VIKTOR
Happy Evil After, 1
Sarah Marsh
Copyright © 2017
Prologue
My name is Pandora. I’m a dark Fairy Godmother.
What—never heard of a dark Fairy Godmother, you say? Well, that’s because only about one in every one million Fairy Godmother pregnancies result in a blending of wild magic that ends up with a deviant like me.
I still remember that day at health class in Godmother finishing school…
“Girls! Make sure you never trust a boy when he says, ‘Don’t you trust me, baby?’ And once you’re bonded, never have sex in any other position other than missionary!”
Yeesh, have you seen how the Fairy Godfathers dress around here? Prancing around in their pastel leggings and embroidered velvet frocks? No freaking thank you. I’d rather have sex with the Gnome gardener that was always peeping in the girls’ locker room than let one of those dandies get at me.
Apparently, it runs in the family because my mother was a badass, too. All she’s ever told me about my father was that on one spring break, she and her fellow sorority sisters, The Raging Blue Fairies, decided to do something crazy. They flew down to Florida, hit the paranormal bars that were “happening” at the time, had a few too many Mai Tais, ended up in the hot tub with a dashing male of the non-fairy variety. One thing led to another, and nine months later I came into the world. In a true fashion that only I can pull off, she said, I unfurled my smoke-grey and black wings and gave the head nurse the finger before starting to cry.
The ruling Fairy Godmother Council, of course, tried to make my mom give me up, since not only was she not bonded, but I was the epitome of all that could go wrong in the life of a Fairy Godmother. There was no such thing as a Fairy with black wings. “Darkling magic” they whispered. They wanted her to leave me in the woods for the Sprites to decide my fate and let the realm reabsorb my magic if that was its will. But like I said, my mom was badass, and she very politely, because she was still a Fairy Godmother, told them to shove off and curled her sparkly blue wings around me.
While my mom always made sure that I knew she loved me just the way I am, I never really did fit in with our society. It’s totally true what they say about me, I do create havoc and trouble where ever I go. And … I freaking love doing it! I spent most of my school days punking the other Fairy God-students, and even the teachers weren’t safe from my wrath.
Before you bring it up—I was not the one who opened that damned box of sins. The fucking thing was already open when I strolled into the girls’ locker room. I think those damned Pink Pixies set me up. It had only been a week since I drugged them in the chemistry lab and shaved off all their eyebrows. Who knew they would be so vindictive?
I almost felt like we could’ve been friends after that. Too bad.
Eventually, I did get kicked out of school, but not before I absorbed one very clear fact that I took great offense to within my mother’s society of do-gooders. They used their magic to help others find their happy endings, but not all others, just the “good” people who they decided deserved it.
Who were these pompous assholes that got to decide that, just because someone takes a less-than-understood path in their life, they were “evil” and not deserving of a happy ending? Well, I call bullshit on that, bitches.
See, I have my own brand of power, and I decided that I would be the Fairy Godmother picking up the slack for all the misunderstood “monsters and villains” out there. After all, they’re simply different just like me, right? And let me tell you, I make damn sure I get my happy ending on the regular if you know what I mean. *wink*
****
“Hey, Dori, what are ya writing?” Craig, the demon bartender, nodded towards my black matchmaking mastermind notebook as he slid my frosty Chi Chi over the bar. “Are you finally going to write a ‘How to’ book on having your pick of the para-men litter?”
“Har, har, Craig. You know, it’s a good thing you know how to use that tongue of yours for something other than sassing me or I might just have to wish it away.” I smirked at my sometimes-casual hookup, at least for the nights when I didn’t find anything better in this place.
The Pit is the most notorious paranormal bar around, famous for its deviants and surprisingly enough, Craig’s super delicious fruity drinks. I’ve been coming here since I was a teenager. It is an exceptionally good hunting ground when a gal wanted a little company of the temporary bad-boy variety. I know all the regulars, and I knew exactly who I would choose to be my first lucky project.
“So, Craig, tell me everything you know about Mr. Tall, Dark, and Bitey over there,” I said nodding towards the broody vamp in the corner of the bar.
Craig’s eyes went wide when he saw who I was asking about, and then he just shook his head at me.
“I think he might be a little too wild even for you, Dori. You don’t want to tangle with the likes of him,” he answered quietly, almost as if my quarry might hear him through this entire racket, even on the other side of the room.
Truthfully, I wondered myself for a second if he might be able to. Viktor Krescech was the monster under the bed for our kind. Paranormal parents scared their kids with stories of him at night when they were being bad and wouldn’t go to sleep. He was The Destroyer of Covens, a ruthless killer of anyone who got in his way. He was also notorious for his hatred of his own kind. Now that was just plain un-neighborly.
Being the selfless and dedicated overachiever that I was, I had already given my new career path a great deal of serious thought and of course realized that my so-called “clients” would most likely rebuff any offers of matchmaking bliss … no doubt violently. So all I had to do was find out what would motivate them to be exactly where they needed to be, the exact moment that my kick-ass fairy powers proclaimed as the lynchpin for their happy ending. It seemed easy really.
After all, I’ve always had superior “people management” skills … even if my mom just called it “being a shifty, little manipulator”.
Skills are skills; that’s what I say. How hard could this be?