Page 91 of Heart of Thieves

“Maybe . . .” Enzo frowns, and a trickle of fear sinks through our heart. Then he shakes his head, shoving that emotion away as though reminding himself how much he hates his brother. “Why don’t you search backstage? I’ll scour the front corridors and check the box office.”

“What about me?” Nic calls. “Don’t I get a job?”

Enzo opens his mouth to respond, ire erupting in our heart. I place a hand on his chest to stop him.

“Play nice,” I warn. “Don’t want Nocturne kicking us out of her game over your petty squabbles.”

Enzo rolls his eyes, shoving the lantern into my hands. “You keep this. I’ll find another one.”

“Don’t murder him while I’m gone,” I warn.

“But it would be so satisfying,” he grumbles, sulking off.

Nic throws a wink in my direction before disappearing into the shadows.

Rolling my eyes, I raise the lantern and make my way toward the stage. Once I’m sure Enzo is gone, I pull Nic’s list out of my belt. I have just a few hours to draw out several players for round three. Best get it over with.

It’s nearing four o’clock by the time I’ve directed all twelve of the people on Nic’s list through the illusionary set piece I put in the basement—an old, worn cottage with a false back that hides the cellar door. With that finished, I shuffle through the backstage area. Now all I need to do is plant a clue or two for Enzo to find, and we can get out of this place.

My lantern gutters as I make my way through a hall stuffed with costumes. Dresses and bonnets and corsets and trousers hang on every side, wispy as ghosts in the blinking firelight. A shape ahead catches my eye. A man standing utterly still dressed in gleaming buttons and silk like some kind of officer.

“H-hello?” I stammer, approaching.

He does not move.

Heart gargling in my throat, I skirt around him, only to glimpse a featureless face.

A mannequin.

I blow out a steadying breath, willing my heart rate to slow as I turn away. Several other mannequins lounge nearby in varying states of dress, and I try not to let my imagination run off with me as I pass them.

I’m nearly running by the time I glimpse the door.

My lantern blinks away to smoke, plunging me into darkness. I slam to a halt, pushing my glasses up my nose and squinting. The wick gives off the subtlest orange light, and I crouch to illuminate the floor in front of me so I can continue toward the door.

A black pair of dress shoes on the feet of a nearby mannequin gleam.

And then move.

I scream, leaping backward, dropping the lantern, which smashes against the floorboards.

A deep, silky laugh fills the room, and my terror melts into rage. “I’ll kill you,” I snap.

“Good luck with that, little thief.” He lifts his fedora away from his face, revealing the glowing scar I missed when I was so focused on his feet. “What in the stars’ names are you doing on the floor?”

I scowl, shoving to my feet. “You scared me.”

“Oops.” He grins.

I jab him in the chest. “That wasn’t funny.”

“Wasn’t it?” He catches my finger, and my lungs squeeze. Every single retort flees my brain, and all I can see is the faint blue glow of his eyes and the sparkle of his scar crinkling in a grin so familiar it makes me ache.

And suddenly, I’m not here with him the way he is now. When his breath gusts warm over my mouth, I’m back in the moments before our last kiss when he whispered that I’d been glamoured. When his smile fades and the scar smooths out, I find myself raising my free hand to trace its trail along his cheek, just as I did what feels like an eternity ago.

I try to pull away, but his grasp tightens on my fingers. “Little thief.”

That nickname on his lips stops me, as though he’s spoken a thousand words in just those three syllables.