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“To the women-murdering predator of Toronto, I’ll say this: I’m coming for you.” The reporters went wild, snapping photos and asking new questions, but Violet Miller nodded her farewell and left. The news switched to a different story.

Mor tapped a finger against his chin. What a surprise.

Violet Miller wanted tofindthe monster of the city, while all the other humans seemed intent on avoiding him—the ruby-haired gumiho. The Shadow Fairy. The fox. The memory-stealing monster.

The one fairy in all of existence Mor had wanted to hide from for the rest of his faeborn life.

Fourteen years prior, the Shadow Army had come to the coastal village of Pane in the Dark Corner of Ever in search of childling recruits. Mor had been the only one from his village who’d volunteered to join. It wasn’t because he wanted to; it was because he knew a faeborn male or female from Pane would be required to enlist before the army would leave and move on to the next fairy village. While in Pane, the Shadow Army leaders had demanded the locals bring them fresh meat, sweet blossoms, baskets of vegetables, and everything else the folk of Pane had worked so hard to store all year.

Mor was the strongest childling fae in his town at eleven years of age. And though he was the most loved by the village fairy folk—those who worked alongside him gathering shellfish on the seashores especially—he was the only one without family. His aunt and uncle who raised him had passed on when the sniffle spell had rushed across the coast.

So, it was only natural for him to rescue the rest of the Pane childlings from such a fate and offer himself when there was a chance he would survive because of his strength. Most of the other young males or females from Pane either would have frozen to death in the mountains or would have been snapped in half in training.

The Shadow Army was not half as bad as the rumours had claimed. Training was hard in the days that followed Mor’s recruitment, but food was never scarce. With ripe white grapes and hogbeast meat to feed on, Mor grew stronger as he grew in years. And even though whispers moved through the Shadow Army that they were planning a war against the North Corner, Mor kept to himself and believed the army could not be so faeborn foolish as to actually go through with it and kill thousands of Northern fairies without just cause.

But as time went on, and he beheld the vicious nature of the Shadows, his belief began to wither away. Eventually, he feared a great deal that the Shadow Army would, in fact, attack the North Corner of Ever and slaughter thousands. All for the sake of a greed that Mor didn’t share.

Five faeborn years after the date of his recruitment, he was invited to dine among the army elites where there was feasting, shouting, cheering, and marvels each night.

Mor went, but he never ate their feast food.

He never shouted their praises.

He never cheered alongside the other army elites.

He did not watch the marvels.

He waited.

And when the time was right, he destroyed them all.

6

Violet Miller and the Whack-Job Police Officer

Crumbs of a dream lingered in Violet’s mind when she awoke. Her lashes fluttered in the late afternoon sun filtering through the slats in her window blinds. Her hand drifted slowly to her thudding forehead, and she made an anguished sound, dreaming of a tall glass of cold water and an aspirin. A ringing sound echoed through her ears.

She sat up in bed, dropped her hand to her lap, and glanced at her mirror across the room. She screamed.

Zorah burst through her bedroom door with oven mitts on. “What? What?What?” she asked. “What happened?” The pretty surgeon in her early thirties looked like she was ready to use her oven mitts as boxing gloves. Her glasses were halfway down her nose and her hair was falling out of its bun, but her eyes were big and alert.

Violet lifted a torn flap of her most expensive blouse. “What happened to my awesome clothes?!” she screeched. She twisted so she could see her back in the mirror. An even bigger dirt stain ran down her spine.

Zorah slapped an oven-mitted hand over her chest. “Gah,seriously, Violet! I thought someone came in here and attacked you! Why’d you scream so loud over a measly blouse?” But as her eyes took in Violet’s state, her brows came together. “What were you doing last night?” she asked.

“I have no idea!” Violet said, rushing to her mirror to see better. “And where are my heels?!”

“Vi, are you really concerned about your shoes right now?” Zorah slid off an oven mitt and came over, lifting a piece of Violet’s shredded sleeve.

“I spent every penny I had on those shoes! I don’t have money to buy another pair.” Violet dropped to the floor to look beneath her bed. Once on her knees, she spotted a long run down her nylons, and she moaned. “These were brand new nylons, too.”

“You look like you played mud football.” Zorah tugged her oven mitt back on and headed for the door. “And since you’re not hurt, I’m going back to my pie!” Zorah trudged into the hall and trotted down the stairs to the kitchen. “Come try it!” she shouted back up. “The berries came straight from our garden!”

Violet barely heard her. She climbed to her feet and grimaced toward her mirror at the sight of her hair a tangled mess, her lipstick smeared over her chin, and her mascara a river of black down both cheeks. “Is this a joke?!” she shouted at Zorah, or the wall, or the neighbours through the window, or whoever. “Did someone pull me out of a swamp this morning?” She headed into the hall.

In the kitchen, Zorah was dragging a steaming pie from the oven. She grinned and placed it on the hot pads. “Yum!”

“Zorah!” Violet shouted as she came down. She slowed when she looked at the clock in the kitchen. It was the middle of the day.