Chapter One

Late in the day, among her own sobs and half-empty bottles, Violet could still hear the screaming.

It seemed to be the only thing in which she found peace.

Her surroundings were dark and dismal, a constant reminder of a time seven or so years before when she and her siblings were swept away to their first guardian. Count Olaf's home had been filthy and vile, two words which could also be used for her own apartment currently. But, instead of half-written plays, there were half-written letters to Klaus. Instead of notes on nefarious schemes, there were notes on the now-withered leaves which lay atop her desk. Instead of the paintings of blue eyes, of brown eyes, and of black eyes, there were pictures of her siblings, of little Beatrice, and of Quigley. The wine bottles, the filth, the matchboxes – those were all the same.

Violet shuddered at the thought of sharing any similarity with that horrendous man and pushed the idea from her mind.

No, the things she'd done were noble. Count Olaf had not been. That's at least what she told herself.

Laying there on that rickety bed, Violet realized with much dismay that Klaus and Sunny would hardly recognize her should they pass in the street. It had been nearly a year since they'd parted and so much had changed since she'd seen them.

And what would Quigley think? Violet's eyes darted to his picture on the desk, that familiar stab plucking at her heart. In the picture next to his, little Beatrice stared with blaming eyes.

The three of them had been happy. Now she was alone and miserable.

It was quite a surprise when, after navigating off that wretched island and landing back at Briny Beach, they were found by Quigley soon after. The Baudelaire children had assumed him dead, but found great relief in the fact that he was not.

Despite how the three siblings hated the place, after returning to the city they sought out Count Olaf's home. They knew he was dead and would never harm them again, but they didn't trust Mr. Poe to find them safe or comfortable accommodations. For two years, the five orphans lived in secret. Violet remembered it as a dreadful time, being stuck inside a house with so many foul memories. The children made it as habitable as possible, which was not habitable at all, or safe, but they made due. Unable to stomach the small bedroom they'd all shared as Count Olaf's wards, they pulled the single mattress down to the living room. The ex-guardian's bed was out of the question and the thought of sleeping where he had gave each of the children a sick feeling when they thought of it. For the two years they lived there, not one of them entered the tower or his room. Instead, Violet slept on the mattress with the two youngest children while Klaus and Quigley slept on the couches surrounding the girls. There were times when Violet, awake in the late hours while the others slept, would feel a wave of paranoia creep over her, as if she were being watched. Several times over those two years, she found herself glancing to the window which overlooked the living room and swearing, despite knowing it was her imagination, there had just been some figure there.

Violet kept these feelings to herself, not wanting to scare the others for no reason. The five went on living in the house, scavenging dusty candles from the basement and thread from the kitchen drawers to adjust their clothing as they grew. For the first two months, the children barely disguised their hunger with rusted cans of peaches and the abundant raspberries growing wild in the back yard. One night, though, Quigley turned abruptly on the couch to get into a more comfortable position and they all heard the distinct noise of coins clanking together. There wasn't much in the small change purse wedged under the couch cushions, but enough to buy a few fresh vegetables. From the vegetables, the children used the seeds to grow more. The time waiting for their small crops to grow seemed unbearable, but once they had them going they were plentiful.

The most unbearable, though, was not being able to let Sunny and little Beatrice out to play. Children, as you know, are the sort to make a lot of noise and attract attention, which is not what the older three children wanted. The two young girls always looked quite glum, begging Violet to let them go outside with her after night had fallen to pick enough crops for the following day. The eldest girl never allowed them. Not only for fear of them being loud and leading to the discovery of the children, but because there were often times outside in the backyard when Violet felt that same wave of paranoia flood her, as if someone was watching her from somewhere hidden. In the dark, though, it was difficult to see at any great distance and so her head would turn in a slow movement, scanning the overgrown brush nearby. Even when she found no one hiding, she would still hurry to gather the vegetables and get back inside the crumbling house. It was odd that a house with so many stained memories would prove a safe place for the children.

During the time in Count Olaf's house, Quigley told them a great deal about his life and family. It was in these post-dinner discussions that they learned his siblings, Duncan and Isadora, had perished in the Great Unknown, while Quigley narrowly escaped. It was also during those two years that a great love flourished between Violet and Quigley, ignited by their previous kiss a few years before. There were many late nights - well after Klaus, Sunny, and Beatrice were deep in sleep – when the two would slip outside to Count Olaf's makeshift stage to memorize not the lines of a play, but the lines of each other's bodies. On some of these nights Violet felt the same sneaking suspicion that they were being spied upon, but never voiced these opinions and instead let Quigley kiss away her fears until they were so small and insignificant it was as if they didn't exist.

