Chapter 2
“You’re sure this is it?” the driver asked.
“Yup.” Luke stepped out of the car. He slung his bag over his shoulder. “Thanks.”
“Okay. Don’t forget to rate me!”
“I won’t!” Luke swung the door shut and walked up the gravel driveway to the old farmhouse.
The driver turned his car around and crunched down the gravel road toward the highway. Luke immediately put him out of mind.
Admittedly, the farmhouse had seen better nights.
Glass was missing from nearly every window, and a few boards had blown away to reveal its infrastructure.
It was one terrible storm away from falling over.
When Luke had scouted the place online, it’d seemed a little more put together than this.
He slid his hand into his pocket and ran his thumb over the worn wooden rook he carried on jobs for good luck.
The familiar texture kept him grounded instead of getting lost in his head.
The house itself wouldn’t be a suitable sanctuary when the sun rose.
Luke strode around the outside with a thinning hope that his initial reaction to the house was wrong.
Instead of assurances, he saw that there were more holes, more gaping areas that would let the light leak in, and even more missing windows.
Just as he was preparing to give up, he spotted cellar doors.
A quick inspection revealed that it was free of charms or traps, so he tugged a door open.
The steps creaked as he went down them, but they didn’t break.
Since the roof was dirt, he only had to worry about sunlight coming through the doors. It’ll work.
Having figured out his backup plan, he put his bag down.
The glide of the zippers as he undid it settled his mind.
Fear was before or after, never during the job itself.
Theft was how he’d met his sire, why he’d been turned, and how he’d kept his head just above water for the last century.
Success came down to pushing away the outer world and focusing on the task at hand.
In a couple of minutes, he changed from his street clothes to his sleeker, entirely black ensemble, complete with ski mask.
The outfit was custom and had pockets in discreet locations for the majority of his tools.
The few that didn’t went into a slim belt or the pouches on his harness.
His last item was a small over-the-shoulder bag with a velvet lining in which he’d put the piece once he acquired it.
For this particular job, he’d also brought along his vial of diluted Stills water.
The Stills were said to exist outside the world of the living—outside of reality and existence of magic itself.
All Luke cared about was how one drop of the stuff in a gallon of regular water had given him a tool to break the most complicated ward magics without backlash.
Leaving his duffle and street clothes behind, he emerged from the cellar into the night.
Using a burst of vampiric power, he zipped across the empty fields until he reached a wrought-iron fence.
Beyond it lay a seven-story tower constructed of stone.
A smattering of trees marked off the borders of a large garden while lampposts dotted either side of a long driveway that circled back toward the highway.
The whole thing looked like it’d been ripped out of some European countryside and set down in the middle of empty cornfields.
Luke had never seen a building so old before.
There were a few places in Chicago that were older than him, but not that many and not by much.
Maybe some night, I’ll have enough money to travel.
While he wished he could gawk for the rest of the night, he had to keep moving. He took off his left glove and closed his eyes.
Even when he was mortal, Luke had had a knack for picking out magical barriers, a talent that had saved his ass on a heist where others had been cursed. Magic was complicated, and not every vampire was sensitive to its touch. He centered his awareness on his hand.
Whoever had researched the tower for the file was right; the wrought-iron fence held a strong enchantment.
Spells threatened to spark to life against Luke’s hand as close as six inches from the metal.
Brushing against them was like holding his hand near a flame.
Using the valuable Stills water could alert the mage if the spells were linked to them.
He needed a weak spot to exploit instead. Has to be one somewhere around here.
According to the intel, he should run into a weaker spot along the south edge. The details were scarce on just where in the southern border he’d find it, though. He carefully made his way west, methodically feeling along his path rather than opening his eyes.
Just as he was considering doubling back and heading east, the crackle of the ward faded.
He opened his eyes. The cold spot might be a trap amid the otherwise solid wards in order to lull potential trespassers into a false sense of security.
If the person who put together his information wasn’t skilled enough, they might not have thought to look out for that kind of threat.
However, there was a good chance this was the weakest spot in the fence’s protections. Larger grounds required more energy to maintain, and even the most paranoid mages could slip in their upkeep from time to time. He had no way to know for certain. Fuck.
But then Luke spotted the faint glittering dust coating the bottom of the rail between two pickets.
Iron deterred fey, but pixies were more determined infiltrators than rodents and ten times as clever.
Supernaturals liked to argue whether getting rid of rats or pixies would be easier—usually declaring that the rats would be since they couldn’t break magical wards.
These pests had done Luke a favor. All he had to do was expand the hole they’d created.
From one of the pouches on his belt, he pulled out a set of two iron hooks that were connected with a silver chain.
Carefully, he latched the hooks onto the bottom rail of the fence roughly as far apart as he was wide.
He pricked his thumb on one of his fangs and smeared a little blood against each of the hooks.
The tiny runes on each hook shined with a red glow.
He took a second to double-check that the warmth of the wards was gone from between the hooks entirely.
His enchanted tool had widened the cold spot in the wards. Bingo. He grinned and slid his glove back on. Silently, he leapt upward, grabbing the top of the fence to help him pivot his landing so that he came directly down beside the fence. On to the next obstacle.
His night vision was superior enough that he could cross the yard without issue.
He remained in as many shadows as he could, but there were no lights on in the lower levels of the tower.
The structure only had one obvious entrance on the first floor and a balcony on the third.
What Luke was after was on the sixth floor.
While he could try entering lower, he wasn’t going to roll the dice on the number of traps the mage had set. Better to go more directly.
Luke scanned the building for handholds, but the stone was smooth. I’ve got something for that. He pulled an enchanted black rope from the largest of his pouches. At one end was a rock. He threw it with all his strength into the air. When it hit its apex, he whispered in Unseelie, “Stay!”
