Honor Among Thieves

Carrie Harris

Rosa Varela sipped her cocktail, watching the light of the early spring sun glint off the diamonds circling her wrist. She’d earned them. She’d earned this – a lazy afternoon spent on the terrace of one of the most exclusive yacht clubs in Buenos Aires. The wait staff wore pristine tuxedos as they glided through the packed patio full of movers and shakers just dying to be seen. Immaculate white tablecloths fluttered in the breeze off the Rio de la Plata. In the corner sat a man with mournful eyes, strumming quiet music on a gleaming guitar. Two tables away, a pair of men in fedoras exchanged glances with her in that age-old game of cat and mouse.

Rosa loved games. She always had.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her sister, Milagros, charging through the scattered patrons on the terrace with bulldog determination. Although they were twins, they couldn’t have been more different. Rosa was petite and playful, with dexterous hands, a quick wit, and a daring sense of style. Milagros towered over everyone, dominating with her physical presence and her brushfire temper. By the looks of her, something had set it ablaze.

“I’ve been looking everywhere for you,” Milagros snapped, kissing the air beside Rosa’s cheeks. “Madre de Dios, Rosa. If you’re drunk, I’ll throw you into the river.”

She spoke primarily in English, and that meant one thing: she wanted to discuss a new client. The foreign language reduced the chances that someone might overhear them discussing something illegal.

“Don’t be such a spoilsport. I’m having a good time, and a well-deserved one, I might add. This is my first day off in months, and I’m going to enjoy it,” said Rosa, sticking to Spanish out of sheer stubbornness. To drive her point home just a little further, she looked at the boys over Mila’s shoulder and winked.

“Rosa! Please?”

Milagros rarely asked for anything. She ordered. Something had knocked her for a loop, and Rosa didn’t like that one bit.

“What’s wrong?” she demanded.

At that moment, the taller of the two fellows she’d been flirting with approached the table with his hat in hand. He sketched a little bow, meeting her eyes with the assurance of a man who had been fed everything he’d ever wanted with a silver spoon and expected the buffet to continue indefinitely. Although Rosa had spent an enjoyable afternoon exchanging glances with him, his appearance only annoyed her now. He couldn’t have had worse timing if he’d tried.

“Señorita,” he said, “would you and your friend care to join us?”

“No!” said the Varela twins in unison.

It must have been a word he didn’t hear often, because he stood there for a moment, frozen in shock.

“But–”

“¡Volá, idiota!” Milagros snapped, waving him away. “We’re talking. Go bother somebody else.”

He opened his mouth and closed it again before slinking back to his table. Both women watched his defeated retreat before returning to their conversation.

“Mila, you’re worrying me. What’s going on?” asked Rosa, switching to English and leaning close to shield their conversation from listening ears.

“I’ve got a new client,” said Milagros, drumming her fingers on the table in an uncharacteristic display of nerves. “I know you wanted a break, but like I said before, we’ve got to take what we can get until we make a name for ourselves. Then we can pick and choose.”

Rosa looked down at her sister’s tapping fingers with their sensibly short nails and sighed. She trusted Mila. Ever since their parents had died and the money ran out, it had been the two of them against the world, with only their quick hands and even quicker wits to sustain them. But something didn’t add up here. Despite her dismissive attitude, Rosa was a professional, and she could read people like books. Something was off. She gestured, urging her sister to continue.

“It’ll be easy,” said Milagros. “The client wants us to acquire a few pieces from the Corregidor fashion collection. It’ll be on display at the Palacio Errázuriz, and I’ve got a pair of tickets to tonight’s costume ball. I create a distraction, you nick the rags, and we’re done. Easy,” she repeated, like she was trying to convince herself.

“Tonight? You must be kidding.”

Rosa threw her head back and laughed, relief suffusing her limbs. For a moment, she’d bought into Mila’s nervous act. But her sister would never take a job with no planning time. Rosa enjoyed the rush that came with improvising on the spot, but Mila didn’t breathe without scheduling it first.

But Mila didn’t laugh along with her, and Rosa’s heart sank. For the first time, she found herself in the uncomfortable position of having to be the voice of reason.

“That’s not enough time to plan, and you know it,” she said. “That’s why we haven’t been caught. Do you want to get copped?”

“We won’t.” Dogged determination suffused Mila’s voice. “It’s just a hat and a coat. You could pinch that with one hand tied behind your back. It’ll make us a pretty dime too. I asked for extra because of the short notice.”

“If it’s that easy, what’s got you so rattled?”

“I’ll admit it. The cat who hired us makes my skin crawl, but we don’t have to play house with him. What do you say?”

Rosa sighed. “You really think we can’t afford to say no?”

“Not if you want to keep coming here.”

Milagros glanced around at their opulent surroundings pointedly.

“Fine,” said Rosa, sighing. “But I don’t like it.”

•••

The rest of the afternoon passed in a flurry of preparation. Mila had scored the tickets with barely any effort at all. Since they’d relocated to Buenos Aires a year ago, the pair of them had built up a reputation as flighty heiresses with nothing on their minds but the next party, a reputation they’d worked hard to maintain. It accounted for their frequent trips out of town on jobs throughout the Americas and Europe, as well as for the baubles that passed frequently through their possession. Besides, they’d learned that people spoke freely when they thought themselves in the company of a vapid floozy with nothing on her mind but the latest fashions and her next beau.

Over the past few years, they’d bounced into and out of high society often enough that when Milagros expressed interest in tickets to the costume ball, she got a pair without even having to ask. Now they needed a plan, and they walked through it over and over again, filling in the gaps. As they chatted, Milagros sat at the sewing machine, making adjustments to a vaudeville costume Rosa had worn in Vienna, when they’d swiped a priceless jewelry set from a steel baron with wandering hands and an overblown sense of entitlement. Thinking of that job made Rosa smile every time. He’d had it coming.

“Are you sure my trousers will fit under that thing?” she asked, eyeing the fabric on Mila’s table with skepticism.

At every job, Milagros insisted that they wear black trousers and a blouse beneath their clothes. A woman in such attire could be anything with the right props: a butler, a performer, even a man. She could flee unseen in the dark. The outfit provided a perfect blank canvas upon which to improvise. Rosa had to admit that it had come in handy, but she worried that it wouldn’t all fit, even under the voluminous floor length skirt.

