Interruption Four

Interruption Four

Cyril’s current evil plan was to find good food. As they traveled, his wife had heard rumors about the renowned Moonbeam and Starlight Inn and insisted they stay there during the days leading up to the wedding. The prices were eye gouging even to a man who knew he wouldn’t be paying them, but worse, the restaurant’s food was absolutely inedible. Foams and smears, large domes that melted away to reveal minuscule portions, and all the vegetables and fruits that no normal person wanted to eat. In his desperation, he’d called a shadow-walker—one of his highest-level minions—to fetch him a BLT.

He barely managed to wipe the traces of his sin—in the form of a passable mayo—from his lips before his wife entered the room, a dozen shopping bags in her arms. “You won’t believe it!” she exclaimed as she dumped her haul on the floor.

Cyril certainly hoped she had not paid for any of that. One did not get to his level of great evil without wriggling out of monetary commitments, but his beloved wife didn’t share his principles. She’d trained under a hag, who cared less about amassing wealth and more about tricking men into their clutches for a fine feast.

“What won’t I believe?” he asked as he pushed the brown paper bag further into the inn’s trash bin.

“The Good Wizard arrived in a carriage driven by flying horses.” She looked at him significantly and repeated, “Flying horses, honeybunches. I simply must find out where he got them.”

“He probably conjured them,” Cyril replied, waving his hand in dismissal. Any Good Wizard worth the title was typically flat broke. Their morals prevented them from making a profit off of other people’s misery, so much of their work was pro-bono. However, magic could make up for many of life’s deficits. The flying horses, he guessed, could only stay in the air for an hour—two if the Good Wizard was a particularly strong mage—before disappearing.

“Oh. So, you mean they weren’t real?”

“Not in the sense that I can procure a pair for you, no.”

She deflated so visibly before him that he drooped along with her. He gestured for her to come to him, and she settled onto his lap, resting her head in the crook of his neck.

“At least there’s still the wedding to attend,” he reminded her, rubbing soft circles along her back. He’d received news from the imp that the antivenom had been successfully delivered, so the groom had survived. The imp had also reported that he’d been in the arms of a completely different man, but that wasn’t really Cyril’s business. Though he did have concerns that his wedding interruption would not be as grand as he’d expected. Tearing apart two lovers on the cusp of matrimony, ruining the happiness of two such lofty people, would indeed boost his reputation. But interrupting a wedding of reluctant participants who would probably sigh in relief … that could be twisted into all sorts of terrible misunderstandings. Like that he was a hero.

He’d never be able to show his face in the villain community again.

Which was why, after receiving his sandwich, he’d given another vial to the shadow-walker.

The potion would ensure that the bridal couple would be bursting with love and happiness. They’d practically run down the aisle, eager to finally be joined in holy matrimony. Then, just before the binding kiss, Cyril would tear them apart. The chaos that would ensue! The fear he’d inspire! He could practically taste it already.

With his help, it’d be the perfect wedding to ruin.