Accomplice to the Villain (Assistant and the Villain, #3)(69)

But the man turned pink and brought a hand up to his head almost self-consciously, pausing for a moment. “I like it when I can get them to look like weapons.”

Evie stepped fully in front of Trystan now, ignoring his bite of protest. “Effort well spent, sir. You could kill a man with that hair!” She clapped and sank into a deep curtsy like she was meeting royalty. “I’m honored you’d tried to steal from me.”

“You won’t be, little tornado,” Trystan hissed behind her, “when I gut him.”

She subtly elbowed him, satisfied when she heard him let out an oof.

The man was deeply bowing now, in a display of rather polite manners for a thief. “The honor was mine, my lady.”

“Evie Sage.” She twirled a lock of hair, batting her eyelashes at the man.

“The Wicked Woman!” He let out a booming laugh and put a hand to his chest. “Dax Devourox! A true honor! I’m a huge fan!” Dax pulled a piece of paper from his pocket and held it up to reveal Evie’s wanted flyer, this one even more exaggerated than the last. Her curls were larger, and her eyes were lined and at an angle of malevolent glee, though it cut off right at a generous line of cleavage that the artist had certainly taken creative liberties with.

On reflex, she glanced down at her chest. “Huh.”

Dax was looking, too, blatantly and with an appreciation Evie wasn’t used to when aimed at her small chest. Trystan’s magic, on the other hand, didn’t seem to appreciate that appreciation in the slightest. The dark mist swept out in a wave, knocking Dax so far that he slammed into the wall on the other side of the room. Violence must have been a common occurrence at Lord Fowler’s parties, however, as hardly two people looked up from their conversations at the noise.

The wanted flyer had flown out of Dax’s hand and was now drifting slowly toward the ground. Trystan caught it and handed it to her without so much as a glance. “Here.”

Dax climbed to his feet, seemingly unfazed as he gave her another bow, grabbed a glass of wine, and motioned a cheers in her direction before chugging it and jumping into a game of cards beginning at the tables by the large windows.

Evie looked down at the portrayal of her with a self-deprecating laugh. “I look beautiful, but I fear my breasts are not so ample.”

“There’s nothing wrong with your breasts.”

Hm. Interesting. “They’re too small,” she argued airily.

“No, they’re the perfect size.” His response was quick and without thought. Which became increasingly obvious when he froze, his magic bouncing around him, looking a little like it was laughing at its master.

She tapped her chin, feeling less pathetic than moments earlier and far more villainous. “Shall we get a second opinion? Oh, Dax!” Trystan’s hand closed over her mouth, and his other arm tugged her front to his, his eyes smoldering into hers. She didn’t feel like laughing anymore.

“It’s not an opinion,” was all he said before releasing her so quickly she stumbled a little.

Tatianna caught her by the elbow with an arch expression that left Evie’s cheeks pink and her wits scattered in the wind. “Were you two just discussing your breasts?”

Clare coughed out little drops of liquid from the drink she’d been sipping as she approached. “Whose breasts?”

“No more talk of breasts!” Trystan yelled.

This seemed to be a less common occurrence among the eclectic guests, as everyone in the room spun toward Trystan, breaking out in hushed whispers as they realized who the guest dressed as a demon was. In Fowler’s home and among his friends, there was likely no worry of anyone batting an eye at the fact that “The Villain” was in attendance—but still.

Evie refused to take that chance. And she was his apprentice, after all. This was part and parcel of the job.

Without a second thought, she leaped on the table in the center of the room. “Attention, everyone! Attention!” All the eyes on Trystan turned to her, and the rest of her friends watched in horror as Evie made a proposal. “Before dinner, Lord Fowler has been so kind as to allow me to organize a game for you all!”

A rumble of agreement sounded about the room.

“Sage,” Trystan whispered angrily. “What the fuck are you doing? Get down from there!”

He reached for her ankle, and she stepped on his fingers with the heel of her iridescent shoe.

“Fowler!” Trystan called. “I thought you said dinner was to commence in ten minutes. Hardly enough time for a proper game.”

Lord Fowler was to be no ally to The Villain in this case. The lord folded his arms and leaned back against the door in a careless, aristocratic way that made Evie smile a little. “Oh, I think dinner will wait on us!” Fowler grinned and waved a hand for Evie to continue. “Do go on, my dear.”

She couldn’t hear what Trystan was mumbling under his breath, but it sounded a little like “this place” and the word “kindling.”

“I have set loose our pet frog in Lord Fowler’s treehouse! He wears a court jester hat atop a tiny gold crown. The first to find and return him to me will win a very grand prize!” She racked her brain for something good, but nothing came to mind.

“What’s the prize?” Dax asked inconveniently. A few of his buddies were already peeking around the floor for a spot of green.