Evie stared hard at the wooden planks that lined the back wall of the tavern, waiting for the two children to join her out in the cold.
She caught sight of her boss first, who, in the torchlight, looked like a death god come to claim her soul.
Take it and whatever else you want.
Hiccupping into her hand, she groaned internally, “Too much ale.”
The Villain looked at her quizzically. “It was wine.”
The corners of her mouth pulled down, and she nearly missed Malcolm coming to join them. “Oh dear.”
Slapping his hands together, Malcolm motioned to the empty, quiet space around them. “Well, if you’re going to kill me, here would be a good spot, I think. Just be sure I’m dead before you bury me.”
Evie opened her mouth to object, but Trystan had already thrown Malcolm up against a wall, holding an arm to his throat. “Did you partner with the person trying to sabotage me, or are you behind the entire operation?”
Malcolm sputtered and began to turn purple. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he rasped. “If this is about the clock I sold a few weeks ago, I had no clue what it was for.”
A vein began to throb in The Villain’s forehead, and his lip curled in a snarl. “Why should I believe a word that comes out of your mouth?”
“Because,” Malcolm gasped, “I’m your brother.”
The Villain held an arm to his throat for a beat longer. Evie reached out a hand, unsure of what to do in this situation. Other than watch her boss murder a family member she hadn’t known existed an hour ago.
But before the life left Malcolm’s eyes, Trystan released him, turning away with barely concealed rage.
Coughing and clutching his throat, Malcolm looked at Trystan’s back with widened eyes. “You didn’t— I really thought you were going to do it this time, Tryst.”
“I did, too, you little shit.” The Villain turned, walking toward Evie as if in a daze. He draped her cloak about her shoulders, doing the buttons up under her chin. “It’s cold,” he muttered, turning back to his brother.
Evie barely noticed the chill, with the mix of the alcohol and the fact that her boss had just done something so out of character that she nearly fell over.
Her boss missed Malcolm’s look of bemusement, but Evie didn’t.
“So you believe I had no idea where that clock was going?” Malcolm asked.
Trystan turned back to her. “Do you think he’s telling the truth?”
“He’s your brother—how am I supposed to know?” She blinked at him, noticing the unrest behind his black eyes. He needed something from her. She turned back to Malcolm, really looking at him.
He was staring at his brother with the kind of reverence someone would give to King Benedict but was trying to keep that neatly concealed behind the lift of his chin and the set of his jaw.
Evie took a step toward Malcolm, noticing now so many similarities in his features. Features she saw every day across a black lacquered desk. “That clock that you knew would be attached to an explosive? It nearly killed me.”
Both brothers took a sharp inhale. She continued anyway.
“I would’ve left behind a sick father and a little sister with no means of support. So I will ask you to be honest, because your actions didn’t just nearly cause my death, but you nearly doomed them as well.”
She took a step even closer, her eyes not leaving his as her voice came out steady, strong. “Did. You. Know?”
Malcolm looked her dead in the eyes. “No. I didn’t.”
Evie nodded and smiled lightly. “Then please tell us what you do know, so we can find out who did. I have a few choice words for them.”
He met her smile with one of his own, a genuine one that looked nothing like the cocky grins he’d shown her thus far. Pointing a finger lightly in her direction but looking at Trystan, he said, “I quite like her.”
“That seems to be the consensus. Now listen to the lady and talk,” he said. She tried not to take offense at the dry sarcasm in his voice.
Nodding, Malcolm began spinning a tale, but there was obvious truth lining every word. “A man came to me sometime last week. I was a little…inebriated—”
“You were drunk out of your mind,” Trystan interrupted. “Go on.”
Evie bit back a laugh as he continued. “Right, well, I didn’t see his face. He wore a hood, and like I said, I was not in my right head. He asked if I still made my ‘special clocks.’ I, in my vulnerable state, told him that I had one already made in my office. He paid cash, and that was it; he was off with it before I could ask any questions.
“I awoke the next morning with a raging headache and immense regret about not asking more questions and identifying the man before I gave the key to creating such a lethal device. I vowed not to sell them anymore after the last time when these awful little boys decided to use it to play a prank on their grandmother.”
Evie gasped in the face of such cruelty.
Because watching someone murder their brother is fine, but you’re drawing the line at old ladies in peril? Is that where we are?
Malcolm continued. “I even asked the other patrons the next night, plus my workers, but nobody saw past his hood. He moved like a ghost.”
There was a hollow, chilled feeling working its way through Evie. No answers, no name, not even a description. What’s worse was that, soon, whoever was doing this would know their attempt had failed. They’d see the damage they sought to inflict hadn’t taken out who they’d intended, and they’d come for him again.
Evie couldn’t allow that to happen.
“There must be something else,” she said. “You must remember something, even the smallest detail that might help.” She could hear the pleading in her own voice and hated it, but she was desperate.
Malcolm shook his head, looking to her and then behind her to his brother. “I’m sorry to both of you, truly. Tryst, I know we have our squabbles, but we were once thick as thieves, you and me. I would never seek to truly hurt you. There’s a reason we’ve tried to kill each other for years and neither has ever succeeded.”
“Because you’re bad at killing?” The Villain bit out.
“No.” Malcolm huffed a laugh, moving closer to his brother and putting a hand on his shoulder. “Because neither of us truly ever wanted to.”
“Oh, I wanted to. I dream about it nightly, as a matter a fact.”
He smiled knowingly. “Then why aren’t I dead yet, brother?”
The Villain rolled his eyes and turned toward Evie, who was nearly bursting. Because really, this whole scene was adorable—threats of killing aside, of course. He asked, “Are you ready to leave?”
The wine or ale or whatever that swill was had given her far too much confidence. “If you’re done playing with your little brother,” she said, unable to hold back a grin.
He narrowed his eyes at her and began to walk to the other side of the back wall. “Thanks for nothing, Malcolm.”
“Come back and have a drink another night. I promise I won’t sell any more explosives to people trying to kill you,” he called out with a cheeky grin. “Lovely to meet you, Evie. I hope you’ll return soon.”
Evie gave him a small curtsy. “Not until your drinks stop tasting like rotten vinegar.” She scrunched her nose, and he laughed as she turned to catch up with her boss before he disappeared into the night.
But she halted in her tracks when Malcolm called after her one last time.
“Evie!” She turned to face him. His eyes were wide, so wide she almost saw the thought forming. “He had bright blue ink around his fingernails. When he took the clock from me, it was glowing and all over his hands.”
Her heart swelled with hope. “Blue glowing ink? Well, that is something.”
He nodded, clearly satisfied, and once more called to his brother over her head. “We both know who sells it, Tryst. It’s not a coincidence.”
Giving him one last smile, she barreled after her boss, the chill of the night air invigorating her. The Villain was moving at a snail-like pace, so much so that she needed to skid to a halt to remain beside him instead of ahead.
“Did you hear?”
“I did.”