Once Violet was of age, Quigley held her hand as they went to meet with Mr. Poe, his warm fingers calming her jittering nerves. The banker had coughed and sputtered for nearly five minutes after seeing her, thinking she'd perished. After he seemed to grasp the fact that she was, indeed, still alive, his eyes shot down to Quigley's hand clutching hers, then up to scrutinize his face with a tucked brow. In years since, Violet wondered warmly if Mr. Poe was making sure Quigley wasn't Count Olaf in disguise. Despite his clueless nature in previous years and his disbelief that Count Olaf was dead – due to his name being mistaken for Omar in the report – she thought he might have finally realized how far Count Olaf would have gone to secure their fortune. But the moment passed without incident and the children were then, a few days later at a court hearing, placed under Violet's guardianship.

The first thing she did after securing the fortune was create three separate bank accounts for her and her siblings. Violet still remembered the half-smile Quigley had given her when she added his name and Beatrice's to her own account. When she'd bent to sign her name, some of her hair fell into her face and Quigley swiped it behind her ear, then leaned in to press his lips where the hair had tickled her cheek.

As a surprise for Klaus, who had mentioned more than once his desire to see the Reptile Room filled again, Violet bought Uncle Monty's home, which still hadn't sold after his murder. One bad memory was not enough to overpower the joy and comfort the three had felt while living there. For two more years, the five lived happily together, studying snakes and reptiles while adding to the collection. The orphans worked closely, forming a strong team of sort-of herpetologists. Klaus would read from the many books they had collected, finding snakes and animals they wished to add to their room. Quigley, always the cartographer, would take the information given by Klaus and create color-coded maps of areas that matched the specific habitats of the animals sought. Beatrice, although only a little thing, had a great talent in drawing and, as the books were often printed only in black ink, would recreate the images of the snakes in full color. Violet, as she had before when they were preparing for their doomed trip to Peru, invented the snake traps and modified the cages to make the animals more comfortable. Sunny, of course, was flourishing as a chef and was not only in charge of the animal diets, but the human meals as well. On three separate occasions, they took overseas expeditions and brought back a marvelous variety of animals. By the time those two years ended, the Reptile Room was filled once again.

The happiness of the five was the most joyous they'd felt since before all their misfortune started. Uncle Monty's home was a safe haven, a sanctuary, where they pieced together the bits of their broken hearts and formed a family. Nothing of incidence happened during those two years, except perhaps one evening near the end, after Violet's twentieth birthday. Sunny had made Uncle Monty's coconut cream cake, now considered a delicacy between the orphans. After the five had eaten their cake and the other four had sung to Violet, the presents were given and everyone went off to bed. Klaus and Sunny had taken the same upstairs rooms they used before when staying with Uncle Monty. Beatrice was in Violet's old room, upstairs next to Sunny's. Violet and Quigley, wanting privacy after two years of sneaking outside, had chosen Uncle Monty's old room downstairs. For hours, the two lay awake, talking about anything that popped into their heads, but most of all talking about how quickly their moving day was coming. Now that Klaus was of age, the two bought the neighboring home, though it was quite a walk between the two, and they were getting excited about finally having their own house. Between their hushed whispers and the occasional peck of their lips, the two heard a strange noise from outside. For the first time since they'd moved from Count Olaf's, Violet felt that chill of paranoia creep up her spine. Quigley assured her it was nothing, but, being the gentleman that he was, stood and left to go check that they'd locked the doors. Violet was sitting upright, fear etched into her features, when she saw movement outside the window from the corner of her eye. With a stomach of dread, she turned and saw nothing – no shadow as she'd thought – only a small patch of fog, as if someone had breathed against the glass, which she watched fade away before Quigley returned to bed.

A few weeks after they'd moved, under the guise of a housewarming party, Quigley presented Violet with the most breathtaking ring. Violet, who hated crying in front of other people, ducked her head and cried joyous tears into her intended's chest while the guests smiled and cooed at the couple. Violet still wore the ring on a cord around her neck. Though the marriage would never come to be, she refused to insult Quigley's memory by hiding the ring. It was just that Violet found it quite hard to look at anymore on her finger, so she wore it around her neck where it was always with her, but out of sight.

Things were warm and fuzzy in those first few months. Beatrice would fall asleep on Quigley's chest after dinner and the two would tuck her in every night, telling her how much they loved her. Sunny would come over every morning to start fixing lunch, for which Klaus would later join. Sometimes they stayed through dinner. Every Sunday afternoon they went to a matinee showing at the cinema and out for root beer floats afterward. It seemed, at last, Violet's life was at ease.

It wasn't until one sunny day, while Violet took the car to the market, did that bliss end.

