Evie


    Evie could feel Trystan following her, but she couldn’t stop. She kept her hand mped over her mouth as she cut past staring people, moving to the back of the room covertly before a hand came around her arm.


    “Come, apprentice,” Trystan said ndly. “I have business to discuss.” He tugged her into an alcove in the corner of the room. She didn’t protest, just yelped a bit and allowed him to lead her away. Once they were away from prying eyes, he continued. “I shouldn’t have brought up Warsen’s son. I didn’t mean to remind you of it. I apologize and— For gods’ sake, Sage, are youughing under there?”


    Evie’s hand fell from her mouth, and she gasped out a loud belt ofughter that she’d tried to hold back for thest several moments. “I’m sorry.” She gasped, wiping a tear falling down her cheek.


    “Sage.” He paused, brows lifted. “Are youughing because I mentioned torture?”


    Her hands gripped her cheeks, and she winced. “That’s bad, isn’t it?”


    He groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s certainly not good.”


    “I wasn’tughing at the torture itself, per se. It was just such a quick rejoinder, and then I thought to myself, Don’tugh at torture, Evie! That’s not funny! But then when I told myself it wasn’t funny, well, then it did be a little funny and— Stop looking at me like that. I’ve seen you crack a sick little grin while having your heads hung up.”


    “That’s because I have a hankering for home decor.”


    She let out another strangledugh and pped him on the chest. “Stop making meugh and making it impossible not to enjoy your ridiculous costume! If you want to push me away, you’re not allowed to be funny!”


    His dark eyes went cold. “Want to push you away?”


    A thrill went through her at the break in hisposure, but it wasn’t a constion. Her n to topple his defenses until he cracked and told her the truth was starting to seem a little less viinous and a lot more…pathetic.


    Despite that one bit of headway, it was time to give it a rest, at least for the night.


    She bolstered her confidence and straightened her spine. “Let’s let it go. All right? I shouldn’t have said anything.” She pressed a finger to his lips when he began to speak. “There’s no getting out of here until Fowler’s gotten his kicks, so let’s y the game, keep our eyes peeled for the wand, and maybe even enjoy ourselves a little.”


    Trystan grumbled, “It’s a dinner party, Sage. Nothing to enjoy about it.”


    She shrugged off the sting, straightening her outfit and pulling out the coin-sized pot of rouge she’d slipped in between her breasts. Opening the lid carefully, she dabbed a finger in it and rubbed more color to her bottom lip, pressing them together to disperse the rouge evenly. “Well then, you find a potted nt to re at, and I will go and enjoy myself.” She tapped the lid back onto the cannister and jumped when she saw the look on his face.


    It appeared as if his entire body had gone into some sort of stasis, angled away from her. “What happened?” He was so still it was… She gasped. “Did you get hit with another tranquilizer dart thing? Can you feel anything?” she asked, gripping his arm with wide eyes.


    His voice was strangled. “Unfortunately.”


    “What?”


    “Nothing.” He growled, “Go back to the party and stay out of trouble. And while you’re at it, take Kingsley with you.” His hand went into the pocket where he’d ced Kingsley, then stilled, horror dawning on his face. “He’s not here.”


    Evie scanned the floor, trying not to panic. “Oh, dear. Where do you think he’s gone off to?”


    Trystan tore through the alcove, scanning the floors, looking up at the rafters with a feral sort of energy that she found intriguing.


    Disturbing. You should find it disturbing.


    Ah, she thought. But sadly, I don’t.


    “The fool’s wandered off in a house he doesn’t recognize filled with low-rate criminals.”


    “Oh, sir, that’s unkind. I don’t think you’re low-rate,” she soothed.


    He narrowed his eyes. “I didn’t mean me.”


    “Oh.” She sped her hands behind her back, shaking her head quickly. “Me either.”


    Her worry was best hidden beneath a veil of ill-disguised humor, but even that was beginning to fade as every bad thing that could happen to the frog poked and prodded at her mind.


    “Is that a frog print?” Trystan asked, bending at the knee to look. They followed the trail of spilled nt soil in the corner, finding that the dirtied webbed feet marks led back into the gathering room. “Come, Sage,” he said, and she struggled to keep up.


    They stopped in the near center of the space, subtly looking to either side of them for a sh of green. “He easily could’ve been scooped up by one of these reprobates looking to sell a magic frog on the ck market.”


