8

Raining Dogs and Cat Burglars

Gwen

Step number one? Reconnaissance. Sam’s observations were helpful, but I needed specifics about each location to decide which was most suitable for a heist. Lord Rutledge’s home would be the quietest, the most secluded, and also the best fortified. His offices at Parliament were surrounded by people, which was both a blessing and a curse; it was easier to disappear into a crowd, but also easier to be caught.

The third option was hijacking the construct somewhere en route between the two. But the Cutthroat King implied the construct was dangerous, and if it fought me in the open, anything might happen. I did not like the unpredictability of that situation.

Step number two: planning and organizing the actual theft. The most dangerous part and, ironically, the only part I looked forward to. Lord Rutledge was an avuncular type, with antiquated opinions, a thick streak of misogyny, the barrel chest and sinewy arms of a sportsman, and a soft midsection that spoke of years of good food and even better drink. 

He was not the cleverest member of the House, and I disliked him almost immediately. During our first conversation, he was one drink short of accusing me of toppling the monarchy for refusing to bear children. Stealing from him would be the least morally reprehensible part of this job.

Step number three: escape with the cargo. This part made me the most nervous because it required hiding a highly visible and recognizable object long enough to transport it across the city. And I refused to involve James in such an affair. It would be too dangerous. In fact, I would be entirely on my own. The thought made my ribcage clamp down painfully upon my heart, but I ignored it.

Three simple steps that would be anything but easy.

But if it kept Samuel out of the Cutthroat King’s clutches, it would be worth it.

As night fell, I slipped into a snug pair of black trousers, a black shirt and knitted sweater, a pair of soft leather boots with a reinforced toe and stiff soles, and a grey wool coat. I would rather have worn my Percy jacket, but the fit was a bit too constricting for cat burglary.

After braiding my hair and pulling a dark cap over my ears, I stood in front of the mirror. I looked like a poor excuse for a burglar, but I would, at least, be hard to see. Aristotle cocked his head and looked at me askance.

“What?”

He made a croaking sound that mimicked laughter and said, “Your legs.”

“Yes, bird, I have two of them. Look.” I did a little dance and shook my foot at him. “What did you think I hid beneath the skirt?”

He laughed at me, stomped a few times on the dresser, and turned in a circle, mimicking my dance.

“You,” I told him, fondly, “are a naughty boy.”

“He’s a pretty bird,” he countered.

I fetched the pretty bird a treat and left him in the study as I retrieved my bag of chalk and crept out of the house via the stables. Sam was waiting in the shadows, arms crossed over his chest, nose pink from the cold.

“Sam—“

“I know the way,” he said, his voice conciliatory. “I know the patterns of the bobbies and the staff in his house. I won’t do anything illegal, but I can help.”

We stared at one another for a long time. I was unable to let myself say yes, but hesitant to dismiss any advantage I could get. A bit of shadow detached itself from the sky and soared down to land on Sam’s shoulder. Aristotle waggled his tail feathers and tilted his head.

“Both of you?” I demanded in a whisper. “God’s breath. Fine. But you will be silent and follow directions, no matter what they are. Am I understood?”

They nodded solemnly.

Lord Rutledge’s townhouse was of the ornate variety, three stories of grey stone and scrollwork with a small garden on one side and pillars round the front door. We hid between a home and a parked carriage, slipping into the shadows.

“The basement is the last light to go out,” Sam breathed. “The bobbies walk through in five-minute rounds.”

I nodded. Though I would much rather have left Sam safe in his room, I certainly might have had worse companions. He was quick, quiet, and competent, which was an unnerving thing to recognize about my fourteen-year-old ward.

We sat in silence until they snuffed the downstairs light. Then we waited a bit more.

Once everyone was likely asleep, I crept down to the servants’ entrance to peer through the window. Most of the larger townhomes were similar in design; the servants’ entrance, storage, pantry, butler and maid’s rooms, still room, and all the functional spaces in the house were in the basement. The entertaining spaces were on the ground floor, and the family rooms were generally on the second or third. That made my search easier.

After ensuring the downstairs was quiet, I rejoined Sam—Aristotle was in the air somewhere—and began searching for the best holds to start my climb. The edifice was composed of large, square stones that fit together neatly, but not smoothly. There was a ledge and corner on nearly every stone, some as wide as the pad of my fingers, and others about half that size. Perfect for climbing.

But to ascend safely, I needed the right balance of light: enough to see where to place my fingers and toes, but not enough to be visible in the light of the street lamps. If the construct’s job was guarding his master, it would more than likely either be in his room or just outside.

So I would climb to the second floor, at least, and find myself an open window. Creeping through the basement and first floor without being seen was a risk I didn’t wish to take, not during a reconnaissance mission.

Ghostly croaking echoed down the street. A series of high-pitched calls that made the hair on my arms stand up. Aristotle.

Sam and I dropped behind a bare hedge and held our breath as I peered through the branches. A constable strolled down the center of the street, swinging his nightstick by the cord and eyeing the houses with lazy conscientiousness. After all, what were the chances of a crime happening here, in the wealthy part of town?

Sam gave me a sidelong glance that said he understood exactly what I was thinking.

As soon as he was gone, I handed my thieves’ lantern to Sam. “Point this at the walls, but never the windows,” I said as I dusted my fingers lightly with chalk. “If I stop moving, turn it off until I move again. Keep it on the lowest setting no matter what.”

“Are you sure you want to climb? Why not use the—that thing Delilah made you?” he asked, gesturing at my wrist with his chin.

“Because I do not know whether the magic works on a construct, and I would rather not have a metal mastiff tear into me.”

