by M. K. Gibson
“What’s that?” Paige asked, looking confused.
“A job, mother. He is offering me—us—jobs.”
“Yes, I am,” I said. “A Blackwell Villain Consulting Agency franchise. The multiverse is a very big place and even I can’t be everywhere at once. Well, I can, as you know.” I smiled at Randy. “But you get the point. You have one of the sharpest, most ruthless villainous minds I’ve ever come across. And I want it working for me, not against me. Plus, it will clear you with the High Gods, as long as you are operating under my influence. And as a bonus, I get my sister out of my hair.”
I bounced little Evie slightly just to watch her smile. “See, little one? That’s called negotiating your enemies’ surrender. You give them no option but to accept your terms. Don’t worry, I’ll teach you all about it.
“So, what do you say Randy, or rather, Randolph? Work for me, help guide and corrupt new legions of would-be villains? Or be handed over to the mercy of a lot of pissed-off gods?”
Randy looked at the contract and pursed his lips. “I hate you.”
“In my experience, a perfect way to begin a business venture. You don’t have to like me. You just have to do a good job.”
“I will destroy you one day,” Randy said flatly.
I looked over at Sophia, who was sitting on the couch reading a magazine, and rolled my eyes. “Get in line. Now sign the goddamn contract. Both of you.”
Randy took the pen I offered him and signed the soul-binding contract. Paige followed her son’s lead and signed as well. I looked over the form and nodded.
“Excellent, excellent. You two will take up residence in another small dimension I am sub-leasing. You will not be gods of that realm, but occupants, acting under my authority with the express purpose of villainy consultation and profiting. You will do nothing by action, or inaction, that would cause me, my family, my allies, or my business harm. Do you understand?”
“Yes,” Paige said quickly. When Randy said nothing, his mother nudged him with her elbow. “Randy.”
“Yes,” Randy said, gritting his teeth. “I understand.”
“Good. Now go on, get out of here and begin your work,” I said, then looked over at Paige, who was wearing her typical white-trash ensemble. Then I looked at Randy. “Would you please make her more presentable? You’re representing the Blackwell brand, after all.”
Randy stood and took his mother’s hand. “Come along, Mother. We have work to do.”
When they departed, Sophia poured two tumblers of that rare single-malt Glenfidditch Janet Seed Roberts Reserve scotch. She took the seat across from me and pushed one of the tumblers in front of me. I accepted the drink and toasted her.
“A franchise, Jackson?” Sophia asked.
“Best punishment I could think of,” I said, taking a sip. I set the drink down and placed my hand against Evie’s cheek, rubbing my thumb along her tiny eyebrows. How could something so small feel so powerful in your life?
“Do you think he’ll actually work for you? For the brand?”
“Depends,” I said, still looking at my daughter.
“Depends on what?”
“On whether or not you give Randy the Right of the Godly Binding again. Or access to some other ancient power. After all, you were the one who set him up to bring me down.”
Sophia said nothing, her face going blank.
“Nothing to say? Hmm?”
“Give me the child, Jackson,” Sophia said.
“No.”
Sophia’s human form melted away, revealing the Djinn.“Give me the child and I will forswear my vengeance against your family.”
I looked at Evie, then at Sophia.
“Are you fucking high?”
“It’s a child,”Sophia purred.“One you barely know. You can make another.”
Sophia began to float upward, her arms outstretching. Her power loomed over me and I held my daughter closer.
“Sit the fuck down,” I commanded. “I still have a final wish remaining. Press this issue further, and I will use it.”
Sophia suddenly reverted back to her human form. “Really? You’d waste it to hurt me?”
“I have a newfound respect for life.” I paused, looking down at my daughter. “At least for this one.”
Sophia obeyed and sat down across my desk from me. Neither of us spoke for a moment. I broke the silence.
“You betrayed me. You were in league with Randy the whole time.”
“Of course,” Sophia said, looking confused. “You know I have to try and destroy you.”
“I know. But—”
“But what, Jackson?” Sophia asked. “Do you believe our relationship prevents my vengeance against your parents? I love you, truly. But the word of Djinn cannot be broken. For enslaving me, they were destroyed. And my vengeance spans the next generation.”
