I feel like I'm saying this every chapter now, which seriously sucks. I'M SO SORRY FOR TAKING FOREVER. You have no idea how much I missed writing for this story! Writer's block is a b!tch. Which I'm sure some of you already know.

Anyways, I'm here now and I'm ready for you all to (hopefully) enjoy this latest chapter. Now, let's rock-n'-roll!

But before you start reading, HEED THIS WARNING: This chapter contains Maleficent. You should all be terrified.


Thinking back, Jay remembered seeing marks scattered across Carlos' skin. Back before he and Carlos were partners-in-crime, when the little de Vil runt was nothing more than a play-thing he could score off of. He wanted to snatch the white-haired kid's gloves one winter morning, back when Jay was twelve and Carlos was ten—he was a scrawny kid, short, too; still is—but he had more muscle now. (Not that Jay was looking long enough to take note, mind you.) But now he couldn't stop staring at the broken-looking boy standing in front of him, with his hand outstretched to show off his latest "Dalmation Spot" with a smile.

Evie stood next to him, confused. She'd noticed the marks, but never pressed on about them with questions like Jay often did. She figured he didn't want to talk about them—she didn't like talking about her own injuries.

"You see? This proves Mom loves me." Carlos pulled his hand back, glancing back at the scabbed-over dot in the center of his palm. "She's marked me. Like one of her favorite furs—the Dalmation fur. I don't really like that one, just because, you know, Dalmations are d-o-g-s, but still, it's nice. It matches the other ones, do you wanna see?" He gripped his jacket, ready to pull it off should Jay or Evie have the curiosity to look at the others that spread across his sides and rib-cage and chest, or the ones across his lower back, or the few that mark up his calves and thighs. She loves me more every time she does it, Carlos thought every time she approached him with a cigar, every time.

The blue-haired princess shook her head, "We're fine, Carlos. No need."

Jay quickly pushed down the want to see Carlos shirtless—the cigarette burns would have drawn too much focus from the actual decent thing Cruella's given Carlos: his looks. Sure, Jay sometimes found Carlos... physically appealing... and he had to give credit where credit was do. Carlos' genes were great ones. At least half of those genes were from the psychotic bitch that would later mark up the perfection she carried for nine months until Carlos' birth. Jay was starting to wonder if Cruella was jealous of her son's looks—but that seemed too "Evil Queen" for Cruella.

All he knew was that Carlos loved his mother for making him look more like a Dalmatian. This wasn't right. (But it's not like Jay knew what right looked like—he doubted anyone on the island knew what it looked like. Carlos sure as hell doesn't.)

"I don't get it." Evie admitted. "How are you not reeling around in pain? I mean—some of my beauty treatments hurt like hell, and, yet, you're just peachy." Carlos could sense a bit of jealousy in her voice. He smiled, she's interested. "I mean, I know pain is easy to get used to—we're living proof of that—but, like, burning flesh is something I hardly have to deal with. You know, unless Mother, or I, for that matter, mix up a vile of perfume with acid or something."

Carlos' smile didn't falter, surprisingly. "Sometimes—on those rare occasions when I can truly tell when Mom's being genuine with her love, I kind of, I guess, like the feeling of the burns. It's... oddly soothing, to say the least."

Jay was horrified. Evie was intrigued. And Mal was busting through the door, with a little mini-Carlos trudging in behind her.

She seemed pleasantly surprised all three were here in the foyer, so she didn't have to go looking for them. Right away she could hear the pleasure-filled moans echoing throughout the mansion. No doubt Cruella was having some of her own fun. Carlos, Evie, and Jay looked like they'd grown used to the sound by that point. Mal wondered if they even noticed by now.

"Mal! Finally!" Evie shuffled to her best partner-in-crime, but she stopped when she noticed the head of shadowy-black with tufts of crisp, snow-colored white. "Who's this?"

"—Dillon!" Carlos answered, rather quickly, as he pushed past Jay and Evie and Mal. "What are you doing here?!"

He didn't even want to know why he was with Mal.

"She-e said y-you two w-were budd-d-dies." Dillon glanced over at Mal, who was now standing with Evie against the wall, while Jay was left in the open space, straddling on the line separating the foyer from the living room. Dillon's eyes went back to his older cousin, "S-she helped m-me-e."

Mal kind of wished Dillon hadn't admitted that. She sucked in a breath, and waited as Carlos turned to face her. Concern was practically bleeding from his face.

"What'd you do...?" Carlos turned back towards Dillon, and then back at Mal, "How'd you help him?"

Do I tell him?, Mal thought, do I tell him my mother's henchman had raped his little cousin, and that I simply walked past the scene like it wasn't even happening? Do I tell him I abandoned Dillon as he was crying for help? Only to get help the next day after the deed had already been done—and probably repeated over and over again?

Mal closed her eyes, and breathed back out: "He was lost. He reminded me of you, you know, with the hair and freckles and stuff, and I decided to be somewhat helpful and get him back here." Carlos was now staring at Dillon—taking note of his bloodied-things: his torn and button-less shirt, his stained underwear and wobbly legs. He knew now, he knew what Dillon had gone through. What he, himself, would have gone through had his mother not had the idea to keep him "innocent" until further notice.

He knew Dillon's experience was like Jay's.

(The only soul who knew about Jay's childhood "job", besides his father and his "clients", was Carlos. Jay's secrets were Carlos' secrets, for all he was concerned. Except the secret Mal and him were apart of—which, according to her, her mother, and his father, must not be shared with anyone. Not even Carlos—or else.)

"Who did this to you...?" Carlos bent down, watching the emerald-green eyes his cousin possessed carefully. Dillon was never a great liar—his eyes always gazed out when he lied, and, when it's one of those big lies, his eyes would twitch, and he'd blink a lot faster than normal. "Who raped you, Dillon?"

The younger de Vil spoke softly, but, to Mal's surprise, his stutter was nonexistent. "He told me to cry out 'Uklek' every time he pushed back into me—I guess that was his name." The purple-haired girl's face hardened, Uklek was one of her mother's main-henchmen, along with Dorgu and Vum. Now, Mal certainly knew who the next person her green eyes were gonna scare the living shit out of was: Uklek. Before she could fully-seethe with rage, however, she softened her appearance—Dillon was looking at her.

It seemed like he witnessed the emerald fire that made her eyes glow.

He was trembling.

"Who the hell is Uklek?" Carlos nearly-shouted. He'd carefully taken off his jacket and wrapped it around Dillon's shoulders. "It sounds like someone sneezing or something."

Evie stepped forward, harboring a gentle smile towards Carlos' cousin—he had dimples and that was adorable to her. "I don't know, but that's an ugly name, but, you know, it's fitting—he must be an ugly and horrible person for doing what he did." She grew serious, a little too serious for Jay's taste: his mind was reeling with memories of his father and his childhood job. "And we're gonna find him—trust me. I'm Evie, by the way. This," she turned to Jay, "is Jay—we're friends with your cousin. Now, are you the brother of Diego, or is he a cousin, too?"

"Diego's m-my older b-bro-brother." Dillon glanced back down at the floor. His stutter was back. "Y-you guys seem older than Car-los...?"

Evie nodded, "Mal, Jay, and I are sixteen."

"I'm al-almost eleven. N-next week's my b-birthday."

"I remember my eleventh birthday—my mother and I baked just about a thousand-or-so non-fat, non-sugary, non-ugly cookies. They tasted terrible, of course, and I was forced to throw them back up, but, still, it was nice before then. Certainly nicer than my sixth birthday, for sure." Evie side-eyed Mal, who rolled her eyes in response.

Dillon smiled, "I m-must've been al-almost one, b-by then."

"Yeah, you were there before all the shit happened," Carlos crossed his arms, and continued on, "Diego had taken both of us. My mother certainly wouldn't. You started crying because of Maleficent-knows-what and Diego had to take you home. Leaving me. I then watched as Maleficent rained her terror upon the party, scared the fucking shit outta me, which, occasionally, results in recurring nightmares; even now, ten-fucking-years later. Ask E, she's got 'em, too."

Evie pushed forward, placing a gentle hand on Carlos' hand, "C, chill."

The freckled-teen shrugged off her hand; his partners-in-crime have overstayed their welcome. "Alright guys, it's time for everybody to leave. Dillon, come on, I'm taking you home."

"C-can I stay here? Just for t-to-tonight?" His green eyes lit up like Mal's did when she saw something of interest. This interest being a nice, cozy, place to sleep. (Even though Carlos found nothing about the de Vil mansion "nice" or "cozy". Especially when his mother, Dillon's aunt, was having a rather long "business-meeting" that would last well into the night and, possibly, ending after dawn.)

"No." Carlos had started to zip up his jacket around Dillon's frame.

"Please...?"

"No."

"Pleeeaaasssseeeeee...?"

"Dillon—"

"C-CARLOS, PLEEEEEEAAAASSSSEEEEEEE...?!"

"..." Carlos bowed his head in defeat, sighing audibly. "Fine."

Jay snickered from behind, resulting in an elbow-jab from Evie, who'd been tugging at her blue locks while Dillon begged his cousin to let him spend the night. Mal had droned out by now—her head was beginning to hurt.

"Wanna sleep in my room? Or do you wanna have a sleepover in the attic?" Carlos knew the answer: the attic.

"Fuck that. No way in hell am I going through that shit again. No more scaling rooftops. Once is more than enough for this Princess." Evie gripped the hem of her skirt, "Never, ever, again." She ignored the protests from Jay, who'd already recalled his strip-tease, and the fact that she loved it. "We can stay in Carlos' room."

"It is barely a room, Evie. The attic has more space." Mal replied, rolling her shoulders. There was a twisted-feeling in her gut, but she chose to ignore it. And her tattoo was starting to tingle; she subtly scraped her arm against a wall, satisfying and stopping the annoying bugger of an itch. She drew her attention back to the group and suddenly met Dillon's eyes—glowing green. He blinked, and they were back to normal. Mal held her breath, and stilled in her spot.

Dillon hadn't noticed his eyes. But he noticed her distress, earning her a concerned glance back from the young de Vil brat.

"I'm fine," she mouthed, silently. Even though after witnessing that she was far from fine. Carlos, Evie, and Jay weren't paying attention to her, so they didn't notice. They were still arguing about sleeping over in the attic or Carlos' broom-closet of a room.

Evie dropped her hands back down to her sides, sighing, "Whatever. I've gotta go back home and drop off stuff for my mother."

"Same, for my dad." Jay followed her out.

Mal took a second to process what she missed—she thinks Carlos had told them to come back later, and that they'll decide then. She stepped forward, giving one last glance at Dillon, before following her fellow sixteen-year-olds out of the mansion. Her eyes sank to the ground after hearing the large doors close behind her, and Carlos murmuring out a badbye.


She'd barely made it back to the Bargain Castle before sundown. The door creaked as she slid it open, as gingerly as possible, to pull herself through and lock the door back. She heard the squawk of a raven, and rolled her eyes. "Dammit," Mal muttered.

Her back was turned to the black-eyed creature, but she could feel it's glare.

"What, Diablo?" Mal waved her hand at the bird, rolling her shoulders as she strolled past him, readying herself to climb the rickety stairs up to her bedroom. She just wanted to lie down for a few minutes—to process this whole Dillon-thing and his green eyes. Her purple covers and pillows would surely be comforting and allow for the simplest way to soothe her mind, if not her entire body. Maybe it'll even satisfy her unruly itch.

"de Vil!" The bird squawked, annoyingly. Mal froze—it sounding like... him. Dillon. It sounded like Dillon. "I'm not gonna hurt you," Mal's voice. "Why would I hurt my buddy's little cousin?" Still Mal's. She remembered herself saying those words earlier.

The teenager turned ever so slowly, her eyes narrowed and bloodthirsty. Her mother. Her mother sent that bird to spy on her—to watch her and her partner-in-crimes. Oh, she was so pissed. So fucking pissed. The winged, black rat heard Dillon's voice, mimicked him, and did the same to her—mimicked her in a state where she wasn't at her evilest—in a state where she sounded kind and caring, her voice soft and safe. Oh, how her mother would go ballistic.

Mal wasn't sure if the raven had told her mother. But she was sure he had. He was her mother's animal. Her shadowy beast that did her bidding. The black to her purple and green. The crow to her fairy. The raven to her dragon.

"Diablo, have you told my mother these words...?" She inched closer to the beady-eyed mongrel.

He stayed silent. She jumped at him, her fingers ever-so-close to grabbing a leg. But the blasted animal ascended into the rafters that held the crumbling roof and disappeared in the shadows. From it's hiding spot, he echoed out: "I-I'm fine. I'm f-f-fine. I d-don't need any help-p." Dillon's voice. Was the raven playing games with her? Was he giving her hints?

She mentally shrugged; this couldn't bother her anymore than it already did. She gave up and climbed the stairs to her room, where she would lay in bed and drift off into an awful, nightmare-fueled nap. Ah, back to normal.


Jay hardly got an approving glance from his father after showing up with all his loot. Barge Day was a fucking bust. Jafar guessed the Auradonians were just being stingy now. They barely got anything valuable enough to flaunt off to the rest of the island. And that irked Jafar. Greatly. So much in fact that Jafar would bring Jay into his back room, filled with old, empty boxes and crates filled with nothing but decade-old dust, and he'd smack and spank and whip and flick and grip and pull and scratch and cut and finally sell his son throughout the hours from sundown to sunrise. Sometimes longer.

But today—today of all days—Jafar didn't. And that scared Jay. Scared him so much in fact that Jay thought his father would do something worse just when he least expected it; like when he was attempting to gain a few hours of sleep in his closet, or when he was heading out to go meet with his friends. Jay expected his father to stop him from venturing back out—to Cruella's mansion—into the night. But he didn't. Jafar didn't gripe at him or hit him.

In fact... Jafar waved him off.

Waved.

Jay couldn't help but feel that he was going to regret ever letting his guard down. But, ever so cautiously, after separating himself from his father by at least a hundred yards or so, he did. Jay relaxed his muscles and headed straight for Carlos'. He knew he'd be early. But... that thought only made him walk faster, doing his best to get there even earlier. All he knew was that the more time he was with Carlos, the less he felt down.

The more time he was with Carlos... the better. And that was enough for him. Plus, after learning more about Carlos' taste for dotted-burns, he mentally told himself to check in on the fourteen-year-old more often. He just hoped Carlos didn't mind him showing up early.

Hell Hall was in sight—the towers and ridges of roof he scaled were plain as day. He walked a few more feet, beyond a building, and could see the mansion in all it's terrifying glory. The big red doors looked as inviting as ever (not.) and the pure scale of the towers that loomed seemingly-hundreds of feet in the air were far too mind-boggling and stomach-upsetting for Jay's taste. But what did he know—his father's shop was only one story tall and he spent most of his time crammed in a tiny closet, under the weight of broken television sets.

Maybe tall things in general just... didn't work for him. (The only reason he was calm atop the roof was so he could get Carlos and the girls to safety. But he'd never admit to that.)

And maybe that's the reason that Carlos did work for him. He was a whole head taller than the freckled-teen, after all.

(Which was a fact that drove poor little Carlos up the wall with annoyance, of course.)

He knocked on the door—the blood-red paint was beginning to chip under his knuckles, revealing the blackened, rotting wood underneath. A few minutes passed before the door creaked open against it's will and Jay saw his favorite partner-in-crime. He smiled glumly up at Jay, and welcomed him in.

"You're early," chided Carlos.

"I know," replied Jay.

Carlos pushed the door back into it's original place and tugged Jay along up to the attic. They passed the Cruella portrait—Jay tried to ignore her bare breasts, he really did—and then climbed the stairs. A good time later, and the duo was greeted by Dillon up in the attic. He was sitting by the window they had used for their means of escape, watching what he could.

Jay slugged the kid gently on the shoulder, "Hey, squirt."

"Hey."

Dillon gave him an affirmative nod, before returning back to the window. Jay left the boy and walked over to Carlos, who was leaning against the opposite wall, staring at him. "What?" Jay asked, crossing his arms. Staring meant analyzing. And analyzing meant people were curious, suspicious. And that only meant that they were on to Jay—on to his schemes. It was different with Carlos, though. Was Carlos curious?

Jay paled at the thought.

Carlos. Curious.

Hopefully, Jay thought, Carlos won't ask too many questions. Especially ones that Jay didn't have the answers to.

"Nothing. Just thinkin' about what game should we play to pass the time before Evie and Mal show up." Carlos crossed his right leg over his left, and crossed his arms to match Jay's. "Or something else? Wanna play 'The Thief and the Victim' again?" Oh, how Jay loved that game. Carlos came up with it a few days after he helped Jay with snatching a few rotten apples back in the bazaar. "I could be the victim, again, and you can be the thief. If Dillon wants to play, he can be a bystander. Or another victim. Or, or, maybe your accomplice."

