Supervillain Success Secrets: A Devious Diva's Playbook: Misguided Guides, #7

By Clare Chu

Are you tired of being a goody-two-shoes in a world that rewards the wicked? Ready to embrace your inner evil and unleash your most fashionably villainous self?

Join Evelyn Darkmore Quinn, a mild-mannered librarian turned budding supervillain, as she navigates the ups, downs, and upside-downs of the villainous life. With her untrusty sidekick Poe, a woeful raven with a flair for the dramatic, Evelyn will guide you through the art of crafting your sinister persona, assembling an evil chic wardrobe, and plotting hilariously misguided schemes that are sure to leave you cackling with delight.

But it's not all capes and world domination—Evelyn's journey is filled with mishaps, mis-advice, and a budding romance with her very own arch-nemesis that will have you rooting for the underdog in a whole new way.

Let Evelyn take you on a wild ride through the world of supervillainy. Get ready to see the world through the eyes of a fashionably evil mastermind—trust us, it's a lot more fun than being nice.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gigaverse Press
• Release date: Jun 2, 2024
• ISBN: 9798227799951

Clare Chu

Clare Chu hacked code in ye olde days of the mainframes, and now the code's hacking her as she weaves words of questionable wisdom and side-splitting sass. Her writing? Think fairy tales on steroids, myths meeting modernity, and the unexplained becoming eerily relatable. From self-help books that'll guarantee you more misadventures than life hacks to her tech-tangled farcical tales, she's your cheerful, if slightly zany, guide with a wink and a snarky grin.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

YOUR VILLAINOUS VOCATION AWAITS

Are you, like me, always the last one picked for a team? Or you’re the nice girl and viewed as some kind of consolation prize. Have you hesitated to speak out for fear of stepping on toes when yours are permanently flattened from the steamrollers you encounter daily?

That’s me, Evie Quinn, the overlooked librarian at Bone Hollow High School, quietly cataloging books and being spoken over by noisy patrons. I mean, where’s the respect for silence? Certainly not in today’s libraries where the book stacks are social hour and the quiet room holds frat parties … but I digress.

You know that stepped-over feeling that gnaws in the pit of your belly and the roiling urge to get back at your oppressors while you’re smiling and taking it, day after day?

Why, just the other day, I was minding my own business, shelving books in the romance section (which, let’s be honest, sees more action than a Vegas chapel on Valentine’s Day), when the school’s resident mean girl, Tiffany Tophu, sauntered up to me with her loyal band of lip-glossed lackeys.

Oh, look, girls, she sneered, her perfectly glossed lips curling into a smirk. It’s Evie, the librarian. I bet she’s just living vicariously through these trashy novels since she can’t get a date in real life.

Her minions cackled on cue, their laughter echoing through the stacks like a pack of hyenas. My cheeks burned with a mixture of embarrassment and rage, but I did what I always do—smile politely and pretend their words didn’t cut deeper than a rusty letter opener.

Is there something I can help you with, Tiffany? I asked as sweetly as I could muster.

She rolled her eyes. As if. Come on, girls, let’s leave the spinster to her books.

Something snapped inside me as they strutted away, their high heels clicking on the linoleum in a chorus of contempt. I was done being the doormat, the punching bag, the nice girl who always turns the other cheek.

No, it was time for Evie Quinn to unleash her inner evil, to make them pay for every snicker, every snide remark, every time they made me feel small. And so, with a heart full of vengeful determination and a head full of wicked schemes, I set out to become the supervillain I was always meant to be.

How about you, dear reader?

Do meanies make you feel like a squished bug?

Are you at the point where you can’t take it anymore?

Ready to unleash unlimited havoc on their smug little lives?

Then what are you waiting for? Let’s embrace the dark side and get them back. Plot our vengeance and cackle with glee as they shrivel and squirm, peeing their panties and groveling under our heels.

Hold up your hand and take the pledge of villainous vices!