The rock halted in midair, and the rope dangled down from it.
He tugged it once to ensure the rope was secure, ran it through his harness and a carabiner, and then began to ascend.
Hand over hand, he climbed with ease, though his stomach gnawed at him.
He hadn’t had good blood in so long. If he could just get a few drops—no, we’re not going to lose ourselves to a bloodlust on a fucking job.
We do this. We’re set for six months. So we’ll get it done.
The window had a security sensor attached to it, but that was a deterrent against opening the window itself.
I’ve got something for that. Luke checked the sill and discovered an intricate set of runes.
Hanging from the harness was hardly comfortable, but he had use of both hands.
He pulled a bronze dagger out from a sleeve pocket and twisted so that he was horizontal.
The runes were old, almost worn away. Luke snorted. Even paranoid mages could become overconfident in their skills. He coated the tip of the dagger in salt.
Some called magic a rare gift, and Luke had never been able to perform anything impressive, but he managed a little here and there.
He’d found functional outweighed flinging fireballs.
He channeled a bit of his professional calm into the tip of the blade and thought about an empty void.
With a quick, harsh slash through the runes, he said, “Vaccus.”
The buzz of their power died away, and the stone appeared more decayed than it’d been before. Another obstacle bites the dust.
Luke twisted so that he was right-side up. From another pouch came a suction cup handle and his glasscutter. He cut a section large enough for him to slip through and popped it out of the window. After easing through the opening, he undid the harness and left the glass on the floor.
Moonlight barely penetrated the room, and the lack of light was intense enough to impair even Luke’s superior vision. He turned on the flashlight in the cuff of his sleeve. Its thin beam gave him plenty of light to see by.
Various display cases were around the room, and the walls held a small host of paintings.
Lines and runes encircled each case, stretching out in intricate patterns.
A gap existed and had to be the walkway for visitors.
Luke stepped onto the path as he examined each case.
The magical power radiating around him made his head spin.
Not even Elias Coldwell has this much power just sitting around.
Any one of these items was bound to be worth the amount that Luke owed Dawnshadow.
Fencing magical artifacts would be tricky, though.
People tended to believe in curses. But I could pick up an additional piece or two.
Sit on them for a few months or years. Sell them when I need to.
Price would take a cut, but I’d make plenty.
But first, he needed the ruby tiara in the middle of the room.
The protective runes were crisp, without a hint of dust anywhere in sight.
Luke tugged off his left glove again and concentrated on what light touches he could find.
Rather than warmth, these runes held a shocking buzz in them.
They were set to stun—or potentially kill—thieves.
Mortal thieves, anyway. Unless the electricity lit Luke on fire, he’d be fine.
He didn’t have to worry about the primary rune, but it was linked to others that were alarms. What looked like a complex circle was a series of at least seven runes.
The trick he’d used on the windowsill wouldn’t work here.
He pulled out his vial of Stills water. Two drops would be overkill, but all the magic in the room had the mark of the same mage. Luke did not want to face whatever powerful practitioner had managed to craft this place. He’d be better off dumping the whole vial if necessary.
Taking his time, Luke sought the spot that would unravel all of the runes and applied the drops there. A ripple went across the runes, and they faded to outlines.
The mage had gone to the trouble of putting in a mundane security system, too. Luke shook his head and set to work dismantling it. Such systems could have their tricks, but he navigated through it and unlocked the display.
Moving the glass sent a thrill through Luke greater than the last time he’d had his fill of blood.
He was good at this. Everything else in his life might go to shit on a frequent basis, but nothing took away his skill.
He had worked his way past the spells of what had to be an amazing mage without breaking his stride.
No high could compare to the utter joy of complete competence.
Gently, he picked up the ruby tiara and slid it into his over-the-shoulder bag.
Now, what else do I want? Luke ran his flashlight around the room.
Gems and precious metals glittered. Trying to pick out which objects would be the most valuable at a glance was a tricky business.
Magical artifacts could have minds of their own.
Half the wards were probably meant to keep the pieces from interacting with each other.
In the short term, Luke would probably be all right, but if he was going to hold on to anything, then he wouldn’t want something whispering to him at all hours of the day and night.
A beautiful garnet necklace lay in the case near the tiara’s.
The setting looked like it was late nineteenth century, which reduced the probability that it had great magical power.
Sapphires were stunning, but the way the circlet in another case was designed, it was likely used in mental magics.
Last thing I need is something reading my mind.
There. Across the room was a golden ball nestled on a black velvet pillow inside its case. Out of everything on display, it seemed the most ordinary. But there had to be a reason it was among such other high-end treasures.
Luke hurried over to it. His quick inspection revealed that the wards around it were the same as the ones around the tiara’s case. Another two drops of Stills water undid the magic. Breaking into the second case went quicker than the first, and Luke opened it with a grin.
As he reached for the golden ball, a thread unwound from it. He started to pull his hand away, but the thread wrapped around his wrist. Once, twice, three times—the thread was running up his arm while the ball spun like a spool to release a greater length.
“Shit,” he whispered. “Fuck. Shit. Stop that.”
He pulled away, but the thread came with him.
When he made a grab at it, it wrapped around his other wrist. He tried to slither out of its grasp, but the thread cinched against him.
The ball bounced high, arcing like it went over some invisible beam, and he was pulled up off his feet.
The thread wound around his torso and looped around one leg.
He kicked and spun while trying to keep his legs free, but fighting only tightened the damn thing.
“Oh, come on! Don’t do this to me!” Luke hissed at the ball.
Almost like the ball was taunting him, it rolled right onto one of the alarm runes of its neighboring case.
And Luke was stuck. Helpless until the owner discovered him in the middle of the gallery, clearly in the act of theft.
Fuck me.