“You need to wear them,” Mila ordered. “Our client wasn’t as specific about the dimensions of our targets as I’d like. If they don’t fit under your costume, you’ll have to shuck the gown and wear the coat out. Tell people you’re a pirate.”

“I can do that,” said Rosa. “But add another layer to that skirt, would you? I’ve got to hide a lot beneath it.”

“I suppose you’re right.” The sewing machine whirred to life again. “Now describe the clothes for me again. Be specific.”

Rosa swallowed a sigh. She knew this level of preparation was necessary, but it always rankled. Her fingers itched to get moving, eager for the rush of the game.

“A bright red coat. Long. Black piping on the sleeves and a row of black buttons down the front. It comes with a hat, black and wide brimmed, with a red band.” She paused. “Can we hide a red feather somewhere in my costume? If I end up needing to go the pirata route, I can stick it in the cap.”

“Good idea,” Mila said around a set of pins clutched between her lips. “Go find one. Over there.”

She gestured vaguely, but Rosa needed no instructions. The room was cluttered with disguises and cast-off clothes. They’d posed as maids and singers, vaudeville dancers and beggars. Milagros haunted the fabric shops, maintaining a store of materials that could be used to whip up an outfit on the spot. She also sewed her own clothes, which had always impressed Rosa. She didn’t have the patience for such things. Never would.

As she rummaged around in the feather bin for a suitable choice, she said, “The job does seem odd, doesn’t it? I bet there are plenty of rich gowns worth much more than an old coat and hat.”

“Probably,” Milagros replied, distracted. “If I had to guess, there’s something hidden in the lining. Jewels maybe?”

“Maybe it’s a map to Coronado’s gold,” said Rosa, teasing. Mila had been obsessed with finding the treasure as a girl, and once she’d bought a map that hadn’t even gotten the outlines of the continents right. Paid a pretty penny for it, too.

“I will shove these pins up your–”

“Sorry, sorry,” Rosa interrupted hastily. She pulled out a feather and held it up for inspection. “This one looks good, yeah?”

“Sí,” said Milagros. “Now hand it over. I’ll make a garter and you can attach it to your thigh. You’ll have the feather on one, and a cosh on the other. Just in case.”

Rosa nodded. They made it a policy to avoid violence whenever possible, but sometimes there was no choice but to whack a bloke on the side of the head. She’d done it twice and still disliked it, but it was better than shooting someone.

“Speaking of that,” she said cautiously. “Do you think I should accompany you for the drop off?”

Mila jerked, stabbing herself with a pin. “What? Ow!” She sucked on her finger for a moment. “We need to stick to the plan. One of us goes to the drop off. The other stays hidden as an insurance policy. Like we always do.”

“Yes, but…” Rosa considered her words carefully, trying hard to articulate the growing sense of unease that overtook her every time she thought about this job. “This client is different. Every time he comes up, you stop sewing because your hands start shaking. And you still haven’t told me his name.”

Mila shrugged but didn’t dispute it.

“What has you so worked up? I promise I won’t make fun of you this time.”

“I don’t really know.” Milagros caught Rosa’s look of skepticism and crossed herself. “Honest. I can’t put my finger on it. He wears red tinted glasses all the time, but we’ve worked with eccentrics before. Something about him just…” She shuddered, trailing off.

“All the more reason for me to come with you.”

“All the more reason for you to stay away!” exclaimed Mila. “We need to be extra careful. Do things the way we always have. Take my notes; go to the safe house and wait for me.”

“I’ve never seen you like this,” said Rosa, frowning with worry. “I know you, Mila. If you’re that scared, then there is something very wrong with this cabrón. There will be other jobs. Let’s skip this one.”

“We can’t,” blurted Mila. “He knows where we live. He knows all our past jobs. I don’t know who snitched, but whoever it is, they know everything. If we don’t get him the clothes…” She trailed off, her expression bleak.

Rosa didn’t need the details to know that it would be very bad indeed. Mila wouldn’t lie about something like this, and Rosa trusted her sister’s instincts.

“Okay,” she said. “Then we do the job and scatter. Maybe set up shop in Paris for a while. We’ve been here too long anyway. He can’t follow us if we disappear.”

Mila nodded, taking in a shaky breath. “Yeah. Okay. Yeah.”

“Will you at least tell me his name? That way if I run into him, I’ll know to be careful.”

“He calls himself the Sanguine Watcher.”

Icy fingers ran up the back of Rosa’s neck at the mention of the name. But that was ridiculous. The name was ridiculous. She forced a laugh that came out flat.

“That’s unsettling,” she admitted. “It shouldn’t be, but it is.”

“Yeah. We get the stuff, and then we run,” said Mila, holding out the completed costume.

“Claro,” said Rosa, nodding.

•••

Bright lights illuminated the Palacio Errázuriz, striping its pillared exterior with shadows. A row of white banners flapped in the wind, lining the street where pristine Rolls Royces and Mercedes cars pulled up to disgorge their passengers, flouncing out in fluttery costumes and gem-encrusted masks. A fine lady rested her fingertips in the crook of her gentleman’s elbow as they made their way up the stately walk to the front door, flanked by footmen in starched livery. They laughed and chattered gaily as they entered one of the most exclusive parties of the season.

Rosa had chosen to hoof it instead. They’d made an effort to disguise her, covering her dark hair with a reddish wig and crafting a mask that obscured all of her face save her mouth, so that if she was spotted taking the clothes, no one would link the theft to the Varela sisters. If asked, Mila would explain that her sister was taken ill with a headache and resting at home, and arriving together in the car would throw all that effort out the window. For a while, they’d debated having Mila drop her off around the block, but they’d ultimately decided it was too much of a risk.

So she’d gotten ready at one of their safe houses instead. They had a handful of them scattered around the continent, fully stocked with canned foods, medical supplies, clothing, and some ready cash. Every once in a while, one of them would live there for a few days, feeding the neighbors stories about sick relatives or university studies to justify their time away. So far, the system had worked, and at times like this, the advance preparation served them well.