Woe, woe, my untrusty sidekick, Poe, fluffs his black feathers of doom in a melodramatic display of exasperation. Thy plans are folly, doomed to feckless fail. As foolish as this dream in which you regale.

I glare through my horn-rimmed glasses at the giant raven perched on the top shelf amongst the cornices—blighted through with Shakespearean drama and prepare to throw a trashy romance at him.

He rolls his beady eyes, knowing I could never hurt him, and I wither, sliding the book into its proper location.

Shut your beak, Poe, is all I can manage. Doubt me at your peril, you feathered Philistine. Those perky cheerleaders will be turned into morose morons moping in melancholy and dropped from the cheer squad in zero seconds flat.

Thy master plan is to dishearten folk, Poe deadpans. In the library? Lo, behold the world.

Oh Poe, you of little imagination. I’m not going to let your sarcastic beak deter me. This is just the beginning. Today, the library; tomorrow, the world.

I attempt an evil laugh that comes out more like a strangled cat’s last gasp, but a villain’s gotta start somewhere.

Sow misery whilst dressed in garb unbefitting of villainy’s art? the raven scoffs. Perchance you must be reborn, discarding this meek guise, doth dreams of malice were meet in your eyes.

His taunt hits the mark. I don’t need to look in the mirror to know I don’t look the part. Bespectacled me, wearing a white blouse, a prim plaid skirt, knee-socks, and oxford shoes, I resemble a boarding school orphan—hardly a hint of villainy.

My laugh needs work, I concede. But fear not. I’ll toss the goody two-shoes and don dagger-sharp spikes.

Then hie thee to thy lair upon this earth, Poe caws too loudly for a quiet library. Sharpen that cackle’s edge, let it cleave warm blood. Lest thy declared nemeses catch thee in amateur’s mild flood.

Shhh. I stick my librarian’s finger to my lips.

With a warning caw that sounds more like a croak, he flutters into the depths of the stacks, leaving one black feather spiraling down to my saddle shoes. He’s right. I couldn’t scare a flea looking like a Sunday school teacher, and there’s not a minute to lose.

The bell rings, signaling the end of another mind-numbing day of shushing chatty patrons and reshelving books that no one reads. This librarian has grander plans than mere alphabetization. My enemy cheerleaders will soon return for their insufferable study session, but little do they know, their pep and popularity are about to come crashing down.

A sinister cackle bubbles up from the depths of my villainous soul as I concoct the perfect scheme. What if I could project an evil laugh through the heating ducts? Make them think the library is haunted by the ghost of a demented librarian scorned one too many times? Oh, the delicious terror on their perfectly made-up faces.

Ya, ha, ha! I gasp with delight, already envisioning their screams of terror. This is genius, even for me.

With a mischievous glint in my eye, I slip away from the circulation desk like a shadow in the night, bound for the janitor’s broom closet—the perfect lair for practicing my villainous vocals. Poe caws a warning about the perils of getting caught and fired for making noise in the library. What’s a little risk compared to the sweet taste of vengeance that awaits?

Tucking myself into the cramped confines of the closet, I take a deep, steadying breath and channel the dark forces bubbling within.

Mwa-ha-ha-ha! The cackle erupts from my lips, dry and raspy like a rusted hinge in desperate need of oiling.

Poe’s feathers ruffle with disdain. Forsooth, thy sinister sound doth resemble more the pathetic mewling of a newborn kitten than a villain's triumphant gloat.

I shoot him a glare sufficiently withering and then take a deep breath. Concentrating hard, I prepare to channel the dark forces simmering within.

Mwa-hee-hee-wee, I cough out a squeaky giggle, raspy and feeble like a dying hairdryer.

Poe’s feathers bristle with utter contempt. Prithee, wicked one. That ghastly sound resembles naught but a consumptive’s final, phlegmy wheeze.

Undeterred, I clear my throat and try again, this time aiming for a deeper, more menacing rumble. Mwah-hah-hah-HAHHH!