Jay didn't like the way Carlos always naturally took on the role of the victim. He was evil like the rest of them—he's a damn evil genius, for Maleficent's sake!—and he could hold his own with his unmatched intelligence. He was one of the Rotten four; he shouldn't be a victim, he should be feared! Carlos knew how to act tough—to show his true dark side to those who dare to witness it—and he knew how to trick people. Not like Jay. Jay could never do what Carlos does.

Carlos thinks. Logic is more of a friend to Carlos than Jay was. The de Vil boy thought his dark and twisted thoughts and put plans into action to see those become reality. He lives and breathes on horror—his mother aids in that department—and he can't help but add to the masses.

Jay knew Carlos was a chaotic evil. A leashed chaotic evil. Jay knew Carlos was holding back... a dog's leash can only last for so long before it snaps and the monstrous growls emerge and the rabies spread from victim to victim. Carlos was gonna snap that leash one day, Jay knew it, and when it does, Jay knows he'll fall under the influence of such a vile evil. Oh, Jay knew. But Carlos didn't. Carlos took on the role of the victim. And he played it well. And Jay didn't like that.

"No," Jay muttered. "You be the thief. I'll be the victim. Dillon can be your accomplice."

He didn't expect Carlos' eyes to sparkle as much as they did.

"Okay!" He clapped his hands, "So, uh, what am I trying to steal?" Your heart?, Carlos thought, instinctively. His beanie hat. Jay loved that thing. His gloves. They were vital to stop slippery fingers, and to help his sticky ones. His vest. Stealing that wouldn't be easy. Not to mention Carlos would be practically all over him in an attempt to grab at it. To paw at it.

Jay broke his train of thought. "A lock of my hair."

"What...?" Carlos gasped—not his hair. "No way. Your hat. I can steal your hat." He certainly wasn't gonna steal a lock of Jay's hair. That was absurdly ridiculous. He didn't even have scissors up here in the attic. And, even if he did, there wasn't anything that'd make him cut off Jay's luscious hair. (Carlos wasn't jealous of Jay's hair. Not at all.)

"That's too easy."

"Perfect. I'm still new at thievery. Gimme the easy stuff—your hat. Your hair is not easy." Besides, Jay would get super pissy about it later when his hair didn't even out; Carlos chose to ignore the pit in his stomach when thinking about what Jafar would do to Jay if he noticed. Jafar liked petting Jay's hair ever-so-often, Carlos remembered. It happened once with Carlos there, and, instinctively, Jay shrugged it off as a normal occurrence. Like it was no big deal.

(Carlos failed to recognize that he too was guilty of such acts, if his Dalmatian spots were any indication.)

Jay rolled his shoulders and scoffed, "Fine, newb. You and Dillon have gotta snatch my hat and make haste over to that corner of the room," he pointed at the far corner, near Dillon, "before I can snatch my hat back. If I get it back before you get to the corner, you lose."

"What's the punishment if we lose? And what if we win? Do we get an award?" Carlos crossed his arms, "I think if Dillon and I win, you will have to... do whatever we say for the rest of the night."

"Okay. Fine. But if I win, you two will have to do everything I say for the rest of the night."

"You're on!" Cried Dillon, who was already marching right over to the older boys. His eyes were sparkling and he was determined to win. Carlos took him by the shoulder and motioned up at Jay with his eyes and a shrug.

"We're stealing his hat, okay?" Carlos stated, matter of fact. Dillon nodded, and eyed his enemy; Jay smirked down at him with a 'Bring it on, de Vil' look. Carlos recognized it often—Jay usually gave him the same look when Carlos would say he'd grow taller than Jay one day. He could almost reach Jay's eyes when he managed to accidentally step up and onto Jay's bigger feet. Not that he noticed or anything. Pfft.

All three of them got into "attack mode," two on one and one on two.

Ready, Carlos thought, set... "Go!" All three lunged forward.


Evie sat patiently in the chair in the center of the room, waiting for her mother to show her face and sift through the items she snagged from the barge. Sit up straight, she reminded herself, don't frown—wrinkles. Don't smile, either. Ah, there, perfect. Her mother typically wanted to try a few of the products on Evie first, either to make her one and only daughter more attractive or to test whether or not some ill-intentioned Auradonian had added a few more harmful chemicals to the beauty-products. The Evil Queen couldn't possibly show her face to the rest of the island if it had been somehow marred with horrible chemicals—not that she showed her face to the rest of the island that much these days.

Her mother was taking her sweet-ol'-time, though. At this rate Mal will beat her back to Hell Hall, despite taking a nap rife with nightmares and horribleness. Evie never minded being fashionably late—but this was pushing it. Maybe mother just... forgot? Evie asked herself. No... no. Mother never forgets her urgent eyeliner shortages, or any other make-up catastrophes. Something must be wrong. Evie rose from her seat, eyes weary and fingers shaking.

Quickly, but not rushed—she couldn't get sweaty, not with this eyeshadow—she made her way down corridor after corridor until she reached her mother's chambers. Evie, holding her breath, knocked tentatively. "M-mother...?" No answer.

She knocked again, louder. No answer.

Okay, fuck this. She twisted the rusty knob and pushed the heavy door open. The blackness of the room gave her a little bit of relief. Maybe Mother is just sleeping. Maybe she pulled a Mal. She widened the door, letting the candle-light from the hall shine into the room, granting Evie the ability to see most of the shapes in the chamber—her mother's cracked vanity, her busted wardrobe, her worn-down bed—mother! Evie could barely see the outline of plumpness under the covers, but it was definitely her mother's shape.

(Not that she'd ever tell her that, of course.)

"Mother!" Evie stepped further into the dimly-lit room, before kneeling down onto the bed and gently shaking her. The Evil Queen never liked being awoken, it startled her, and getting startled did not help with wrinkles. But Evie didn't care, not at the moment. "Mother—Mother, wake up!" It was then that Evie finally noticed her mother's eyes. Grimhilde was wide-eyed and her mouth was agape. Her skin was a colorless gray, like the sky every day here on the Isle. Evie, also wide-eyed and gasping, finally realized just how cold her mother was. She was colder than the castle basement every winter. Colder than Maleficent's personality. Almost as cold as... death. Evie quickly began to panic, "M-mom...? M-mom... m-mommy...!"

She continued to shake her mother—hoping, begging for her body to warm up, her skin to get some color, and her eyes to look up at her sobbing daughter and show her that she was fine; that she was alright. But what happened instead shook Evie to her rotten little core.

A crisp-white paper slid out her mother's hands, which had been propped up onto Grimhilde's stomach, and fell down at her side.

Evie's watery-eyes barely saw it. Gingerly, she picked up the folded note and opened it up. Scribbles were on it—Evie guessed the author of the note didn't have the best calligraphy, just like most of those stuck here—the words were purple and green, skipping over each other.

To the Daughter of the Evil Queen,

She deserved it. You shouldn't be upset—you knew your mother better (which means you probably got the worst of it) than most—she never treated you the way you should have been treated. Evil may run through our veins, sweetheart, but you and your partners-in-crime know there's certainly more to you all than just being "bad to the bone." Some of you just haven't realized that yet; but you will, with some help. I did you a favor, Evie.

So you should do one for me.

See you soon, Princess.

The note silently slipped through Evie's numb fingers—tears reached the floor before the thin paper could.


Mal heard someone groping at her door, rapping at it with long fingernails and what hinted at annoyance. Ah, dearest Mother's home. Mal shifted her weight onto her side as she twisted herself out of the sea of magenta and dark purple covers, before pushing herself of the edge of the bed and stepping over to the rickety old door. She felt for the knob—her eyes were still sleepy and tired—and pulled the door open. And there she was: the Mistress of All Evil herself, standing at right about her daughter's height (the confines of this island didn't do anything for her height at all), in all her villainous glory.

"Yes, Mother?" Mal yawned out, she should probably get going if she was gonna make it to Hell Hall by midnight.

Maleficent smirked her usual-smirk and snapped her fingers, motioning for her dearest daughter to follow her down the stairs and into the main room. Diablo, despite being a bird, mimicked his master's sickening smirk. Mal hated that animal with a passion—she had so many wonderful nightmares about plucking that crow featherless. One day, you flying rat. One day.