Rosa made good time across town and arrived at the Palacio just in time to see Mila make her stately way up the steps to the door. Her sister had chosen to go as a queen, and the combination of crown and heels brought her to nearly six feet tall. Her gold lamé dress glittered in the floodlights as she disappeared through the doors without so much as a glance behind her.

Rosa took her time, ambling down the block with the many layers of her gown rustling around her. Mila had modified what had been a fluttery green confection into a magnificent peacock costume whose many layers could hide a lot of things. Like a coat and hat, for instance.

Considering their lack of time, the plan was a good one. Simple, as most successful plans were. When they’d started out, they’d made things too complicated, trying to account for every possible outcome, and only sheer luck and a well-placed bribe had kept them from being nipped. They’d gotten better since then. Rosa ought to have felt confident, but that couldn’t have been further from the truth. Her palms prickled with sweat no matter how many times she wiped them on her skirt, and with each step, she had the uncomfortable feeling of being watched. But every time she whirled around to look, she saw no one.

Mila’s vague warnings rattled around in her head no matter how hard she tried to settle her nerves. It was silly, really. After all, the Sanguine Watcher wasn’t the first person to threaten them, and he wouldn’t be the last. This business didn’t exactly attract stand-up citizens. But Rosa hadn’t survived for this long by ignoring her gut. It wouldn’t hurt to be on high alert until they were on the ship and off the continent. She couldn’t wait, even if it meant listening to her sister complain about her seasickness for weeks on end. Milagros didn’t travel well at sea.

She climbed the steps to the front door, produced her invitation from an inner pocket, and held it out to one of the footmen for examination. He took it from her sweaty hand with only the barest flicker of his eyes. As she waited for his approval, she tried to talk herself down. No one would recognize her. She had the deftest fingers on the continent, and if she played her cards right, she’d never get caught.

It was time to play her favorite game, and she needed to get her head in it.

Rosa straightened her shoulders and accepted the invitation back from the footman, tucking it back into her costume before heading inside. Velvet ropes corralled the guests toward the party, although the guidance was unnecessary by this point. She could have located the shindig by sound alone.

The party was held in a long hall flanked by a row of pillars on either side. Footmen stood at parade rest all around the room, their keen eyes locked on the expensive fashion displays. Guards, more like. But the sisters had anticipated that.

She made an initial circuit around the room, snagging a glass of Malbec from a passing server to help her blend in. Ornate tapestries hung on the walls, lit by the subtle flicker of crystal chandeliers. The building was an interesting blend of old and new, Argentinian and European. The combination intrigued her, and under different circumstances, she would have loved to have a tour of the place. Perhaps in the future, when the Sanguine Watcher had forgotten all about the Varela sisters, they could return and attempt a visit.

The Corregidor collection was an eclectic one. Rosa hadn’t had her customary time to research its contents, so she didn’t know as much as she would have liked. But based on what Mila had said, it consisted of pieces owned by famous figures throughout history, so their provenance was just as interesting as the garments themselves. She saw plenty of glittering gowns laden with gems that could have financed her living expenses for at least the next ten years, but also pirate togs and flannel suits, conquistador uniforms and dressing gowns. Most were obviously expensive, but the greatest crowds seemed to cluster around the most everyday exhibits as the guests mused about what it would be like to spend a day in the shoes of a beloved figure or hated despot.

At first, that fact concerned her. If the hat and coat had been owned by someone sufficiently interesting, they might be more popular than anticipated. The plan hinged on the assumption that their targets wouldn’t be one of the stars of the show. So she circled around the room, dodging clusters of chatting people dressed as cats and harlequins, until she finally saw the coat tucked in a back corner.

Like most of the displays, it hung on a blank-faced mannequin, with a little placard at the bottom explaining its significance. Rosa edged toward it, hoping that the information there would provide some illuminating bit of knowledge they could use against the Sanguine Watcher if he decided to double cross them. But the card simply read, “Wide-brimmed hat and matching overcoat. Owner unidentified.”

They didn’t belong in this impressive collection, and Rosa didn’t like that one bit. The whole job stank. They’d been hired last minute by a mysterious figure who’d had plenty of time to dig up their past but waited to spring the job on them until it was too late for them to maneuver out of it. The target had questionable value, if any. With every passing moment, she became more convinced that the whole thing was a setup. She would have to play along long enough to find out who pulled the strings.

A flash of gold fabric in the crowd announced Mila’s approach. Rosa turned, feigning interest in an elaborate dress of purportedly Mayan origin. She glanced at it this way and that, edging into a position just at the corner of the nearest guard’s vision. Single attendees were in short supply, but she made it work by huffing every once in a while, and scanning the crowd as if searching for a wayward date. The guard didn’t give her so much as a second glance.

Mila made her way through the crowd like a woman on a mission. As her wide skirts swept towards the corner where Rosa waited, she brushed up against a man in a gaucho costume, complete with a black mask and a camper hat. No one but Rosa noticed the quick flick of Mila’s hand that deposited the diamond bracelet into the pocket of the gaucho’s bombachas de campo. He continued chatting merrily to the pretty women on his arms, completely unaware of his surroundings.

But Mila paused, jerking away from him as if stung. She moved with such exaggeration that it attracted the attention of a few people nearby, including the guard. Then she held up her arm and shrieked in horror.

“My bracelet!” she exclaimed. “It’s gone! You took my bracelet!”

The masked gaucho stopped midsentence, glaring at her in annoyance. After a moment, he seemed to realize that he was the center of attention. He threw his head back and laughed.

“Señora, rest assured that I stole nothing. I have no need to resort to such… antics,” he said, sniffing in distaste.

“Then empty your pockets,” Mila snapped. “If you’re so innocent.”

“Do you know who I am?” The gaucho’s eyes glittered dangerously as he whipped off his mask to reveal a heavily mustached face. Mila had chosen her mark well. Rosa recognized him: a notoriously corrupt assistant to the mayor of Buenos Aires. If the rumors were true, he’d built his entire career on a tower of bribes. No one would have trouble believing that he’d nicked something, and he thought himself so untouchable as a result of his connections that he wouldn’t hesitate to make a scene. “I am Benicio Fentanes, and I will not be so insulted!” he boomed.

