Accomplice to the Villain (Assistant to the Villain #3)

Once upon a time…

Evie Sage's first month working for the Villain had been unconventional, though not exactly cataclysmic.

There had been a spilled cauldron brew here, a poisoned intern there. But there had also been a few strange… incidents.

The most recent involved her being summoned into work two hours early for a meeting she was almost certain could have been a short message sent via raven.

*Find better things to complain about, Evie! Like the severed hand you found in the recycling bin last week!*

Although, that incident had at least given her the opportunity to ask the boss if he needed an extra set of hands. The sheer horror on his face had made her laugh until she nearly sickened herself.

It was mildly disconcerting that he took more offense at her harmless jokes than at the foreign limb he'd tossed in with the discarded parchment—Becky hated it when they mixed anything in with the parchment recycling—but she was digressing.

Sighing, Evie wiped the sleep from her eyes and watched as the invisible barrier around Massacre Manor wavered beneath her fingers. Her attention flicked to the rising sun leaking color into the still-darkened sky. It looked as though someone had spilled orange and pink ink onto a dark-gray tapestry—pretty, if anything could be considered pretty before eight in the morning.

Marv, the Malevolent Guard at the front gate, gave her a gentle wave. She smiled brightly at him, blowing a kiss that colored his cheeks.

"Good morning, Ms. Sage! Early bird gets the worm?" His normally wild hair was contained underneath a red leather helmet, while Evie's was braided to the side, a few loose strands pulling free around her face as they swayed in the early-morning breeze.

She stepped back as the large wooden door slid open with a familiar creak. The damp chill of the entrance hall cooled her cheeks, filling her senses with the smell of burning wood and musty stone.

"More like the early bird doesn't get fired… and knowing the boss, I'm afraid that would be literal."

Marv's chuckle sounded behind her as her heels clicked on the stone floor. Torchlight brightened the room, warming it against the morning air. A low groan echoed from the other end of the large, open space, near the only corner shrouded in darkness.

Her brow furrowed as she waved a hand forward. "Hello? Whatever creepy noise you're attempting, kindly do it under the torchlight so I can see you? That way, I can scream properly."

"Sage?" The rasp of the Villain's voice sent a tingle of sensation down her spine. "You shouldn't be here," he grunted, his dark shape inching toward the edge of the shadows that cloaked him.

She huffed and quirked a brow, folding her arms and pushing her thick braid behind her shoulder. "On that, we agree. I should still be in bed, curled up with my favorite nighttime companion."

She thought she heard him choke. "Companion?" There was an odd warning in the word that made her shiver slightly.

"Yes." She crossed her arms. "His name is Mr. Muffins."

"Mr. Muffins?" She could see his shadow inching closer to the light, his voice gruff and laced with confusion. "You're lying with a man called Mr. Muffins? Who in the Deadlands is named something so ridiculous?"

She bit her lip to keep from smiling at his obvious outrage. "A teddy bear I've had since I was six."

There was a long silence before a flat word broke it. "Oh."

She snorted and walked closer, as did he, finally washing himself in the light of the torches and the colors seeping into the room from the rising sun.

She halted a few feet from him, eyes widening when she saw his face. Words fell off her tongue before she could think better of them. "Wow, you look… terrible."

The cobwebbed, logical part of her brain sighed and rolled over so it wouldn't have to witness what came next.

The boss's normally tailored stubble was overgrown into a near beard, his shirt untucked, his hair mussed, and his normally pressed pants wrinkled beyond reason.

"I beg you not to shower me with compliments, Sage. I hardly know what to do with them."

Worry wove itself into the bottom of her stomach. Even his dry commentary seemed off, almost guarded. Clearing her throat, she stepped closer to take in the rest of him. Purple bruises under his eyes, flexed fingers, tensed jaw, a pulsing vein in his forehead.

She frowned and tsked. "Did one of the interns say good morning to you again? I told them pleasant greetings were strictly prohibited."

He shut his eyes for a moment and flattened his mouth into a firm line, as if pressing hard enough could crush whatever emotion was about to show itself on his lips.

