Page 8 of Accomplice to the Villain

His arm tensed, and it reminded her that beneath the surface of his starched linen shirt lay a golden tattoo identical to the one circling her finger—the one that would’ve told him quite clearly if Evie had been in any mortal danger. He should’ve been aware that, an hour ago, she and Keeley had been circled like prey by a group of men. Perhaps hehadknown and just didn’t care…?

Her riotous emotions grasped for anything to cover the hole carving out the center of her chest.

“I stabbed one of them,” she blurted.

Perfect.

The Villain’s brows shot skyward, his gaze returning to her hands as he asked with lethal quiet, “Only the one? What of the rest of them?”

Closing the distance between them, her face tilting up to angle closer to his, she watched in satisfaction as his throat bobbed and his hand flexed at his side.

She pushed further, annoyed that he was brushing past her first true violent act since her promotion. “I stabbed him in the neck. Is that not enough for you?”

He shook his head, his face hard. “Not if he touched you. Not if any of them did.”

Her lips parted in surprise, and she blinked. “Does that matter?”

Anger flashed in his dark eyes but then winked out to nothing seconds later, and with a small sigh of defeat, he closed them. “Of course”—he said the words carefully, like if they landed too hard, they would shatter something—“it matters.”

Her head tilted as her hand brushed lightly against where his heart lay, an unwanted burn flaring where they touched. “Why?” she whispered.

He did not open his eyes, even as his head tilted closer, like he couldn’t resist the pull between them, like it was agonizing. His shoulders rolled in an apparent attempt to shake away pain. “Because, Sage—”

In a flash that knocked them both apart, his dark-gray death magic, the magic only she and Trystan could see, started to come off him in waves, swirling about her feet before extending out to the rest of the room.

“No!” Trystan hissed. “Come back. I did not call for you!”

But it was too late.

The dark magic swarmed about the room, enveloping everything in its path. Gray mist tangled around her ankles, gliding over her wrists and swirling through the strands of her curls so closely, the cool whisper of it tickled the sides of her face.

“Sage, get back!” Trystan bellowed, holding out his hands, his face straining in his attempt to regain control.

It should be noted that Evie’s first instinct was to resist the request, to stand beside him until the power calmed—but in a humbling turn of events, she realized that the only way to calm him, to calm his magic…was to stay away.

The cobwebbed chandelier swung under the force of the black mist, the framedwantedflyer of The Villain rattling against its place on the wall. “Okay. I’m backing up!” she announced to the magic, trying to stifle it. And failing.

Thoroughly.

Thewantedflyer fell, crashing hard onto the floor, a horrible breaking sound echoing in its wake. The frame had cracked directly in half at the impact, the glass slicing the portrait in the same manner, tearing the parchment right through The Villain’s flaming head.

“What was that?” one of the interns cried as the mist swiped out several torches, casting even more darkness about the space. Accusatory eyes fell upon her boss, who was still grappling for an ounce of self-control.

“It’s a new Scatter Day method,” Evie said quickly. If she could not quell the boss, she would have to put herself to use some other way.

By getting rid of the workers.

The boss’s voice was ragged as he ordered, “Be calm, everyone. Do not panic.”

“The boss has set a ghost upon the office. First person it possesses loses…their head!” Evie yelped and then closed her hands over her lips as if it had been someone else.

There was a moment of silence, followed quickly by shrieking, the workers tripping over themselves to get to the exit, pixies squealing as they fluttered past, a stampede of interns following them. When the last person finally stumbled out of the space, the silence was overwhelming.

Her boss was staring at her, his face unreadable, as he started to saunter casually to one of the abandoned chairs across the room. The power was slinking back to him in slow ripples, some of it still lingering at her feet until, with something between a puff of breath and a tiny squeak, it abandoned her boots and returned to The Villain’s side. His eyes were no longer hard on her, but he was leaning back in the chair, his arms crossed like anindolent king as he sighed.

She flinched like there was accusation in it, forcing her defenses to rise. “I didn’t think they’dallrun away.”

“You threatened them with a ghost,” he drawled, rubbing at his chin. “What were you expecting?”