“Then empty your pockets, and I will apologize,” responded Mila, fluttering a hand in front of her face as if overcome by her emotions. “That bracelet was a gift from my dear departed mother, and I cannot bear the loss. Forgive me if it has driven me to rudeness.”

By this time, everyone within earshot was glued to the spectacle. Rosa would get no better chance. She sank into an alcove in the back corner, unhooking the velvet rope that blocked the mannequin from reach and pulling it after her. She would have preferred to make the switch in a space with a door, but this was the closest option they could find with such short notice. At least no one would be able to see in unless they stood at exactly the right angle.

A quick tug released the coat from its moorings. The garment was heavier than she’d expected, the fabric thick-woven. A sickly sweet scent rose from it. Whoever had packed the thing should have used some mothballs.

Rosa eyed the clothing skeptically. Folded, the coat could be hidden among the many layers of her peacock gown, but the hat would pose a problem. They’d known it had a wide brim, but they’d been hoping for a flexible construction that could be tucked away. But this hat had a firm brim that wouldn’t hold up to such treatment.

A change of plan, then. She shucked herself out of the peacock dress, pulled off the wig and tore off the mask, fishing out a plain black sequined one to go with her swashbuckler ensemble. As she swapped masks, she glanced out to make sure no one was watching. The guests were all still riveted by the confrontation before them as Fentanes pulled a diamond bracelet out of his pocket, to his immense surprise and her sister’s fury. All was going to plan until Rosa made accidental eye contact with a familiar face in the crowd – the fellow from the club who had asked her for a drink. She lifted the new mask into place, but it was too late. His expression brightened as he spotted her, and he whispered a brief word to his companion before he began to push his way through the crowd in her direction.

Rosa murmured a curse beneath her breath, backing up into the alcove as far as she could. If he saw the discarded gown or the empty mannequin, she’d be a goner. For a moment, she considered slipping the peacock dress onto the mannequin instead, but its many layers lay in a hopelessly tangled mess on the floor. It would be impossible to straighten it out in time.

She would just have to hurry. She kicked the gown into the corner, stabbed the feather into the brim of the hat, and crammed it on her head. Fronds bobbed at the edges of her vision, dangling from the hopelessly cockeyed feather, but it would have to do. She shoved one arm into a coat sleeve, backing away into the shadows as she evaluated her options. They weren’t good.

The fabric was cold, like it had been packed in an ice box and hadn’t thawed out just yet. A shudder gripped her as chilly fingers ran up the back of her neck, sucking the life from her. She gulped in a deep breath of air, trying to stave off the sense of panic that rose up from deep within her. She had the strangest urge to get as far away from these clothes as possible. To throw them to the floor and sprint until she reached the ship that would carry them to Europe. Maybe once it left the port, the chill would ebb from her bones.

But she was a professional, and she’d stick to the plan, no matter how much it made her skin crawl. Teeth gritted, she thrust her other arm into the coat, her mind whirling with escape plans.

As her arm slid into place, her shadow stretched along the wall like taffy. At first, she assumed it was a trick of the light. But it deepened to a color that was beyond black, an infinite darkness that swallowed everything in its path. The empty dummy. The determined flirt from the bar. The guard. It gulped down the illumination from the chandeliers and devoured the heat from her skin. Rosa’s heart skittered as it pulled her in – no, through – its frigid weave.

She emerged into some darkened chamber, her head whirling in disorientation. Deep red lights flickered at the edges of her vision, outlining the writhing forms of unspeakable creatures with shapes of such awful asymmetry that they made her recoil, shutting her eyes to block them out. But she could hear them still, their slithering, shrieking cacophony growing louder as they approached.

A fierce trembling seized her entire body, curling her in upon herself. She didn’t want to see them when they fell upon her, as she knew they would. Poor Mila would wonder what had happened to her. She would never stop searching, if the Sanguine Watcher didn’t make good on his threats and destroy her. Under these circumstances, the fear didn’t feel unreasonable. If anything, Rosa hadn’t been afraid enough.

They would come for Mila. Her sister needed her. Rosa wouldn’t abandon the only person she cared about, and she damn well wouldn’t give up without a fight.

“Screw you,” she spat, turning to run.

She had no destination in mind, no concept of where she was or the details of how she’d gotten there. But she would go somewhere safe. Somewhere away.

As soon as the heel of her boot hit the unseen floor, the coat wrapped its freezing fingers around her once again. The shadows pulled her in. The ground disappeared from beneath her, leaving her falling through an unending void.

Her foot landed on a grassy slope with a jolt, her knee buckling with the unexpected impact. She somersaulted, tucking her arms in close to her body, coming back up to stand at the ready to defend herself from monstrous creatures, angry guards, or whatever else the night might throw at her.

But nothing happened. She stood in the grass before an ornate flowerbed dominated by a bush cut into the shape of a parrot, her heart thrumming like a jackrabbit. Recognition thrummed through her. This was the garden at the yacht club! She recognized that parrot, and over to her right stood the edge of the terrace she’d been drinking on just a few hours earlier. Astonishment, vertigo, and outright fear warred within her for dominance.

But how on earth had she ended up here? The exhibition was well over a mile from the club, and she’d crossed the space in seconds. It must have something to do with the clothing she still wore. And the horrific things she’d seen. Suddenly, she could barely breathe. She shrugged out of the coat, backing away from the heaped fabric on the ground like it might just bite or send her hurtling through space to an unfathomable hellscape. Again.

She couldn’t dispose of it, though. The Sanguine Watcher wanted it, and now his vague threats felt even more sinister than before. Perhaps he was just as dangerous as the crimson coat. She needed to keep hold of it as a bargaining tool. But she had to get back, and quick. Mila would panic when she realized Rosa was nowhere to be found.

Very well then. The panic faded, replaced by a dogged determination. Rosa tucked the coat over one arm and dashed down the slope and over the wrought iron fencing. Although her fear lent her speed at first, a growing stitch in her side slowed her as she wove through the city streets and past the looming bulk of the cathedral. Although she’d never done much more than the minimum when it came to religion, she crossed herself. She needed all of the divine providence she could get.

While she’d always been naturally fit, and she put some effort into staying so, she wasn’t used to extended sprints like this one. By the time she reached the Palacio Errázuriz, she was flagging badly. But she could see the white banners flapping in the wind, so she pressed on, squeezing her arm against her body to counteract the pain. She bit off the air in painful gulps, her lungs burning. But there! She could see the lights on the front of the building, and as luck would have it, a tall woman in gold making her stately way down the stairs.

The sight of her sister, safe and sound, made Rosa’s knees weak. She stopped, leaning over with her elbows on her knees, to catch her breath. Sweat bathed her forehead, and without thinking, she used the sleeve of the red coat to wipe it away.

Nothing happened. She straightened, ignoring the pain of overtaxed muscles desperate for a break, and hurried down the street. She would meet Mila at the car. It didn’t matter if anyone saw them now. Within a matter of hours, they would be at sea, with all of this behind them.

The loud crack of gunfire split the air. Rosa let out a squeak of surprise, crouching down instinctively as she scanned for the plug ugly with the gun. What she saw made her breathless with horror. Mila lay sprawled across the grand front steps of the Palacio as Benicio Fentanes stood over her, a smoking pistol in his hand. As she watched, he pulled the trigger a second time. Mila’s body jerked. The footmen on either side of the door had fled for cover, and no one disturbed the killer as he ambled down the steps, stuffing his hands into his pockets as casual as you please.

Blood dripped down the stairs and dotted the walls in a red spray visible all the way across the street. Rosa wanted to shriek with grief and loss. To wail. To rush at him and beat him with her fists. She wanted to rush to her sister’s side and beg forgiveness for not being here to help as she should have. But doing so would take her right past him, and who knew what he’d do? The only thing she could do was pray, and she did just that, with a fervor she hadn’t felt since her parents’ death.

Mila didn’t move. As much as she wanted to deny it, Rosa knew her sister was dead. Tears spilled over her eyelids and tracked down her cheeks, and she sank to the ground, hugging herself tightly to keep the sobs from escaping.

One of the footmen stuck his head out the door to scan the area. Ever so cautiously, he crept toward the splash of crimson and gold on the steps, putting his hand down to check for any signs of life. He shook his head sadly as he crouched over the body.

What in the heck had happened? Part of Rosa wanted to stomp back to the costume party and demand the details, but what good would that do? Mila would still be dead. Fentanes untouchable, supported by cronies in high places. Besides, Rosa’s sudden appearance in clothing that had once been a part of the exhibition would invite questions that could put her in the slammer. Then it would be a question of who got to her first, Fentanes or the Sanguine Watcher.

Mila wouldn’t want that. She would tell Rosa to play it smart. She’d do just that. For her sister’s sake.

A distant wail heralded the approach of the policía. She shoved herself to her feet, wiping her cheeks. There was nothing to do but back away and leave Mila cold on the stairs as a steady rain began to fall from the sky. She hated herself for it, but she did it.

•••

Rosa didn’t dare go back home. She didn’t know what had happened with Fentanes – had he realized Mila had set him up? Lost his temper over being publicly accused? Or did the shooting indicate something else entirely; something more sinister? She had no idea, and therefore, their home wasn’t safe. So she scurried down the street toward her safe house, trying to look over both shoulders at once, as she tried to decide on her next steps. She had to hide. Then and only then could she properly mourn her sister.

The wise thing to do would be to skip town. Dump the coat, and the hat too. Grab the rainy day money they’d set aside for a moment just like this. Set up shop in Paris. It would be more difficult without Mila to handle the business arrangements, but Rosa could manage. But something told her that wouldn’t work, because the crimson coat was more than it seemed. The Sanguine Watcher wouldn’t just let it slip through his fingers.

Besides, she had to know. Where had it taken her? What were those things that lurked there? The mere thought of them made shivers run up Rosa’s spine, but a deeper part of her brain, the cold and calculating part, couldn’t help but point out what an asset such clothing would be for someone in her business. It had carried her across town in a matter of seconds. If she could learn to control such an artifact, she could steal anything.

The thought brought her up short. She stopped in the doorway of a shuttered bakery and took a closer look at the coat. It bore no tailor’s tags nor markings to designate its origins. The hat had no hatter’s insignia that she could find. A quick pat down failed to alert her to anything hidden in the lining or beneath the brim. With enough time and the right tools, she could take it apart. She wasn’t as good a seamstress as Mila, but she’d manage. But she had no way of knowing whether disassembling it would divest the garment of its strange powers.

If she could use it properly, she could stay one step ahead of anyone who came sniffing after her. Fentanes. The Sanguine Watcher. It wouldn’t matter. But that would leave her uncomfortably low on information. The Watcher had known about the coat. He must have some insight into how it worked. For all she knew, his insight could mean the difference between life and death. Those creatures hadn’t seemed friendly, after all.

That decided it, then. She would go and meet the Sanguine Watcher in Mila’s stead. She would find out what she could from him. Then she would go to Paris. She’d become the best thief in the world, and she would do it all in Mila’s memory.

•••

It didn’t surprise Rosa that the Sanguine Watcher had chosen La Recoleta Cemetery as a meeting point. The melodramatic spot complimented the man’s atrocious pseudonym. Unfortunately, after everything she’d seen, her efforts to scoff at it did nothing to quell her nerves.

She approached from the south, scanning the grounds through the thin bars of the metal fencing that surrounded the property. Night had fallen, the deep darkness broken by the light of a silvery three-quarter moon and the amber glow of the occasional gas lamp suspended along the cemetery pathways. Mist rose off the ground, clinging to marble mausoleums and intricately carved statues of angels, their hands pressed together in prayer. The stone glistened in the moonlight, almost seeming to glow from within. Nothing moved in this dead place.

Rosa clung to the bars, trying in vain to ignore her growing unease. This was a bad location for a handoff, and she couldn’t believe that Mila had agreed to it. She’d always been a fan of public places and bright daylight, trusting that the presence of potential witnesses would keep their clients honest. Even if they tried something, at least she could see the double cross coming. The cemetery offered no such advantages. The Sanguine Watcher could have a hundred thugs lying in wait across those shadowed grounds. Every corner could contain an ambush.

