Page 21 of Accomplice to the Villain

Think of me when you’re with the trees.

The memory of the Kissing Tree Caves monster’s last words made her stomach twist so hard, she felt acid rise in her throat. Shutting her eyes, Evie let a few tears fall down her cheeks. She’d tried to return to the caves twice since they found her mother, since the fading magic struck the home of one of the gods left behind. She’d gotten her mother back, and within moments, something pure and good perished. It had been Evie’s fault, for not understanding that her happiness would never come without a price.

The thought overwhelmed her as she stood, swiping at the tears burning down the sides of her face. She looked at her reflection in her favorite stained glass window—the one in the corner of the kitchen with the sun shining down on an old, weathered-looking book—and wiped away the tears, forcing her mouth into a pleasant smile, a practiced one. Evie was an expert at hiding her pain.

A terrible skill.

She hid that the distance between her and Trystan had rattled her. She hid that she laid awake at night worrying about who in the office had helped her father escape. She hid the dark discontent stirring beneath her skin, worrying if Lyssa was growing up right. And most of all, she hid that it was incredibly likely that Trystan Maverine was her true love.

She rubbed at the knuckles she knew he’d pressed his lips to—the only reason she had awakened from the sleeping-death fruit’s slumber. The antidote she’d never taken even now was clanging around in her pocket. Useless.

“Ugh.” Evie pulled it out and leaned it toward the basin in the corner, intending to dump it, but couldn’t bring herself to uncork the bottle. “I’ve gotten used to you, I suppose,” she said, rolling the vial in her palm. “Not so easy to destroy what’s familiar.”

Unless, of course, someone enters while one is talking to oneself, making every internal organ jump three inches.

“Ah!” Evie let out an embarrassingly high-pitched squeal, the motion forcing her arm to slam into the basin, releasing the vial of antidote and shattering it on the ground.

“My apologies, miss!” A blond man had appeared at the doorway, dressed in a nice shirt and slacks—nothing extraordinary about them, but sensible, understated.

Evie clutched her chest before shaking her head at the newcomer and making her way for the cupboard with the dustpan and broom. “It’s quite all right. It’s a hazard, talking to oneself. Sometimes you get so caught up in conversation, you forget there are far less predictable people to converse with.”

The man’s eyes shifted back and forth, looking for something or someone. “I just arrived. I’m here to repair the stained glass window.” He held up a toolbox, and Evie relaxed a little at the explanation.

Her heart continued its erratic pace anyway, perhaps from the excitement of her surprise only seconds ago.

But that didn’t explain the goose bumps rising on her arms. “Oh, of course.” Evie scanned the man’s face. Her heart accelerated. “The broken window is upstairs.”

The man nodded, walking around her and dropping the toolbox on the kitchen counter with athudthat made her jump. Meeting Evie’s confused gaze, he gave her a sheepish grin. “Thought I’d fuel up before I get to work.” He pulled an empty ceramic chalice from the countertop and ladled a large serving of cauldron brew into it, motioning it up toward her like a toast. “Care to join me?”

No, random man I’ve never met before. I have stewing in my office to do, followed by lewd daydreams of my boss.

Licking her lips, she grabbed her own mug and made for the door.“That’s kind, but I shouldn’t—I have work. But when you’re through, the window repair is up one flight in the main office. Can’t miss it.” She forced a laugh, but it sounded as strangled as it felt.

The man smiled back at her. He was being friendly, yet Evie seemed to have lost the ability to socialize. And by “lost,” she meant she’d never found the ability in the first place.

“No problem,” he said. “Maybe another time?” He was handsome, like one of the princes from Lyssa’s stories, and he did absolutely nothing for her aside from trigger her irritation at being stuck in this conversation.

Don’t you remember, Evie? Men only do it for you if they’re dismembering people!

“Maybe,” Evie replied quickly, turning on her heel and clamoring down the hall as fast as her heels would carry her. “Maybe?” she muttered to herself. Why was she so incredibly awkward? There was no way in the deadlands she was ever having a cauldron brew with that man.

Blade moseyed up beside her. “Maybe what, sweet Evie?”

She smiled, leaning into her dear friend’s shoulder, and smoothed back a lock of his long hair as they walked toward the stairs together arm in arm. “Maybe I have terrible taste in men.”

“Impossible!” Blade gasped. “You’re friends with me.” Evie laughed, furrowing her brow when she saw what was in his hand.

“Blade, dear. I love that you have rainbow pliers, and they do match your magenta vest rather well, but what are you doing with those?”

Blade didn’t miss a beat. “The magical maintenance repairmen asked for an extra one. They’re fixing the window upstairs right now. Poor guys’ve been at it for hours.”

Evie stopped just before they hit the first step. Everything seemed to slow down around her as ice bit into her skin, seeping into her blood and through the rest of her limbs. A terrible prickling feeling climbed up her neck as her pounding heart turned to a roaring in her ears.

She didn’t think. She ran.

“Evie?” Blade called. “What’s wrong?”

“Get the boss! Quick!”