Sam nodded and crouched behind the shrubs as I found myself a pair of good holds and began climbing. The stiff soles of my boots let me rest my weight on my toes, taking the pressure off my fingers and arms, so I made quick work of the ground floor.

The first floor had a series of large windows with wide ledges that were likely part of a ballroom or library. I edged toward the closest window, made certain my feet were stable, and crouched on the sill to rest my arms. The ballroom was dark and empty.

I found another solid hold and edged back onto the wall. The stone was cool and slick, the cold air stung as I fought to breathe slowly, and the weakening light made good holds harder to find. As I neared the second story and reached up for my next hold, legs tiring and toes screaming, I found the ledges on every potential stone only half as wide as the pads of my fingers.

Stay calm, I thought and blew on my fingers to keep them dry.

I placed my hand carefully, locked my grip by folding my thumbs over the top of my fingers, lifted my leg for the highest toe hold I could manage, and pushed myself up to my full length. My right toe slipped, making a little crunching sound, and I fell with a swallowed gasp. I caught myself and slammed into the wall with a huff of expelled air, clinging desperately as my full weight settled on my fingertips. My tendons burned, and the edge of the block dug into my skin as I dangled.

God’s breath, I was going to fall.

The toes of my boots scraped along the stone as I struggled for a toe hold, gripping the wall so hard my arms shook. Just before my fingers gave out, my right boot caught on a protruding stone and I threw my arm out to clutch the closest window ledge. It was made of a different stone, smoother, but wider.

I locked my arm in place, swung the other hand over, scrambled up onto the ledge, and flattened myself against the window, breathing hard, hands shaking. Panicked adrenaline coursed through my body, making every muscle shake. Aristotle’s warning echoed down the street, Sam flicked the light off, and the constable passed again.

After my heart stopped trying to pound through my chest, I turned to peek into whatever room I was next to and found myself sitting in a hall window. Moonlight turned the inside of the hall a pale blue. The wood wainscoting and sconces reflected enough light to see the figure padding down the corridor in the dark, its clawed feet sinking into the carpet.

The creature’s head was large and stood a bit higher than my knees at the shoulder. It had a wide chest and powerful jaw, and the moonlight reflected off the runes etched into its brass skin. It prowled past the window, moving as naturally as any living animal.

My suspicion was confirmed. Rutledge kept the construct for safety, so it roamed the house at night. The construct would not need sleep or food and it would never experience fear, anger, or any other emotion. It was the perfect protector.

Breaking in to steal it while it was on guard duty would be a terrible idea, especially in a neighborhood such as this, where any kind of commotion would be noticeable. As much as I hated it, Parliament was probably a safer option. People wandered all over the grounds there without suspicion. What was one more person?

At least my reconnaissance was successful. I had narrowed my options. It was time to go.

Just as I turned to lower myself, the dog construct appeared in the window, mere inches away, its paws on the sill as it stared at me with black glass eyes, the light from the thieves’ lantern reflected off its skin with an ominous glow. 

I swallowed a surprised shriek and lurched backward by instinct, rolling off the sill. I threw my hands out in desperation, but the window ledge was slippery and my fingers slid off the edge. 

I hung suspended for a breathless eternity before my stomach dropped. Night air rushed past me in an instant of free fall, and I landed hard in the shrubbery with a cry of pain I couldn’t bite back. Aristotle screamed. 

A wave of stunning pain broke over me and I fought to stand, wincing as my ribs sent out a distress signal that made my knees tremble. The constable would be here in moments, and I was too shaken to move quickly.

Sam ducked beneath my armpit and wrapped his arm around my ribcage to pull me to my feet. We stumbled toward the stables at the back of the house.

Lord Rutledge kept several horses, who whickered and stamped their feet as we crept inside, leaving pale plumes of breath barely visible in the cold air. The constable was sure to look in the stalls and shine his light into the auto parked off to one side. 

“The back,” Sam said, pulling me toward the tack room and a large storage cupboard. Hiding in a cramped space would give us no room to maneuver if we needed to escape, so it was the tack room or nothing. The constable would be foolish not to search there, as well, but we were out of options. 

“Anyone in there?” a gruff voice called.

No time left.

Opening the door without making a sound took several stomach-turning seconds, all while watching the light of a torch grow closer. 

“Get in,” Sam breathed. I slipped inside and put my back to the wall behind the door to make room for him, but he closed it behind me. I made to grab him, but light shone into the stable, and crunching footsteps approached. 

The light through the crack in the bottom of the door grew brighter as he neared the back, stopped to check a stall, and moved on.

“If anyone is in here, come out now and it will be better for you, see?”

I turned my feet as far to the side as they would go and squeezed myself against the wall as the steps stopped outside the door. A clicking noise, rummaging sounds, drawers sliding in and out. 

The door handle to the tack room creaked. The door swung open, far enough to brush my nose. I held my breath. Light from a dwarven torch played across the rows of ropes, harnesses, and bridles hanging from pegs along the back wall.

Face turned to the side, I tried to make myself as narrow as possible. If he looked behind the door, I would have to knock him out and then run. My lungs burned.

“Oi! What are you doing in—oh, Constable. Sorry to startle you.”

Samuel.

“What’s goin’ on in here?” the constable demanded.

“Lord Rutledge is taking these boys on a trip in the morning,” Sam said to the sound of a few affectionate pats on a horse’s neck. “I told him I’d make sure they had a good night. Can’t have them getting cramps on the road tomorrow, what with it being so cold tonight.”

“I heard a cry,” the constable said, unconvinced.

A scuffing sound. “Slipped on a horse apple and nearly brained myself on the stall door,” Sam said, sounding embarrassed. