A/N: So, while writing Save Me From This Mess Called Life, I stumbled across the idea of Jay and Evie having magic powers like Mal since Jafar was the "most powerful sorcerer in the world" for a quick second and Grimhilde was able to use a magic mirror and mix potions enough to transform herself into an old hag.
This story will still be mainly JayxEvie but it does differ from SMFTMCL in regards to the Isle itself and all ideas I had centering around that story. This one is more exciting in my opinion, however Harry Hook and Uma and Gil will not play a critical role in Evie's character development here. The only piece that will be the same is Grimhilde adopting Evie because let's face it, she's too vain to want to produce an heir on her own and the Isle probably has more abandoned children than either the movie and book let on.
I do not own Disney, Descendants movies, or Melissa De la Cruz and her Isle of the Lost books. All characters/settings/places are not mine.
A figure in blue leather lurked behind the alleyway. Keeping her back pressed against the brick, she stilled. Waiting with baited breath, she strained her ears to pick up the usual hustle and bustle of the marketplace. Black boots would be stomping on the cracked cobblestones any minute. She braved a glance up towards the usual gloomy gray sky. The colors swirled together in bleak clouds that were currently covered by dirty frayed rags hanging over broken windowsills and rusted fire escapes. Aladdin would be at home here, the original street rat of Agrabah. Unless he preferred luxury sheets and Auradon fancies now.
A dark shadow flittered against the bricks and her fingers moved to the blade by her side. Wordlessly counting to three, her small frame launched itself out of the shadows and onto her attacker, knocking them both to the floor. She kept her blade pressed against his neck before she sliced a thin red line across his throat. Not satisfied with her quest for revenge, for wandering hands and muffled screams and the begging and the pleading and the laughter, she drove the blade through the heart. Again and again and again until all that was left was blood and a broken body with eyes begging for her to stop...for the pain to end.
A quiet jingling of her purse caused her eyes to snap up from the dead body. A dark shadow was all she could see before she turned and pounced onto her new opponent. It was not like her to be so careless...so sloppy.
He hit the ground with a stifled cry, leather clad fingers digging into the blue leather material covering her hips. Her blade poised at his throat, her blue eyes scanned his face.
Large dark brown eyes were wide with a hint of fear and something else she couldn't decipher. The rapid movement of his chest created a rush of excitement to course through her veins. Her mother's voice began to buzz in her ears. The older woman screaming to kill him before he kills youbut something about the emotion in his eyes unsettled her stomach. An almost anxious feeling replaced her earlier bloodlust and she quickly forced the blade closer to the flesh of his neck before he could see she was slightly rattled.
"So this is when you kill me?" He managed to rasp out, his hoarse voice sending an unwanted shiver to tingle down her spine. His eyes shifted towards the sky. "I should've known better, I'll agree. Stealing a woman's purse...what was I thinking?"
"Shut the fuck up." She growled, slightly slamming his head into the ground. She was a killing machine. She was not intimidated by a thief. And a commoner too. Hades, what was she thinking?!
"My, my. Naughty words from such a pretty mouth. What would your mother think?"
Her blue eyes widened, the color beginning to change to brown with his words. Grimhilde would be furious with her. She was already late coming home. Her eyes narrowed in warning, before her ruby red lips parted.
"Don't ever try to steal from me again." Her words held nothing but complete and utter seriousness. He nodded his head once to show he understood her warning.
The weight of her body over his vanished, as well as the dagger at the base of his neck. He propped himself up on his elbows, barely managing to catch a glimpse of her navy blue coat billowing behind the corner of the alleyway in the night. He swallowed nervously, his eyes landing on the dead body of her attacker who laid still across from him. His trembling fingers rose to his throat at the thought of his being the next one that silver dagger sliced. A wetness covered his fingers and he began to panic until he remembered it wasn't his blood decorating his neck. Although neither thought made him particularly happy. Honestly, his stomach began to churn just thinking about how many people that dagger had killed.
Seeking her out was suicidal, he mused to himself, but he had to see this killer...this beauty in person. He sat up, twirling a cracked ruby in between his fingers. Besides, he wasn't the greatest thief on the Isle for nothing. And that ruby would let him and Mal eat for a week.