    Evie frowned, looking around. Everyone wasughing—no darting eyes or nervous smiles. She couldn’t see a tell among them, and despite her efforts, she was inclined to lean into the good side of human nature. “Are you certain it was that and not him having another…nk episode?”


    Trystan’s gaze was shrewd on her, eyes sharp and angry. “If he did, that only means the danger to him is greater. He’ll have no cognizance to find us if he needs help.” Trystan continued through the crowd, pushing people out of the way as he moved, Evie trailing after.


    Arge man mmed into her from behind, and she felt a sharp tug on her left pinkie. “Ow!” She shoved the man off, and he nearly dislocated her finger with how hard he’d tugged. “Hey!” She ripped her hand away and looked down at her red and throbbing digit.


    Therge man looked confused, his shiny spiked hair standing on end. Tattoos covered his face and neck, and there were spikes all over his clothing. They even decorated the tips of his boots.


    Trystan had heard her cry out, and he spun in a flurry, his red cape flying behind him as he worked his way back to her. Really, bulldozed his way back to her would be more urate.


    Evie held up her red pinkie. “Were you trying to steal my ring?” she asked bluntly.


    Therge man scratched his head, looking at Evie a little like one would look at a bug that had begun speaking in full sentences. “Uh, I…”


    “It’s attached to my finger, you ninny.” She waved it back and forth. “It’s a tattoo!” Though when Evie looked down at the gold-leafed design circling her finger, she realized that it did in fact shine a bit brighter in the candlelight. “Huh. It does kind of seem like a ring.”


    When she looked up, therge man had snapped from his frozen state and was nodding sinctly. “Indeed, mydy.”


    She shrugged. “Well, it’s attached to me, I’m afraid. If you want it, you must cut off my finger.”


    “That’s enough!” Trystan boomed, his presence as dark as his magic, hovering at the edge of the interaction, not interfering until Evie identally offered up one of her extremities for amputation. Now he stepped between her and the spike-covered man. “Touch a single finger on her hand, and I’ll remove yours one by one and shove them up your nose,” he said roughly.


    Evie frowned, peeking around Trystan’s shoulder to peer up at his face. “Ew.” Sheid a hand on his arm for leverage so she could lean fully around his body to speak to the would-be thief. “Sorry. He gets grumpy in most social interactions. It’s not personal.”


    Therge man stared nkly at her, and Trystan angled his head down to give her an incredulous look. “The deands it isn’t.”


    She ignored him, smiling and pointing at the man’s head. “I like your spikes. They look, uh…sharp.” She winced at thepliment that came out far too close to a pun.


    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 pped 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 disy of rather polite manners for a thief. “The honor was mine, mydy.”


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


    “The Wicked Woman!” He let out a boomingugh 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 thest. Her curls wererger, 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 nced down at her chest. “Huh.”


    Dax was looking, too, tantly 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 mmed into the wall on the other side of the room. Violence must have been amon urrence 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 nce. “Here.”


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


    Evie looked down at the portrayal of her with a self-deprecatingugh. “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 wasughing at its master.


    She tapped her chin, feeling less pathetic than moments earlier and far more viinous. “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 likeughing 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?”


    re 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 lessmon urrence 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 Viin” 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 tomence in ten minutes. Hardly enough time for a proper game.”


    Lord Fowler was to be no ally to The Viin 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 ce” 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.


    “Uh. Lord Fowler?” Evie asked, searching for help, but Fowler, damn him, was against her, too, it seemed.


    “Now, my dear, I will not steal your thunder! Proim the prize loudly!” Fowler waved his hands with a dancer’s flourish.


    Evie looked about the room, then at Trystan’s face as he stared at her with fury—and perhaps a small twinge of respect at her resourcefulness? Or it could’ve been a trick of candlelight or her wildly inappropriate imagination.


    She tightened her fist and looked down at the wanted flyer crumpled in her hand. It was either that, the roaring in her ears, or perhaps some sort of spiritual possession that had her holding up the flyer and calling for every reprobate in the room to hear.


    “First to return the frog happy and unharmed to me and mypanions will get a night—”


    She paused, swallowing around her tongue, which suddenly felt too big for her mouth, the silence so loud and piercing it nearly made her sick.


    “A night with The Wicked Woman!” she finished.


    And everyone in the room scattered.


    All except one.


    All except The Viin.