Thinking of it currently, from the creaky bed in her filthy apartment, made Violet's heart ache. But, no matter how hard she pressed her hands to her chest, nothing ever quelled the hurt she felt inside. Or brought the two back to her. Every night she relived those moments of despair and, every night, could do nothing to go back and change them. It haunted her more than the death of Uncle Monty, or Aunt Josephine, or even her parents. Before the fire which stole her parents away, she had never known misfortune. The concept was entirely new. Though losing one's parents, especially as a child, is always cruel and heartbreaking, Violet found it was much more cruel and heartbreaking to have lived in misery, then absolute bliss, only to be dipped into misery once more.

When she left the market, paper bags filling her arms, she could smell the smoke. There were a few older ladies huddled near a black car, looking off into the distance to Violet's left. Before she even turned to look, dread and knowing filled her. Violet lived in that direction. And when she turned she could see, far in the distance, a thick trail of black smoke interrupting the otherwise clear sky.

Violet couldn't even remember what she'd been thinking as she drove, panicked, toward the two homes. Which was it? Both? Though she couldn't properly recall, she seemed to remember a numb feeling. She wasn't sure if she was relieved or not when she passed Uncle Monty's home, still standing unharmed, and continued to the flames of her own.

By sheer stroke of luck, Sunny had forgotten an important ingredient at Uncle Monty's house and gone to fetch it. That was the single thing of the entire ordeal that Violet was thankful for. Everything else was lost. Her beautiful home, her inventions, her happiness. Quigley's maps and Beatrice's drawings. Quigley and Beatrice.

The funerals were a blur. Everything for the next few weeks was a blur. Violet didn't want to talk to anyone. She wouldn't eat, no matter how much coconut cream cake Sunny baked. She wouldn't invent. She didn't go to the movies on Sunday afternoons for matinees and then out for root beer floats afterward. All Violet wanted to do was sleep.

All three Baudelaire orphans felt the pain of losing Quigley and Beatrice, though none as hard as Violet. When their pain had ebbed in the following weeks, hers did not. It seemed the most foreign concept of all that Klaus could sit and read or Sunny cook, as if the most disastrous thing imaginable hadn't just recently passed.

Klaus told her time and time again that it was highly improbable the fire was started on purpose. Maybe it was because of the misfortune they'd lived through and finally having peace, but he didn't want to hear any more about it. The last time she saw Klaus, she'd screamed at him for being no different than Mr. Poe.

Violet winced at the memory – it was not her best moment. But, in those weeks following the fire which took her soon-to-be-husband and adoptive daughter, Violet was not at her best self. Nor had she been since she'd left in the dead of night with not so much as a note.

When she sat up on the bed, the weak springs gave a loud groan. The guilt in not leaving a note for Sunny and Klaus brought her attention to the half-finished letters that covered the desk, spilling onto the floor. Every night Violet told herself that she would clean the following day, but never actually got around to it. Bottles clanged and rolled as she stood. It was a noise from her childhood – a noise of Count Olaf's – that made her cringe. It wasn't as though she remained in a constant state of drunkenness, only that a glass here and there helped calm her nerves. The reason there were so many bottles was more due to her recent untidiness than a newfound love of wine.

Violet stumbled, as one often does after spending an entire day in bed, over to the desk. Most of the letters were scribbled out, the others bunched up into balls. Klaus and Sunny smiled up at her from a picture taken in Kenya. Quigley looked as warm as ever in his picture, those brilliant brown eyes wide in shock, a small python tangled in his curly black hair. It was Beatrice's photo that always bothered her. Violet's adopted daughter had always been a serious child and was never one for laughter or smiling. The vacant expression in the snapshot, taken on her third birthday, seemed grim to Violet now.

The matchboxes, the leaves, the mysterious note – they were all on the desk, as well. Violet ached to pull her hair up and put the pieces of this puzzle together, but she'd lost her ribbon a few weeks prior when she'd burned the third house down.

The matchbox stared at her. Such a simple thing to cause so much pain and destruction. It was the easiest thing in the world. There was no need for some complex invention to ignite an entire home. All she'd had to do was light a match with the swish of her hand, then let it fall where it would catch.

Someone had lit her home on fire. No matter what Klaus tried to argue, Violet knew it was done on purpose, with the intent to kill. But, whether she was meant to be in the house or not was a question she didn't have the answer to. And what of Sunny and Klaus? What if Uncle Monty's home was in danger, too?

Violet thought of her promise to her parents – that she would always protect her siblings. But, to say her actions were only an act of protection would be a lie. Violet wanted revenge for the happy life that had been taken from her.

After she left, taking only the clothes she wore, the photos, and her ribbon, Violet secured a small studio apartment in the next town over, under the name Delia Boule-Tavier.

Then her real work began.