“What about Paige?”
“What about her? My revenge against her is complete.”
“Truly?”
“Of course.” Sophia laughed. “For a bright man, you do miss the obvious. Do you think someone like her, who like you came from intelligent, cultured people, could turn out like that? She has been cursed from birth to always know successful, intelligent beings, but to never be one herself. She will forever be just smart enough and just wealthy enough to know that what she has is nothing compared to what she wants.”
“That’s . . .”
“Diabolical, I know.” Sophia smiled. “As for you, your end will come in a truly horrible fashion. Whether by surprise, or with the knowledge of its existence and the inability to stop it, I will destroy you. This little game I played with Randy and Khasil? That’s me simply testing your defenses. It was fun and surprisingly easy.”
“I see.”
“Maybe I backed the wrong horse. Lydia, it seems, can out think and out maneuver you at every turn. Perhaps she should be the one I empower.”
“Works for me!” Lydia yelled from outside my office. “But it you try and take our child, I’ll cut your tits off.”
“But,” Sophia said. “If you were to give me the child, I can, by law, forgo my vengeance upon Jackson.”
“No,” Lydia and I said in unison.
“Hon, I have this,” I said.
“Don’t screw it up,” she called back.
“I ask you to reconsider,” Sophia said. “If you give her to me, I’ll make her a Djinn. A lot of cosmic power and a HUGE future in villainy!”
Sophia smiled at me while I shook my head.
“Can’t you just find another Djinn and you know, do it the old-fashioned way?”
“I’ve tried. The Djinn dating app is horrible. You think getting dick pics from humans is bad. Imagine one where some Djinn is using two planets as his balls. Overcompensating much?”
I laughed. “You’re never getting Evie.”
“Then I will just have to destroy you one day,” Sophia sighed.
“You will try. And gods above and below willing, there will be a third adventure of the Shadow Master for the masses to consume.”
“Not if I can help it,” Sophia said, taking out her phone. She began typing at an inhuman speed.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Giving you a taste of my measure.”
“How so?”
“I’m giving Villains Pride a review on Amazon and Goodreads,” Sophia said, then cleared her throat:
“Ahem . . . the second installment of The Shadow Master is as bland and formulaic as the first. People who gave this, and the first book, five stars must be friends of the author, or are paid off. This book ruins the overall quality of independent writing.
“As someone who consumes over three hundred books a year, my eye for excellence is sharp. And this ‘story,’—if you can call it that—fails on every fundamental level to deliver character development or depth, instead going for cheap jokes, and a meaningless, meandering plot. The book consists of scene set-up followed by
a sophomoric joke, and repeated for over forty chapters.
“The protagonist, a ‘villain’ named Jackson, is little more than an anti-hero and clearly the author’s wish fulfillment put to paper. The entire book feels like an excuse for the author to vent about things middle-aged men don’t like. Think of it as a published Tumblr blog, but with more stupidity and cloying attempts at edginess in the hopes of sounding ‘cool.’
“While I appreciated the laughs it provided, there is little else to really enjoy in this book. Not the two-dimensional characters, repeated scenes, or blatant rip-off of archetypes. In summation, unless you’re a fan of the insipid, vapid, brain candy that is indie books these days, only buy this book for a plane ride, or when it’s on sale.”
Sophia finished by saying, “Three stars.”
My best friend, and worst enemy, looked up and smiled at me. “Thoughts?”
“You’re a spiteful bitch.”
“An evil, spiteful bitch. And don’t you forget it.”
About the Author
M. K. Gibson is a husband, father, a retired USAF MSgt and a lifetime geek. Ever since he saw the Rankin-Bass The Hobbit movie in 1980, all he ever wanted to do was create and tell fantastical stories.
M. K. Gibson lives in Mt. Airy, MD with his wife, and first-line editor, Valerie, their son Jack, their schnauzer Murphy, newfoundland Sully and their cat Mini.
Follow M. K. Gibson on Twitter at @GibsonMK1, Facebook author page and read updates and insane blogs at MKGibson.com.
