Their best option was to steal the book while Hazel was home, with her never realizing anything was wrong. Tempest proposed the magic-trick-style plan that could allow them to pull it off.
Ivy would play the role of a woman Corbin had dated, to distract Hazel while Tempest searched the house. Ivy would have to read Hazel’s reaction to decide whether to spring the revelation that Corbin was dating other people at the same time or commiserate as an ex-girlfriend about the loss of a man they had both once loved.
Gideon had worked as a stonemason on government jobs where things like retaining walls were needed, and he had a vest and a hard hat he could use to look like an official city construction worker doing work outside her house. The hillside near Hazel’s house could reasonably be in need of shoring up. A surveyor in an orange vest and a hard hat that shielded his face from view wouldn’t be memorable as an individual.
“You’ll both make enough noise to cover my actions inside the house,” said Tempest, “and you’ll also serve as a force.”
“A force?” asked Gideon.
“It’s a concept in magic where you basically force an audience member to do what you want them to do, even when they think they’re doing it of their own free will.”
“Like picking a specific card,” he said.
“Exactly. You’ll be making noise on the side of the house where we think the main room and Corbin’s study are located, forcing Hazel to see Ivy in the kitchen rather than the living room.”
“I still can’t get over how terrifying it is,” Ivy cut in, “that we can get so much information about Hazel and her house online. It’s not even like we hacked anything.”
Tempest nodded. “I’m guessing she has cameras in addition to an alarm, which is why it’s so important that she never know something is wrong to pull up any video feeds.”
“And why we’ll be in disguise if she does.”
Tempest’s makeup-artist contacts were in Vegas, which would do them no good here. But with Ivy’s distinctive auburn hair, they realized all they had to do was buy a brown wig. That was enough to have her not be recognizable as herself.
“The timing is important, too,” said Tempest. “Within a half-an-hour window in the mid-morning, Hazel usually posts a photo online of a beautifully staged coffee, tea, or smoothie.”
“I saw that,” Ivy said. “She doesn’t do a video then, but it’s the first happy hour of the day, according to Hazel.”
“According to the online version of herself,” Tempest added. “So there’s a good chance she’ll be at home during that time, and also that she’ll have fresh drinks in the kitchen.”
Tempest next taught Ivy how to wipe her fingerprints off a glass, which they decided would be a good idea before Ivy departed. They expected Hazel would offer Ivy something to drink, but they didn’t know what, or what she’d serve it in, so they practiced with a mug, a tumbler, and a wine glass similar to the one Hazel photographed berry smoothies in.
“If we were in a movie,” Ivy commented, “I’d simply have false fingertips with different fingerprints.”
“If it were a movie,” said Tempest, “we would know someone who could turn off that alarm system.”
Ivy grinned. “And if it was a comedy, we’d place an advertisement and find a hapless unemployed burglar to help us. Oh! And they’d end up getting trapped in the house inside Hazel’s impenetrable safe room, which they’d disappear from, and then we’d have to puzzle out how they—”
“Okaaaay,” said Tempest. “It’s clearly time for a break.”
“I think,” Gideon said, “that this is one of those situations where one laughs so they don’t cry. You want some leftover lumpia from my mom that’s in the fridge?”
“Obviously,” said Ivy.
After their snack break of mouthwatering vegetarian lumpia that Gideon’s chef mom had made with homemade pastry wrapping and jackfruit interior, they went over the plan again.
“One last thing,” said Tempest. “None of our cars are inconspicuous.” Tempest’s red jeep, which was recognizable to a fault; Gideon’s baby-blue Renault, a car more commonly seen in France; and Ivy’s pink moped, which wouldn’t hold the three of them even if it would make the fifty-five-mile trip.
“We could borrow a car,” Ivy suggested.
Gideon groaned. “Is that a euphemism for stealing one? What have I gotten myself into?”
Tempest smiled. “You mean your sister’s generic station wagon?”
“Yup. Nobody ever pays any attention to that thing.”
Ivy left on her moped to ask her sister about borrowing her car the next day.
“Hang on,” Gideon said as Tempest walked to her jeep. “I want to show you something first that I think you’ll appreciate.”
Gideon led her back to his studio. He whisked a white sheet off a sculpture, and Tempest immediately knew this was the one he’d stayed up all night working on.
“Marble?” Tempest ran her fingers over the smooth stone of the three-foot bas-relief carving—a slab of stone with an angel emerging from it.
Gideon nodded. “It’s a new stone for me. I’ve only done small experiments.…”
“She’s beautiful.” The angel’s face was fully formed and free of the stone slab. Her wings were set into the stone, and there was a sense of movement as if Gideon had captured the moment in time before she stepped forward out of stone.
“She’s not quite done yet.” He tossed the sheet back over the marble. “That’s not what I really wanted to show you. Come on out back.”
It was nearly pitch-black now. With the flip of a switch, pinpricks of fairy lights illuminated the yard. Larger bulbs hung over a patio table. Landscaping lights were placed strategically on the ground, highlighting the best features of the carved animals and casting shadows onto the wood fence. In one corner of the fence, a gargoyle’s shadow danced with the shadow of a griffin.
“It’s spellbinding,” Tempest said as soon as she could speak.
“Good. I’m thinking of doing the lighting like this at the gallery art show I’ve got planned.”
“You’re selling these?”
“Of course.”
Tempest felt a stab of sadness at the thought of never seeing these magical stone creatures again. “How can you bear to part with them?”
Gideon stepped inside for a moment and returned holding a black-and-silver camera that looked like something from the 1940s. Maybe even earlier.
“I’ve already documented them.” He held up the hefty camera. “And I’ve got my memories from carving them. I’ve seen them come to life. That’s the best part. Here. Let me take your photo with them.”
“Where do you want me?”
“You’re perfect.” He held her gaze before looking down into the viewfinder on top of the camera. His words referred to her placement in the photograph, but his eyes told her the words meant something completely different to him.
In another time and place, without everything else going on in her life, she could have easily returned the feeling. Even now, she felt the strong pull of Gideon’s presence. She didn’t know what she’d do if he didn’t hurry up and take the picture.
She let out a breath as the box gave a click. “I’m guessing I don’t get to see a copy.”
“Not until I develop the film.” He wound the camera before looking up. “I like it that way. It’s a mystery for now. It’s much more satisfying to wait and see what things look like in the future. Don’t you think?”
If he was waiting for her to figure out her life, he’d have a long wait.