These were reasonable worries, but Rosa’s mind kept circling back to twisted monsters bathed in blood red light, and the harsh bark of the gun as Fentanes fired at her sister. Try as she might, she couldn’t get them out of her head.

At times like these – when she’d frozen with fear of falling or at the sight of a bared weapon – the first step was the hardest part. Once she got moving, she could work through the fright. It didn’t go away but instead honed her senses. Gave her an edge. She needed that now, especially without Mila’s good sense to guide her. She never thought she’d say this, but she missed her sister’s exacting ways.

Rosa crept down the length of the fencing to an unlocked gate on the back side of the cemetery. Although the grounds were heavily monitored to protect them from vandals and grave robbers, the Sanguine Watcher had promised safe passage through this gate. Perhaps he’d bribed the guards. Or done away with them entirely. Rosa didn’t know.

The gate opened without the expected squeak of hinges, and Rosa inched inside, every sense alert for signs of trouble. Nothing happened. The grounds lay still and silent as she made her way into the shadows of the tombs, her heart thumping so loud that she thought it might burst.

Back pressed against the wall, she peeked around each corner, expecting all manner of creatures to come popping out at her. Time and again, nothing happened. But the lack of opposition only honed her anxiety. She clutched the fabric of the coat tighter, and for the first time, she took reassurance from its chilly folds. If things went badly, she would try to use it. She slipped one arm inside and draped the other side over her shoulder, hoping that this precaution would keep her from activating the thing by accident.

It seemed to work, and she made her way to the mausoleum described in Mila’s notes. She’d pocketed them before they left, just in case the unthinkable happened. Now she wished she hadn’t been right, but she kept her attention on her surroundings to distract herself from her grief and anger. The mausoleum was a sizable structure, its gate flanked by a pair of gargoyles, their mouths stretched in an eternal scream. Inside, a narrow set of stairs descended down into blackness.

The gate stood open.

Rosa took a deep breath, pushing the hat down more securely onto her head and tugging the coat back up onto her shoulder again. It had a tendency to slide.

She’d never been the superstitious type, but no one in their right mind would want to go down there. Nothing good happened in places like this late at night. Recent events suggested that at least some myths had an element of truth to them. Anything could be possible. Ghosts. Ghouls. Or something even worse. Something without a name, that people couldn’t even begin to comprehend. She couldn’t be sure they were there, but she couldn’t be certain they weren’t.

For a moment, she considered grabbing one of the lamps, but she knew better. A moving light would only draw potential attackers to her, and rob her of her night vision besides. It was safer to move about in the dark.

She edged past the gargoyles, watching them out of the corners of her eyes. It was silly to be afraid of stone statues, but their hunched figures reminded her uncomfortably of the creatures she’d seen, and the back of her neck prickled as she passed them by. Then she was in the staircase, her hand clapped to the top of her head to keep the hat on. Although there was little wind down here, she worried that it would get knocked off somehow, leaving her stuck and vulnerable. She placed each foot with deliberate care. First the toe, and then the ball, each movement choreographed like a silent ballet. She made no noise. After all, they didn’t call her a master thief for nothing.

The staircase descended to a landing, and when she peered around the corner, she could see flickering lights down below where the stairway terminated in some kind of chamber.

Jackpot.

She approached carefully, not wanting to give away her presence before she could take the lay of the land. Her feet made no noise. Her breath was silent and steady. Although fear still gripped her, it had subsided to a low thrum in the background just as it always did. Rosa Varela was here to work.

“Miss Varela,” said a voice from the unseen room beyond. “So kind of you to join us.”

Despite her best efforts, she’d been made. That worried her. The voice concerned her even more. It creaked like an empty house, but dark amusement filled it nonetheless. It was the voice of a man who played a very different game than Rosa ever had. One that would be pleasant for no one but himself.

“The Sanguine Watcher?” she asked, freezing in place.

“The very same.”

“You picked a dangerous spot for a rendezvous, señor. If I didn’t know better, I’d think you weren’t going to hold up your end of the bargain.”

“How astute. Very well. I will promise you safe passage until the completion of our business. Does that satisfy your nerves?”

She thought for a moment. “Until I leave La Recoleta,” she countered. “Otherwise, you could give me the dough and then shoot me in the back.”

“Agreed.”

The promise failed to give her much in the way of reassurance, but the whole point of this expedition was to learn about the teleportation. She couldn’t do that without talking to the man. So she grabbed onto the lapel of the coat, holding it at the ready, and turned the corner.

A sizable room opened up before her, its cavernous depths barely touched by the single gas lamp sitting on the metal table near the stairs. A chalky-pale white man stood next to the table, tall and gaunt, with a long face and a wide mouth stretched into a cruel grin. He was older than her by far, his skin creased with age. He wore a pair of curious, ruby-tinted spectacles the likes of which she’d never seen before. They were a strange hybrid of glasses and goggles, with glass sides that fit to his face, shielding his eyes completely from view. A black suit of fine old cut completed the ensemble.

He sketched a mocking little bow as she appeared.

“Miss Varela.” He straightened, taking in her ready position, her arm poised to thrust into the sleeve at the first sign of danger. “Ah. I see that you have figured out the power of the crimson coat.”

He knew what it did. The information sank in heavily, weighing her down with regret and a surprising flare of anger. He’d known all along. If he’d been more forthcoming, she and Mila would have planned differently. Rosa wouldn’t have been teleported across town. She would have been there when things had gone wrong with Fentanes, and she could have done something. It didn’t matter what. What mattered was that the Sanguine Watcher had manipulated them from the start. If not for him, Mila would still be alive.

“I have,” she said, baring her teeth with sudden fierceness. “This was all a setup, wasn’t it? Are you working with Fentanes, or was that just an unlucky break?”

“I don’t know who that is. I need no partners.”

The admission failed to reassure her. He could be lying.

“You aren’t trying to con me, are you? If you don’t play it straight with me, I’m going to poof right out of here, and then I’m going to burn this coat to cinders.”

He froze, his manic grin fading.

“You wouldn’t.”

“Try me. My sister’s gone now. I’ve got nothing else to lose.”

“Just your mind.”

The Sanguine Watcher delivered this line with a malicious glee, reaching out to turn up the gas lamp. The growing pool of light illuminated the room in a widening circle, glinting off stone shelves stocked with glass jars containing twisted and deformed creatures. One of them jerked as the light hit it, rattling the glass and making Rosa jump. The glow grew to encompass another shelf that held metal implements that looked like they belonged in a mad scientist’s laboratory. With a jolt of shock, Rosa realized that this cavernous room was exactly that. She shuddered as she realized that what she’d been thinking of as a metal table looked more like a mortician’s workspace, with groves built into it to collect bodily fluids and drain them away. There were even straps designed to hold the corpse’s wrists and ankles.

But that didn’t make sense. Why would anyone need to restrain a corpse? Only live victims struggled.

Rosa backed away from him, dropping the sleeve of the coat as horror grasped her tight. All of her plans vanished from her mind, washed away by her growing fear. Did the Sanguine Watcher intend to put her on the table? To use those cruelly bladed devices on her?

Her throat went dry as she contemplated the possibilities, and she stumbled as she retreated. The Sanguine Watcher laughed when she fell, ripping the leg of her trousers and skinning her knee. She scrambled backwards towards the steps with nothing on her mind but escape.

She ran into something – or someone – that hadn’t been there just a moment ago. She looked up to see a young man in a black suit very much like the Sanguine Watcher’s. He reached for her, long, delicate fingers spreading as he offered his assistance to draw her to her feet. Moments before she slipped her hand into his, he looked down at her.

He had no face.

There was nothing there but blank, featureless skin. Flat, like a drawing that hadn’t been filled in yet. But she could feel him watching her nonetheless. Another one joined him, stepping up alongside. It wore the same clothes, wore its hair the same way. Its face too was a blank circle of nothing.

They were twins. Just like her and Mila.

The thought of Mila broke her frozen fear. Rosa shrieked, and the faceless twins recoiled from the noise. She took advantage of that to scramble to her feet, ignoring the sting of palms abraded by the rough surface of the ground and the wet trickle of blood down her leg. But this brought her face to face once again with the Sanguine Watcher.

“Give me what I want, and I will let you live,” he said, holding out his hand. “The hat. The coat. Give them to me.”

He’d promised her safe passage, but she couldn’t trust that. She couldn’t trust anything. She whipped her head around, searching for some way out, barely able to think. Her heart thumped like a frightened rabbit, and her eyes welled with tears as she backed up against the horrid table, the icy cold of the metal sinking into her skin.

“Come now,” said the Sanguine Watcher. “You must see that there’s no escape, just as I do.”

To punctuate his words, he whipped off his glasses. Rosa stared up at him, barely able to believe what she was seeing despite everything that had happened already. His eye sockets were empty pits, caverns of black that swallowed all light. The gas lamp failed to illuminate their depths. Perhaps they went on forever.

But he still saw her somehow, and his cruel smile promised something beyond pain.

“Yes, I can make something of you,” he said, confirming her worst suspicions. “Put her on the table.”

The faceless twins moved in perfect unison, reaching down to take her by the arms. Their touch made her skin crawl, and she kicked and scratched like an angry cat, drawing blood. She reached for the cosh, her fingers grazing the handle before knocking it uselessly to the ground. Her attackers didn’t give her the time to recover it. They were implacable. One of them pinned her legs in a vise-like grip, while the other struggled to restrain her arms.

For the second time that night, she prayed aloud, tears running down her face, panic lending a hoarseness to her words. The words came in halting, barely remembered spurts, but she could remember her parents saying them with her. Mila, holding her hand as they lit candles on the altar.

Her family was still with her. She would never be alone.

Mila would want her to fight.

They began to drag her toward the awful table as she kicked and screamed. The coat thrashed with her movement, the empty sleeve arcing up to hit her in the face. She shrank from the blow as her mind cleared. The coat! In all of the chaos and fear, she’d forgotten it. She tore her arm free from the faceless minion. He clutched at her again as she pawed at the sleeve, his hand wrapping around her forearm.

“Don’t let her put it on!” shouted the Sanguine Watcher, his voice sharp with concern.

Rosa tugged at her arm but couldn’t dislodge her attacker. He leaned closer, his grip tightening. Pain flared in her arm; her hand immediately began to go numb. But he’d come too close.

She head-butted him right in his featureless face.

He released her so quickly that she fell to the ground, driving all of her air out in a pained gasp. Then he arched his back, hands pressed to his nothing of a face, body language clearly communicating his pain. Rosa could hear faint screams hovering at the absolute edges of her hearing, but that made no sense. He didn’t have a mouth. But there was no time to dwell on such impossibilities.

She thrust her hand into the coat and threw herself towards the door despite the faceless man still clinging to her legs. The past two times she’d used it, she’d been moving, and she’d been thinking of a destination. Maybe it had been a coincidence, but she’d repeat the steps exactly until she could determine precisely how it worked.

Home, she thought. Please take me home.

As the room dissolved into darkness, she heard the garbled, furious cry of the Sanguine Watcher.

“You can’t escape me!” he shouted. “I’ll see that you pay!”

•••

Despite her immense relief at the ease with which she’d teleported to safety, Rosa didn’t stay at home long. The Watcher would be searching for her, and he would look here first. In fact, she wasn’t too sure about the boat either. If he tracked her there, she might find herself at sea in a vessel full of his faceless servants. There would be no escaping then.

A change of plan made sense. She’d go to the safe house for her bag and then travel by land. There were plenty of cities in Central America that offered riches for the taking. If she ran out of funds, they’d be easily replaced.

She grabbed the bag and the boat tickets she’d left at the ready and hurried across town to the shabby safe house, looking over her shoulder the entire time. The streets were deserted at this time of night save a lone drunk who stepped out of a darkened doorway, took one look at her face, and let her pass without a word.

The safe house was quiet and dark, but the evening had been so eventful that she remained on high alert. Rather than waltz in through the front door and into a possible trap, she leaped the wall that led to the small backyard garden. The place was coated in shadow, and she kept the crimson coat at the ready just in case she needed to teleport out of harm’s way once again since she’d lost the cosh.

She crept toward the back door, put her face to the glass, and peered inside. The sparsely decorated back room sat still and silent. She turned to get the key and only then did she notice the shadowy figure seated at the wrought iron café set tucked in the corner.

“Miss Varela,” the man said.

She paused with her hand halfway down the coat sleeve. That wasn’t the Sanguine Watcher. Not even close. This voice sounded much warmer. More reassuring. It was probably a trap, but if he knew her name, she needed to find out what she was dealing with.

“Who wants to know?” she asked.

He leaned into the light, revealing an urbane visage of indeterminate age, eyes shaded by a wide-brimmed hat. Red leather gloves peeked out from the sleeves of his grey double-breasted jacket. He offered her a faint smile.

“My colleagues call me the Red-Gloved Man. I’m sure that you of all people understand the wisdom of using a pseudonym.”

“Your colleagues?” Suddenly, it all clicked into place. The crimson coat that led to that red-tinted hellscape. The Sanguine Watcher with his red-tinted glasses. And now the Red-Gloved Man. All those red things had to be connected. If this gent was friends with the Watcher, she wanted nothing to do with him no matter how good his manners were. “I think this conversation is over. One of your colleagues tried to kill me tonight, and if you make the same mistake, I’m leaving.”

The Red-Gloved Man glanced down towards the coat, his brow creasing.

“You can put it on,” he suggested. “It won’t transport you unless you are in motion and putting intent into a destination.”

“Yeah?” She thawed the slightest bit. “I thought as much, but I haven’t used it enough times to be certain.”

“Please sit with me for a moment. I promise not to try and kill you. I do not subscribe to the Watcher’s methods, and there are things you should know.”

It was the kind of offer Rosa couldn’t afford to refuse, and she resented that. She pulled out the other chair and sat far back from the table, where she would have plenty of time to get away if things went poorly. Then, her belly fluttering with nerves, she slid the coat on the rest of the way.

Nothing happened. He’d been telling the truth.

“I am sure you have put much of this together on your own,” said the Red-Gloved Man. “But I represent a special interest group, a Coterie if you will, that collects items of mystical significance.”

“Why are they all red?” she asked, unable to restrain herself.

“I have my theories, but I cannot say for certain. It is an intelligent query though. But what I do know is that not many people have the ability to pick one up and use it so easily. They require a certain… knack, shall we say? It takes an immense amount of willpower to activate one and retain some semblance of sanity.”

“Yeah.” She shuddered, remembering all of the things she’d seen that night. “I understand that.”

“With that in mind, I would like to offer you options. I am sure I do not need to tell you that the Sanguine Watcher will pursue you as long as you have the crimson coat.” He paused, waiting for her nod of acknowledgment. “If you like, I can take it away from here. I cannot guarantee that he will stop in his pursuit of you, because he can be a vindictive sort, but with your skills, I’m sure you can stay two steps ahead of him. He will eventually give up once he realizes you are no longer in possession of the coat.”

As offers went, it wasn’t a bad one. Most people would have been desperate to get back to their normal lives, free of faceless thugs and shadowy monsters. But Rosa could never go back. Not without Mila.

“What’s option two?” she asked.

He smiled, drumming his gloved fingers on the table to punctuate his words.

“You join us. A woman of your skill with control of the crimson coat could help us acquire the artifacts we seek. They are dangerous in the wrong hands. You would be doing the world a service.”

“And the Sanguine Watcher is a part of your little club too? No, señor. I cannot. I will not play nice with him.”

“You don’t need to. This is not a social club.”

She frowned. “This is a big decision, and I must think it through. Meet me in a few days. I must see my sister safely buried, and then I will give you my answer.”

“The Watcher will be searching for you,” he cautioned.

“I’m sure he will.” She flipped up the collar of the crimson coat and smiled bitterly. “Let him try.”

•••

The next few days were incredibly busy. The police left her messages at the house, but she couldn’t risk staying there. She called in and made arrangements to pick up Mila’s body in private. Then she arranged a church funeral where she played Mila’s favorite hymns on the pipe organ. She would have played and cried all night if the padre hadn’t made her stop.

The Sanguine Watcher’s minions had dogged her steps after the funeral, but she’d become increasingly adept at evading them thanks to the crimson coat. She’d become reliant on it in the short time it had been in her possession. With the aid of the coat, she’d planted stolen goods in the office of Benicio Fentanes. She couldn’t let him get away with what he’d done, and no one at the party had been willing to speak up. So she’d nicked a few things from the private collections of men who would not take such theft lightly and put them in his office where he couldn’t cover them up. Within twenty-four hours, Fentanes had disappeared.

It wouldn’t bring Mila back, but at least both sisters could rest easy knowing that justice had been served. Rosa stood next to the freshly piled earth of Mila’s grave as the wind tried to carry the hat away. She clapped a hand to her head to hold it in place as she waited.

It didn’t take long.

The Red-Gloved Man approached with a bouquet of red roses, placing them gently against the headstone. The gesture touched Rosa despite her efforts at impartiality. Either he was a good man or a good actor. She hoped it was the former.

“If I join you,” she said, “you must promise me that none of the artifacts I personally acquire will go to the Sanguine Watcher.”

“And you will work extra hard to bring them in before he finds them?”

“Something like that.”

“I acquiesce. As I said, I don’t agree with many of his methods myself.”

Rosa took a deep breath, overcome by a wave of excited nerves. All of her training had prepared her for this moment. This would be the game of her life. Her fear had faded away, replaced with a deep-seated well of determination. Mila would be so proud of her.

“I accept,” she said.

He clapped his gloved hands in satisfaction.

“Excellent. Then from this day forward, the name Rosa Varela will be lost to history. You will be the Girl in the Crimson Coat from now on. Leave your old life behind. I am sorry to ask it, but it is safer for those you love.”

She looked down at the gravestone. “Everyone I love is gone. There is nothing left for me but the game, and I intend to win it.”

“It will be my pleasure to witness it.”

He offered a hand, and she hesitated for a moment before she took it. Whatever secrets the red gloves held, they didn’t reveal themselves during their handshake.

“Welcome, Girl…” he stumbled. “That title doesn’t exactly trip off the tongue, does it? We may need to rethink.”

“Let me try,” she said, sweeping the hat off into a bow of introduction after a moment’s thought. “La Chica Roja, at your service.”