart fluttered into a wild, startling dance when his face brushed within an inch of hers.

Mor froze with his hand on the cup. Violet nearly jumped when his gaze cut over and he looked right into her eyes. He was too close to be looking at her like this, yet he stared. Then he said, “Don’t do that either, Human.”

Violet’s cheeks flushed. She didn’t know for sure what he was talking about—she’d never said a word of her thoughts out loud. But if her tumbling heart had any guesses…

“Let’s go steal some books from the library,” Mor said, changing the subject to Violet’s relief, and drawing back to stand. “There’s something I need to look up.”

23

Mor Trisencor and the Limitations of Touch

The library roof was painted gold from the sun when Mor and Violet arrived with their pockets full of pens and notebooks. Of all the libraries in the city, this one had become Mor’s favourite due to its size—he could get lost inside with few humans noticing he was there—and its vast collection of myth and fable literature that ranged from ancient times to various human cultures. He’d avoided the academy library ever since he left the café to track Luc, fearing he might run into Kate there. Or Cress. He’d been using the literature at this library instead when he needed to do research for his articles.

Even though he was doing all he could to avoid those working at Fae Café, there were times when Mor wished he would run into Cress here by accident. Once or twice, he’d seen a pair of blue eyes through the shelves, and he’d scurried over to the next aisle only to discover a plain old human that didn’t resemble Cress in the slightest. He felt foolish for thinking Cress would ever come to a library he knew nothing about.

A slow ache grew inside Mor when he remembered the moment he’d seen Dranian battling Luc in the street. It had been a nauseating yet…invigoratingsight for his sore, tired eyes to behold one of his brothers fighting his nemesis. It had both filled him with pride and terrified him in the same moment.

For a faeborn-cursed heartbeat, Mor missed the taste of enchanted coffee and sweet cookies so terribly that he stopped walking.

“What?” Violet staggered to a halt. She had an impatient look, which was astoundingly hypocritical.

Mor grunted and started walking again, taking the steps two at a time while Violet tapped her way up, making a clamour in the heels she insisted on changing into after she’d already insisted on changing everything else. Mor already missed seeing his sweater on her. Since the moment he’d opened his eyes and beheld Violet Miller in the middle of the night, fashioning dripping wet hair and cloaked in his garment at his bedside, he’d been battling between annoyance at having his sweater taken without permission and a sheer desire to put an enchantment on the material so she could never take it off. He’d been too poisoned by his injury to think clearly when he’d grabbed her and pulled her to him—sweater and all, overcome with some foolish need to see her up close without her face paint on.

Mor rubbed his eyes at the recollection, glad his secretary had believed his act about not remembering what he’d done. How shameful of him, after he’d been so adamant about keeping their relationship professional and making her work life miserable just for fun while he was at it.

Now his secretary wore that same pink dress she’d been wearing for ages, as though she refused to be seen in anything less extravagant while out in public. Her hair was braided to the side—something that had taken her a whole faeborn hour. Mor had gotten so tired of waiting, he’d nearly barged into the bathroom and shaken his hands into her hair to turn it wild again.

The great stone library’s front doors were pegged open at the top of the stairs, inviting them in. A sweep of cool air from cold air machines brought relief to Mor’s warm flesh as he strutted past the desk where kind human servants checked out books, and he made the long trek through the shelves toward the back.

Violet’s breathing grew heavy, and Mor snorted a laugh.

“If you wanted to be able to keep up, Human, you should have worn reasonable shoes like me,” he said back to her.

“I don’t have any other shoes,” she said.

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