The Malevolent Guards were the elite group of people who managed the more violent parts of The Villain’s business—the fieldwork, some of the interns had coined it. The most ruthless warriors were among them, many of them magic users of varying kinds and educations. Most in the office steered clear of them, but Evie helped Edwin make them sandwiches.
Shoot, I forgot to restock the cheese. They are fiends for provolone.
“That’s better than none at all, I suppose,” Evie responded. She would accept any small favors if it meant not scouring a map, looking for another discreet trade from natural paths in the forest.
“Always the optimist, aren’t you, Sage?” His tone was light, but his face told her he didn’t think that was a good thing.
“I like anticipating the good—that way it’s easier to see it…even when the bad happens.”
The boss looked at her with some unreadable emotion. “If we could all see the world through your eyes.”
“It would be very colorful.” She smiled wide and turned her face up to the breeze. “So that’s three shipments compromised in the last two months.”
“Three too many.” His voice was lower suddenly. A deadly tone that she’d seen make the bravest of knights shiver with fear. She, for some reason, found it comforting, which was…troubling.
Danger isn’t attractive, Evie; it’s scary.
Or…it’s both, her brain countered.
“Aside from the little hangmen downstairs, how are you planning on handling this?” Evie was afraid of the answer, but this was becoming a very distinct pattern. Systems that had worked for them for months were suddenly failing, and the common denominator was becoming very clear.
“We have a traitor in our midst,” he said in a low voice.
Evie sucked in a breath, because he stood tall and dark, promising destruction, and all she could think was…
“How can I help?”
…
Evie was certain the clock on the wall ticked louder when she was trying to focus. Each stroke of the small hand felt like it was grating against her skull.
Tick-tick-tick.
“Ugh.” Evie threw her head down on her desk. She’d been going over the list of employees for the last two days in her favorite gold-foiled journal, writing little notes next to their names. Any indicators of suspicion or skewed loyalties had to be recorded. She’d figure out who was sabotaging them, and she’d hand them on a silver platter to her boss.
“What are you working on?” Ah, the other grating in her skull.
Evie picked her head up and closed her notebook, nearly taking out Rebecka Erring’s wandering hand. She quickly returned her quill to her favorite tincture of ink, a gift from her father. “Nothing you need concern yourself with.” Evie pinched her lips tightly into a smile, trying to keep every inflammatory word inside her head.
“Why are you making a list of employees’ names? I need to know everything that goes on in this office,” Becky said with a pompous sniff.
Evie considered the woman closely and then leaned her chin against her propped hands. “Does that mean you’re aware of the office pixies using ink to make self-portraits of their rear ends?” The pixies handled small tasks around the office, usually acting as scribes. It was quick work for them, since there were so many, but their erratic temperaments occasionally made them get creative with the ink.
A frustrated groan escaped Becky as she straightened and shook her head. “Again?” She turned quickly, eyes narrowing behind her glasses as she caught sight of the tiny fluttering creatures. All giggling as they scattered the papers about the room.
“Get over here, you wretches!” Becky growled as she stalked away, and Evie breathed a sigh of relief. She grabbed a vanilla drop candy from the tin Lyssa had given her and popped it in her mouth.
Despite the everlasting animosity between them, Evie did not envy the woman’s job. Every little drama, every conflict between the interns or any of the more permanent workers, was her responsibility to manage. When the boss had oriented Evie to the rest of the workers, he’d explained the system in which the manor worked. Every employee in charge of different tasks in different areas. It reminded Evie of a beehive. Becky’s particular specialty being a resource to the humans and other beings so the boss wouldn’t have to deal with the constant melodrama.
At the beginning, Evie thought she and Becky could be friends, that whatever stiff coldness lived in the woman during their first meeting would thaw. But despite Evie’s every effort, Rebecka Erring was determined not to like her. It was still a mystery whether it was because she found Evie obscenely annoying or if the rumor Evie had heard from one of the interns was true. That Becky had, once upon a time, wanted to be the assistant to The Villain, and Evie had been given the position instead.