Violet suspected, in her heart of hearts, that this all came back to Count Olaf. Of course, he was dead, but his accomplices were every bit as deadly as he and, quite likely, looking for revenge of their own. It took her four months to find the whereabouts of one of his theatre troupe and burn the house to the ground. Violet, sick with what she'd done, didn't stay long enough to see if anyone escaped.

The second actor's house came about more quickly than the first. It also went up in flames more quickly. Mesmerized by the destruction she and one small wooden stick could cause, she was nearly caught. The fire sirens were near when she came to her right mind and fled the scene. The next day, she read in the paper that Olaf's ex-henchman had perished, as well as his brother.

There was a long gap between the second and third fires, the latter happening only a few weeks ago. That time Violet stayed and watched from the roof of the building nearby. The screaming, the wailing, she could still hear it if she tried. Though the moon was only just rising when she set the fire, the sun was nearing by the time she left. The flames and smoke, as they often do when in the middle of a bustling city, attracted a great crowd. Violet was aware of the large crowd, but never tore her eyes from the flames ripping the home apart. Had she been more aware, she might have realized her ribbon was quite loose. Had she realized her ribbon was loose, a gust of wind might not have carried it away, down to the frantic street. Had she realized the wind stole her ribbon, she might have decided to keep an eye on it until the crowd dispersed, so she could reclaim it. Had she done that, she might have seen, an hour or so later, a tall, thin man with long, slender fingers bend to claim her ribbon. Had she seen the man take her ribbon, she might have seen him scan the area from left to right. She might have seen how he looked up. She might have seen how he saw her.

But, Violet didn't. All she saw were the flames until she knew it was time to go home.

Home, however, was where things became more interesting. A mystery was placed on her rumpled bed with care. There was a brown paper bag, crisp, just waiting on her as if it were a neighbor come to chat. Violet's eyes darted to the half-open window and the thin curtains blowing in the breeze. There was a feeling of violation, along with a deep shame that someone had seen how untidy she'd grown. After she was certain there was no one in her tiny apartment, Violet closed and locked the window, then opened the bag.

Things became even more mysterious. Inside the bag where several purple leaves with four sharp points and a thick smell of salt. No matter how many times she racked her brain, Violet knew she'd seen these before, yet couldn't place them. Among the leaves was a hand-scrawled note, which simply read: arsonist.

Someone knew it was her. The more Violet thought on it, the more she suspected it was one of Olaf's cronies. In the weeks that followed, she researched botany, hoping to get a match on the strange leaves, but failing. If she could identify the leaves, she could potentially identify the person. There were plenty of matches in the world to quiet them.

Oddly, Violet felt safe in her apartment, despite the fact that someone had broken in. Since then, she'd installed bars on the inside of her window and three additional locks for her door. Each day, she visited the library for more books on botany, feeling she was in a race against time, with her life and the life of this other as the stakes.

Violet pulled herself from the desk to change her dress and slip on her shoes. Before long, the library would be closing and she'd finished fingering through the books from yesterday. Books tucked under her arm, she left the apartment and took the elevator down from the fourth floor where she lived. Outside, the sun was beginning to grow tired, casting red splotches across the buildings under it. Violet lived only two blocks from the library, so her visit was relatively short and she was back on her way home. Reading while she walked, which her parents had always insisted was rude, was a habit she'd gained from Klaus. Between her apartment and the library, there were several stalls which sold food and so, in between the stalls she would read and walk, putting her book down at each one to see if there was something she would like to eat. At the fifth stall, she chose a roast beef sandwich with horseradish, then tucked the paper bag under her arm and continued on her way, nose tipped into the book.

At the door of her apartment building, she froze, eyes wide. Violet had just turned the page and there it was – a full color drawing of the purple leaf, down to the four sharp points. After the initial shock of finding it, Violet stepped inside and began reading as she waited for the elevator, not the slightest clue who she'd just been within arm's reach of as he watched her expression of concentration.

The scientific name, as most scientific names are, was quite difficult to read, but the book insisted that it was commonly called Devil's Prayer. Engrossed, she learned it only grew in sand, had a strong smell of salt, and that eating the purple leaves would render a person in a near-death state, with such shallow breathing that one could be declared dead. The heart rate would become nearly undetectable and the person could remain in that state for several days.

Violet didn't understand the relevance. Not until about thirty seconds later, when she was on the elevator, awaiting the doors to close. For some odd reason, the doors weren't closing on their own and so she reached to push the button which forces them shut.

None of that made the plant any more relevant, of course. It was that as they were closing, Violet happened to look up and through the elevator doors, which faced the glass entrance doors to the apartment building. A man happened to be passing those glass doors and met her glance with a smirk and two shiny eyes that she knew very well. Then the elevator doors were shut and she was rising toward the fourth floor, just as the panic was rising in her.