Her mother didn't like to start explaining why she dragged her out of bed until after she found her comfortable spot on her patchwork-throne-like chair. But this time, Maleficent just stared at her groggy daughter.

"Well, what is it?" Mal griped. She had to get going soon—she didn't want to keep everyone waiting. She wanted to study the little de Vil more closely, because something was up. She just couldn't put her finger on what, exactly. "Or can I go?" She hoped for the latter—she's too tired to deal with her mother if she was upset about something, which she probably was; she usually is.

Maleficent's face perked up. "Oh? Going to hang with your little... mongrels-in-crime, or whatever you call them?"

"My partners." Corrected Mal. Her mother knew full well they were her partners.

"Right, right—your partners." Maleficent scoffed. "Honestly, Mal, I don't know why you frolic around with those wannabes. Especially the one that's the son of Cruella fucking de Vil—who didn't even die all those years ago, mind you. I respect, to a degree, to a low degree, the other two's parents—Jafar and Grimhilde. They died all those years ago, along with yours truly, and came back! Cruella—well, I'm pretty sure all that happened to her was that she got thwarted by a litter of puppies and a fucking skunk, along with those two bumbling idiots she calls her own 'partners-in-crime'." Maleficent rolled her eyes and made a gagging expression. "No progeny of mine should be partnering up with a de Vil. I mean, my goblins, that old black-and-white crazy crone thinks that she, of all people, deserves the last name de Vil. Please. I'm pretty sure that I, the Mistress of All Evil, a living dragon, would be much more fit to bear the title of de Vil."

Mal crossed her arms and smirked. Well then. "Wow, Mother. Jealousy is not a good color on you." Oh, how Mal loved the sight of her mother's eyes widening and her nostrils flaring. "And for your information, Cruella's son is pretty damn smart—smart enough to punch a fucking hole in the barrier for a good while—and he even has the balls to tell me that you are no dragon."

Oh, Maleficent was pissed. Pissed right off.

Maleficent sprung from her seat and launched at her daughter, forcing Mal back a few steps before her mother's hand (which would certainly be sporting her evil magic if it wasn't for the barrier) finally collided with her face. The resounding smack danced across the house, loud enough to earn a small cry from Diablo. "You seem awfully defensive over someone who's just a partner-in-crime. Oh, wait. I do recall Diablo informing me that the de Vil is now referred to as a buddy of sorts. That explains it."

Silent, Mal stared at the floor. Her cheek was burning—a bright red color blossomed into a hand-shape across her face, stinging like a bitch—there would certainly be a big, obvious bruise there in a few hours.

Maleficent continued on. "I woke you up from your pleasant little nightmares to tell you that Auradon's Soon-to-be-King has his precious, princely little eyes on you and your partners-in-crime. But I'll explain to you more about that gag-inducing subject later, after you go off and play with your little mongrels, and after you learn to respect the woman that gave birth to you. Or you'll regret it—and so will your friends; I'd hate to have to show that cocky little de Vil just how much dragon is still in me... oh, who am I kidding, I'd love it." The woman swiftly grabbed hold of her daughter's jaw, gripping it tight and making sure to dig her nails with just enough pressure to draw a little blood. The woman shrugged, "I'm sure he would to—isn't he a sucker for a little pain and pleasure? What with all those cigar-burns."

Mal yanked away from her mother, her eyes glowing that glorious-green. "I'm leaving." She turned to walk out of the main room and down the steps to the front door.

"Please," Maleficent smirked, "do."


I'd like to thank you all for your wonderful support of this story, and I hope the long waits between updates hasn't driven all of you away. Again, I'm so sorry.

Also, to answer Guest 123's question: Fret not, this story is planned to continue on into Auradon.

And, a few people have asked whether or not Evie/Carlos or Jay/Carlos is happening because both have been seemingly getting some decent focus. (Hopefully the end of this chapter filled the Mal/Carlos tag, too.) To be completely honest, everyone's with everyone, so to speak. That's polyamory for you, kids. (I doubt that's the exact definition, but still—no one's completely with one person in this story. But, right now in the story, no one's with anyone. So yeah.)

Alright! I hope you enjoyed the chapter and I hope you tune in next time for what's soon to come! Reviews are always appreciated! Thanks for reading!