Page 76 of Sincerely, Secretary of Doom

“You don’t understand,” Violet said, ignoring the fact that Freida somehow mystically knew her medical condition. Her throat constricted as she turned toward the old woman to admit the one terrible thing she hadn’t even been able to tell Shayne. “I blamed the universe for making me wake up with no memory of who I was,” Violet rasped. She wished she’d never let Mor try and find her past. She wished she’d never wanted to know in the first place. “But it was me who wanted to forget. I made a deal with a fairy. I did this to myself.”

Rain began to pelt the windows, and sure enough, the knitting store members trickled back inside, swatting the raindrops off their knit vests and sweaters.

Freida rested her teacup on the saucer and came to sit on one of the couches. “You’re an odd one, Human. You did this to yourself, and yet, you believe your assassin is out there getting revenge on your behalf because he thinks you were taken advantage of? Are you quite sure that’s what he believes?”

“Iwastaken advantage of!” Violet said, though again, she had no idea how Freida had known what she was thinking. It was like the old woman could read minds. “I was thirteen years old, and I was taken to a weird land of fairies and harassed! Trust me, if a guy tried to kidnap me now, I’d kick him inan areathat would cause him pain. But I was young and didn’t know any better back then.”

Freida cackled. “Anarea,you say.” She wiped an escaped tear from the corner of her eye as her laughter rang through the store. “I think I like you, Violet Miller. If I was still a recruiter for the Sisterhood of Assassins, I might have tried to bribe you to join us.” She sat back and sipped her tea. “But watch your mouth in here,” she added as the rest of the women found spots on the couches and pulled out their knitting. “We’re not supposed to speak of anything of the magic or faeborn sort at the moment.” She nodded toward a video camera in the corner of the store but didn’t explain what it was or why it was there.

Violet looked back at Gretchen. It seemed like the red-haired fairy wasn’t breathing, but her eyes moved behind her eyelids. “I wish I could stay with her until she wakes up, but I have somewhere to be,” Violet said.

“No point in staying by her side, Violet Miller,” Freida said. “She’s in a fairy coma. She’s likely dreaming of pretty green seas and whistle flowers. I don’t think she’ll want to come back. She may stay that way forever.” Something sank in Violet’s stomach. “However…” Freida set down her tea and folded her aged hands. “You shouldn’t try to leave. As I said, you’re being watched.”

“I told my interns to meet me at the cathedral,” Violet admitted. “They’re probably almost there already. I need to go stop them so they don’t get into danger, and we need to write our story.” She glanced off toward the pudding-covered Yarn & Stitch windows. “Even if Mor has left me for good.”

Freida stared at Violet for several moments. Finally, she leaned back against the couch, snuggling in and pulling a ball of ivory yarn from an end table.

“Mor Trisencor is someone you should forget, Violet Miller,” she began. “That fae is a gifted, dangerous Shadow Fairy who was not only trained by the Shadows but also by the vicious North Brotherhood of Assassins.” Freida looked Violet dead in the eyes, then added, “But he is absolutely in over his head. He will die soon. And likely, he will die terribly.”

Violet stood, her knee bumping the side of the coffee table as she did. “What do you mean?” Her breathing staggered. “He… He knows what he’s doing, and he’s got his brothers…” It came out like a plea instead of a question.

Freida sighed. “Do not defend him, Human. He severed you from his faeborn life and wishes to never see you again. He is not worth your worry. Now, let me teach you how to knit.” She pulled a lob of yarn off the table and lifted two fresh needles. “It’s always beneficial to know the ways of the yarn.”

Violet looked toward the door where rain began pelting against the glass, thinking of things beyond yarn and needles.

34

Mor Trisencor and the Museum of Shadows

The sky growled, spitting water and fog over the downtown streets and ushering humans indoors. A handful of watchful people still carried on in the rain, scrambling for their umbrellas or pulling up their hoods. Pools of water dotted the roads, dark and cold in front of the Museum of Ancient Egypt. Several humans who looked toward the museum screamed and raced for cover.

Two Shadow Fairies waged war upon the front stairs.

Purplish fairy blood leaked into the crevices of Mor’s hands beneath his fairsaber handles. He blocked Luc’s right saber and kicked for the fairy’s knees, but Luc swiped his free blade across Mor’s kneecap, and Mor released a growl as a spray of his blood painted Luc’s rainwater-drenched summer shirt.

Neither fairy wore a dandelion coat. They’d raced across the city toward each other, fairsabers out. This was the end, and it seemed they both knew it.

The large, wooden front doors of the museum burst open. Cress marched out, shouting, “Stop airslipping away from me, you fools!” He swung his sword, locking it against one of the fox’s blades. Mor stabbed at Luc’s lower sections, his sword brushing the fox’s hip before Luc vanished back into the air and appeared behind Cress.

Mor punched his blade over Cress’s shoulder, narrowly missing Luc who airslipped again, leaving Mor and Cress alone on the museum stairs.

Cress tilted his ear toward the wind. He did a full turn, then he shot up into the heavens like an arrow. Mor gaped, watching as Cress snatched at something in the sky. Luc reappeared—half strangled in Cress’s grip. Cress threw the Shadow Fairy down toward Mor, and Mor raised his fairsaber, ready to deal a lethal hit.

Luc caught his senses during his fall and vanished. Mor raced into the wind after him, channeling over fog and rain, following Luc across three streets in a heartbeat.

Mor leapt out of the airslip, pinning Luc against a street lantern. The stem of the lantern bent from the impact, and the light flickered above. Luc kicked Mor back a step and slashed the air, barely missing Mor’s throat. He marched after Mor, grabbing his collar.

Mor was tossed back against the lantern post this time. The light finally went out, blanketing the two Shadow Fairies in rainy dimness.

Why her?They were the two words burning through Mor’s mind with each swing he dealt and hit he took. He gritted his teeth, timing his wild rhythms. He ducked just before Luc’s fairsaber struck the lantern post and carved into the metal where Mor’s head had just been.

Mor snatched Luc’s ankle and tore him back into the air, rushing fast through the city as Luc fought to regain his balance. Luc punched his blade forward, catching Mor in the side with a shallow cut, and he ripped himself from Mor’s grip as they landed in the lobby of the dark museum that one sign claimed was closed for renovations. Luc rolled over the tile floor, and Mor skidded to a stop on one knee.

Luc laughed, uncurling himself to lay flat on his back. “Have you had enough yet, Trisencor?” he asked.

Mor stood in the light spilling in from the open entrance doors. He tightened his grip on his fairsabers and marched to stand over the nine tailed fox. “Never,” he stated.

“Good.”

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