The last hah comes out as more of a hoarse bark, prompting a disapproving shake of Poe’s raven head. Forsooth, thy sinister gloat doth sound like a rabid cur choking on its own drool.

Before I can muster a retort, the unmistakable trill of girlish laughter echoes down the hallway, signaling the arrival of my sworn enemies—the cheer brigade. Led by the ever-insufferable Tiffany Tophu, they strut past the janitor’s closet, noses upturned in their infuriatingly superior way.

Did you hear that? Tiffany snickers, pausing mid-stride. Sounded like the librarian’s having some kind of seizure.

Aye, the shrew doth fancy herself a paramour, Tiffany’s bestie, Georgina Gentry, scoffs with a mocking laugh that sets my teeth on edge. Mayhap she pines for the embrace of the mop and broom, doomed to an eternity of sweeping solitude.

As if any man would give her a second look, their hanger-on, Cassandra Cluck, giggles dismissively. Nope, perpetual spinsterhood for that one.

Their words slice through me like a thousand tiny daggers, each one piercing the very core of my villainous soul. How dare these insipid pom-pom pushers mock the grand machinations of the great me—Evie Quinn—soon-to-be mistress of mayhem and mischief supreme?

Their tongues wag with the idle prattle of fools, Poe laments after the giggles dissipate. Pay no heed to the braying of sheep, for their bleating shall soon be drowned by the thunderous cackle of true villainy.

Inwardly, I nod, bolstered by my feathered companion’s dismal reassurance. These cheerleaders may reign over the high school hierarchy today, but their reign of terror shall be but a fleeting memory once I unleash my grand debut as a supervillain extraordinaire.

Yes, this was but a rehearsal. Next time, I shall be more prepared. Shoulders slumped, I turn to slink away in defeat, only to come face to face with the most deliciously dangerous pair of eyes I’ve ever encountered.

There, leaning against the wall with a smirk playing on his lips, is the infamous bad boy janitor of Bone Hollow High—Jake Hargrove. Now, I’ve heard the rumors and seen him lurking in shadowy corridors, but nothing prepares me for the rugged intensity of his presence. From the tousled dark locks that frame his chiseled features to the way his well-worn t-shirt stretches across his broad shoulders, this man radiates an aura of delicious danger—even if his job is to take out the trash.

Well, well, he drawls. What do we have here in my broom closet? A naughty librarian gone rogue?

My cheeks burn, whether from indignation or sheer, breathless attraction, I can’t say.

I … uh … was looking for my glasses, I sputter, readjusting them to get a better view of Jake’s smoldering eyes.

Jake pushes off from the wall and takes a step closer. Close enough for me to catch a whiff of motor oil, stale cigarettes … and something earthy, tantalizingly male.

Whatever you say, doll. His voice is a low, rough timbre. You might want to rethink that evil laugh. Sounded more like a squeaky hiccup to me.

Poe, damn his feathery hide, chooses that moment to descend in a swirl of indignant flapping. How darest thou mock the mistress of malice, thou uncouth ruffian. I’ll have thee know that Evie’s evil laugh is perfectly menacing, striking terror into the hearts of all who⁠—

Can it, Feathers, Jake interrupts with a wry grin, reaching out to ruffle Poe’s sleek plumage. My traitorous sidekick wags his tail, looking for all the world like he’s enjoying the attention. Seriously?

Seizing the opportunity to regain some shred of villainous dignity, I puff out my chest and level my most scathing glare at the distractingly handsome janitor. Listen here, you … you bad boy of the boiler room! I am Evie Quinn, scourge of the innocent, harbinger of⁠—

Yeah, yeah, got it, Jake cuts me off with a chuckle. Cute act, Bookworm. But I’d lay low for a while if I were you.

With a roguish wink, he grabs a push broom and brushes by me, disappearing between the stacks of my horny romance stash.

Well, I huff to no one in particular. The nerve of that overly cocky … that deliciously rugged … Oh, who am I kidding? That was a disaster from start to finish.