"As much as I enjoy blaming others for my mistakes, I'm afraid there is no one to blame for my unkempt appearance but myself." His dark eyes roved over her soft orange day dress, the distaste at her color choice obvious in the tightening of his fists at his sides. "And you, I suppose. For having the gall to witness it."

The door suddenly slammed closed behind them, and Evie jolted, clasping a hand to her chest and her racing heart. "I hardly think it's fair to blame me for anything, when you were the one who requested me here so early in the first place."

He frowned deeper—if that was even possible—which made him look even more beautiful.

If that was even possible.

Annoyed and tired, she lost her patience waiting for him to catch up to her. "You sent a raven…"

When he stared blankly at her, she continued to bumble out words, her mouth eager to get every thought out of her head to make room for new ones.

"It showed up at my window at four in the morning and scared the living daylights out of me. With a note saying we had an early-morning meeting about something urgent?"

A low hum sounded from his closed lips. It cleared any remaining tiredness from her system, like cauldron brew but better, warmer.

"I don't recall writing or sending… My restraint is running low this morning, Sage, and apparently my memory as well. I must have written it before I was fully lucid. Please disregard the raven."

Clanging metal sounded from the back courtyard—likely the Malevolent Guards getting in some morning exercise with their lethal weapons.

Fitting, as she was now imagining grabbing something sharp and stabbing her boss in the toe.

"Disregard? Couldn't you have disregarded it before your damn bird cut two and a half years off my life?"

"That's an alarmingly specific number," he said, planting his hands against his tapered waist.

"It was alarming for me, too," she deadpanned, snickering as he glared.

"I keep a tight rein on my magic, and I think sometimes when I sleep, when my body relaxes, it stirs uncomfortably and makes it difficult for me to continue resting."

A pang in her chest she identified as sympathy made her anger dissolve like shadows in sunlight. "I'm sorry to hear that. Is there any way I can help?"

His jaw went slack. "Help… with my death magic? The magic that sends most people running and screaming?"

She blinked innocently. "I can do that after I help, if it'll make you feel better."

His incredulous expression could so easily morph into a laugh, if she just pushed him a little further…

But of course, disaster—Evie's calling card—had to strike first.

Doubling over suddenly, the Villain breathed heavily into his knees. "Damn it all. My hands burn, and my arm…" He reached up to grip his arm, circling his biceps.

Her hand fell lightly atop his, trying for gentleness with a man she was certain was scarcely used to it. And sure enough, his response was violent and startled. So startled that he jerked away like she'd laid an open flame to his skin.

"Sage, are you mad? I'm dangerous right now."

"I know," she said softly. "You haven't had your cauldron brew yet."

"You are not amusing," he wheezed.

Evie inched closer, angling her body down just a bit to meet his face. "My goodness, but that's nothing to cry over. I think you're as amusing as dry kindling, and you don't see me bursting into tears."

His face softened as he looked up, perplexed, then shook his head, but in a gentler way. "Sage. How on earth did you get here?"

She folded her arms. "I walked."

"That was rhetorical," he said, sounding almost unaffected, his voice losing its strain.

"Those questions are the most fun to answer."

He sighed; it was one of defeat. She knew it well. "Why is that, Sage?"

Evie propped a hand on her hip to angle herself lower. "Because it annoys you."

The harsh sigh out of his lips could almost be counted as a laugh if she was clever enough with her imagination. When he brought himself back up to full height, rubbing his knuckles in soothing motions, the last points of tension on his face finally smoothed back into his normal flat expression.

She couldn't see his magic—nobody could, and likely nobody ever would—but she could feel something very dark moving about the room with them, smaller than it was moments ago, but still something that should have made her shrink away in fear. Instead, she felt settled in it, almost… comforted.

She stayed where she was. "Is it any better, sir?"

His head turned toward her slowly, dark brows slanted downward. "Yes. It is. How did you…"

She shrugged, eyes flicking up to the glisten of sweat on his forehead. "I find that it's more difficult to focus on pain when you're distracted, and I excel at being distracting."

Pulling a yellow handkerchief from her pocket, she boldly stepped forward and began dabbing at his skin, leaning on his arm with her other hand for leverage. The man was taller than was sensible.

She made a note to start wearing a higher heel.

To make lecturing him more efficient. No other reason.