NOTE: Evi Koning goes by the name of Evi Jensen in Lethe.
Like a blind man may not know he is blind until the world informs him, a mistake does not know she is a mistake until she is told. And told. And told. Evi Koning was not planned. Ten years the junior of her sole sibling, she came into the world weeks early. Disregard of plans has been a trademark of hers since. The Konings had already borne a prodigal son and therefore had little use for this daughter, especially as she grew older and more frustrated with their outright disregard or, worse, disdain. It felt wildly unfair. After all, she played the part: learning piano, dutifully honing her magical skills, attending each social event with nary a hair out of place. And yet her weaker powers and lesser manners guaranteed that she remained second best to a family that, in itself, was always handed silver or bronze rather than coveted gold. The Konings struggled for status among Pretoria’s powerful hierarchy of witches and never truly came out on top. But that never stopped their attempts, each new one as dubious as the last. It wasn’t until their youngest was well into her teens and, by then, toting a less than admirable reputation that the Koning parents found a use for her: acquisition of an ally. The van Delouwe family had a son close to Evi in age. She was to use whatever charms she could to gain his favor and, hopefully, a powerful entete. As far as charms, her parents likely weren’t imagining drugs and alcohol, but these became her means of bonding with Ricus. She grew to know the youngest van Delouwe son, whom she discovered harbored his own reasons for strife. He saw through her ruse quickly and Evi hardly minded. Despite her exposure, what should have been an alliance grew into a friendship that blossomed into something else entirely, much like the plants she’d begun using that family magic to quietly nurture. A romance and a business took off in stride as Evi enchanted and Ricus sold these magical substances, two parts working like a well-oiled machine. Until it came to a screeching halt. She remembers their downfall as a moment of horrible discovery, of hands grabbing the collar of her shirt, of roared threats, of another roar entirely. And then her brother was gone, his blood on their hands. Her hands grabbed Ricus’s. They ran.
It would be nice to say that she left Evi Koning behind during the whirlwind years that followed. But the ghosts of her past trailed her. Ricus was a preferable relic to carry around, but the squinting eyes and whispered rumors at parties were not. This was how new identities were born and new cities inhabited. Though their residences were never long and they burnt through passports with haste, Evi would say she’s been happy. Even here, in this little town so eluded by the sun. Even when both she and Ricus still choke on violent dreams in the middle of the night. Even if it sits on a foundation of stolen goods, they’ve built a life. This has been their longest stay thus far and, in truth, she hasn’t minded the ability to settle. Has liked it, even. Building rapport with their growing body of customers, decorating their house, adopting enough cats to make her sneeze… it feels like a life lived for pleasure rather than driven by obligation. Unfamiliar but easy. Ricus spends money like they’re living in Paris again, but that seems a small price to pay for joy.
The money itself is perhaps less than pure, their recent surge of it brought on thanks to the disappearance of the namesake of Mallory’s Sundries. Though he’s returned, his months away served them kindly: Ricus and Evi hardly hurt for business. In a way, she’s thankful for the Riverborn. Isn’t everyone willing to turn a blind eye to the possible omens of men being dredged from a river if it means a new house? Well, no matter – for now, Evi and Ricus ride many a high and she counts her blessings in the form of an oblivious council and the souls risen from the Quinault. All seems well. Well enough.