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“If I screw up?” I snarled. “Thanks for accounting for my total incompetence in pulling off this heist of yours.”
Thorn’s eyes swirled red once more.
“Out! Now!” he snapped. With a glare, I stepped out. He roared off, revving the exorbitant Porsche’s engine dangerously high and spitting road dust on my jacket and jeans.
I batted away flying pebbles.
“Cranky,” I muttered. “He runs me out of the car to creep outside the fence of an upscale Highland Road neighborhood, andhegets an attitude about it.”
I dusted off my jeans and stared at the wall before me. A row of oaks grew along the barricade constructed of irregular granite bricks capped by long limestone blocks. I scaled the nearest tree and leapt to the rampart’s top with a grace worthy of any wolf.
With my newfound night vision courtesy of the Hand or Thorn’s mark or a combo of both, I scanned the path forward and found it a straight shot to the building. It seemed too damn easy. Either there is a supernatural defense I’m not picking up, or I’m dealing with a stupid mortal.
I’m betting on door number two.
Most arcana collectors are mundane with too much money and the desire for power they cannot wield. Thorn and I both know it, but it doesn’t help when I’m going in alone, and this might be the one time that doesn’t prove true.
So, I ended up sitting atop a three-foot thick barricade clutching an oak branch to steady me, outside the west wing, the arcana wing, of a gorgeous ten-thousand square foot faux gothic mansion surrounded by stone paths, and gardens complete with palm trees.
Continuing my surveillance, I tuned into each of the magical artifacts inside the house. This guy possessed a world-ending quantity of magic artifacts. He’s either extremely stupid or paranormal.
I’m so praying for a stupid human.
Lights illuminated the windows in the wing nearest me, and I exercised considerable patience waiting for them to wink out. Finally, as a creeping numbness crawled up my legs, and I felt I could fall asleep against the tree trunk using Spanish moss as a coverlet, the last windows darkened.
Show time. A burst of energy electrified me.
Now there’s only one problem left to tackle.
Despite what everyone thinks, I’m not a thief. I find things, and ninety-nine percent of the time, the objects are out in the wild. Filching from a wealthy collector with the money for a security system is a different ball game, and it’s definitely not in my skill set.
Slip in, grab the thing, and skedaddle out. Easy peasy, right? Yeah, famous last words. Hopefully, they won’t be my own.
In one fluid motion, I dropped to a crouch between the ornamental trees and the sculpture between me and the house. As I prowled the meticulously kept stone path, no exterior lights winked on, no sirens blared, and no new scents assaulted me. Every molecule inside me focused on the item I must retrieve. Every magic has a different frequency. Each spell does, too, and I’ve done this often enough now to trust my instincts.
When I started this gig, I spent every second terrified I’d grab the wrong item and get my ass killed. Then I realized when I got a request, the need to locate it took up residence in my head, and I always connected to the item I sought.
Like magic.
Tonight, the evening featured the right kind of quiet. Frogs sang, mosquitoes hummed, and the cicadas shrieked their cacophonous chorus without interruption as I snuck across the garden and crept to the window Thorn described as belonging to the library.
My heart pounded, and I tested the lock Thorn said his guy broke on the last attempt. The tall window silently swung open like it beckoned me into the darkness. It set my teeth on edge and my internal threat sensors screamed I should run.
Then, it was gone, and a sense of calm filled and warmed me. It started below my neck, between my shoulder blades, and spread like a shawl around my body.
“I’m here.”
I should have been freaked out by the voice of the artifact, which encompassed me with unnatural calm, but the mark helpfully performed its job. My heart rate slowed, and my legs stopped wobbling like wet noodles.
I entered through the window, crouched on the ledge between two large, floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, and gave my eyes time to adjust.
The new clarity I experienced when I awoke after receiving the mark is even more noticeable in the near-total darkness. I blinked a few times and surveyed the room. Not only could I see the bookshelves lining three of the four walls, but I could also spot the spines of every book on every shelf. Even in the dark, the titles are clear. In fact, the gilt writingglowed.
Hell, yes. What other sorts of tricks do I have now? I can’t wait to find out.
The desk against the north wall faced a large window, and a long oak table commanded the middle of the room. In the corner, where the wall met the ceiling, a camera pointed to the interior doorway.
Hmm. But does the camera cover the whole room, or did its sweep radius leave blind spots? I study the lens and the room, comparing the camera’s sight path to the room’s area.
