Page 87 of Sincerely, Secretary of Doom

“My parents are going to kill me,” she said.

The male intern’s eyes rounded. “Mine, too.”

“Here! Everyone try a muffin before you go!” Violet said, setting the tin on the counter and plucking out a few. After a moment of her teetering, during which time Mor became aware that Violet had failed to take her cold iron pills again, Violet popped the muffins onto a plate and carried it to the island. She slid into the seat beside the male intern and placed the glorious platter before Mor first. The smell was absolutely intoxicating, and Mor’s stomach grumbled at the sight of a fresh breakfast.

He took one and carefully peeled off the papery thing. Violet watched his every movement, linking her fingers together and resting her chin atop them with a smile. Mor had a feeling that if he played his cards right and made sure she knew he loved her muffins, she would bake breakfast every day of the week, and he would live in the luxury of waking to this delicious smell for the rest of his faeborn life.

Mor shoved the whole thing into his mouth.

He smiled around the pastry when Violet’s face lit up. He chewed a little. He stopped.

His face warped, and he tried not to cough.

Was that…salthe tasted?

A cough slipped out, and he covered it up with his fist. Was that some sort of crushed grass flavour?

He forced a wide smile over the glob of rot in his mouth.

It was the human realm’s worst mud mixed with the taste of horror and misery.

“Mmmm,” he said.

Violet sat up straighter. “Do you really like it?” She grinned.

Mor stared her dead in the eyes for a second. “Mhm.” He grunted the sound out, but he gagged a little, and Violet’s face changed.

She glanced at the plate of muffins. “Is there something wrong with them?” she asked, and Mor’s hand flashed out to the plate. He dragged the whole platter toward himself before she could take one, and he forced himself to swallow the fungus—he felt it slide all the way down his throat like a rock in sticky mud.

“They’re so good, I want them all,” he declared, hugging the plate to himself. “And I’m faeborn starving.”

“Mor, let me try one,” Violet demanded. She glanced to the female intern beside Mor. “Can you grab one for me?”

But Mor shook his head and yanked the platter away when the young female tried to reach for one. The intern got a determined look on her face and tried again, and it was then that Mor jumped to his feet and exited the kitchen with a dozen garbage-worthy muffins pressed against his chest.

“I’ll be in the office if you need me!” he shouted back.

40

Violet Miller and the Interview by Idiots

The Sprinkled Scoop turds were rolling out fall decorations already—Violet eyed a garland of brown leaves wrapping the office window as she and Mor entered the news building with their heads held high. Former colleagues of Violet’s turned their heads, and once they saw The Fairy Post owners, they couldn’t seem to look away.

Since Violet left, The Scoop hadn’t bothered to write a single article about all those women who’d turned up in the woods with no memory of how they got there. Not that there was much of a story anymore—there hadn’t been another victim in several weeks. Mor claimed it was evidence the Shadow Army had found Luc and had dragged him back to the land of his fairy people. It took a while for Violet to be able to breathe easy again, but there hadn’t been a single trace or sighting of the redhead, so she began to believe Mor was right.

Fil nearly spat his coffee when he saw them—first because of Violet, second because of Mor.

The tattooed assassin-fairy ignored the bumbling, gaping journalist sitting at his desk. He marched by at Violet’s side, emitting an invisible shudder through the room that seemed to make Fil sink lower into his seat. Mor hadn’t bothered to dress up for the occasion, despite Violet’s prompting. He fashioned a fitted black shirt that he may or may not have realized showed off the muscles he’d once used to snap his enemies’ bones with. Also, no tie, no blazer, no dress shoes. Not that he needed it—he seemed to draw attention just fine the way he was.

Violet, on the other hand, wore a sweeping black dress to match her boss, velvet red lipstick, smoky eyeshadow, and her sleekest pair of stilettos.

Cedric came promenading out of his office with a big, ridiculous, fake smile.

“Ah, you must be Mor Trisencor. And…” His face changed when his gaze darted to Violet.

“My lead journalist,” Mor said in introduction.

“I’m his secretary,” Violet corrected. “Also known as,” she glanced back at Fil who was still gaping at his desk, “the Secretary of Doom.”

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