Page 92 of Adversary to the Villain
“How undignified,” Raphael grumbled, crawling to his feet, brushing dirt off his shirt. “A gin bottle for a weapon, screaming like a banshee—” When Raphael’s head picked up, he found Helena twirling Evie’s shoe on her finger, observing the Fortis warrior with the interest a cat gives to a canary.
He froze, his eyes appearing to process several things at once.
“Go on, sir.” Helena smirked, tossing Evie her shoe without looking away. “I’m loving the review of my character. Hope it goes to print.”
“I would run out of room on the page,” Raphael gritted out, back straightening to full height.
“Oh, I bet you say that to all the girls.” Helena laughed in the way bells rang, the sort of sound that preceded battle. Even piss-drunk, Helena still managed a sweeping curtsy, her skirts falling perfectly around her. “I’m Helena. I run the Deadlands Theater. And you are…”
Raphael stumbled back, gaping. “The Deadlands Theater. You run the Deadlands Theater?”
Helena stepped into Evie’s side; she’d been observing their interaction with rapt interest, and she now felt she needed fairy floss and popcorn. “Have you heard of it?” Evie asked him.
Raphael’s eyes shut tightly before he whispered, “It’s where Benedict placed his spies.”
Helena stumbled back. “That’s not possible. None of my employees would even sniff in Benedict’s direction.”
“Think what you will. But your theater is dangerous. For you, for Evie, and for anyone who steps inside.” Raphael was grim but certain. Too certain for Evie’s heart not to fall to her toes.
The actors. Would someone be hurt because of her?
“No,” Evie breathed, then broke into a sprint for the playhouse. “No. No. Please no.” Her legs were moving, pumping at a furious speed, Helena and Raphael’s calls to stop not far behind her, but she could barely note them. Her blood had turned cold, her whole body succumbing to the sensations when she shoved the doors open.
Her breath was the only sound inside the empty room. Or at least, she assumed it was empty, but it was far too dark to tell, with the only spotlight shining right on the stage. “Hello?”
You fool. What if someone answers you?
The door slammed shut, and she yelped.
She hadn’t made such a sound since the boys in her class began hiding in the dark corners to jump out and scare her. But in the end, that fear had subsided, because in the light, those boys were harmless. She’d been safe.
Evie had no idea what lurked in the dark any longer.
She turned slowly, hoping to see Helena and Raphael. Even Marv would be welcome company over being alone in the eerie dark.
A sandbag hit the stage with athudthat made her gasp, a rope unwinding and tumbling down beside it. “In case you were wondering,” she called evenly, “this is very creepy of you.”
Walking down the long aisle, she approached the stage steps, searching around for anything that might be a weapon.
The faint sounds of a laugh felt like a phantom glided through the space. “If you’re a ghost, I have other recommendations for hauntings. Do you know Griffin Sage?”
And that was when a limp body landed with a sickeningthudthree inches from where she stood.
“Gods!” Evie’s eyes burned, fingers going to her lips, her other hand crossed over her heart. “Oh no. Fritz. Fritz? No. No. No.” She dropped down beside the man, turning his cheek, and retched when she saw his face. He’d been mutilated. An eye missing, along with several fingers. Evie had worked for The Villain of Rennedawn long enough to know what torture looked like. This was uncontrolled.
This was personal.
Her fingers slid over a piece of parchment pinned to the man’s chest, which was barely moving in his fading breaths of life. Cold dread settled in her gut. AnotherWantedflyer.
This one reading:
WICKED WOMAN
THE TRUE VILLAIN
LATEST ATROCITY:
BURNED DOWN DEADLANDS THEATER
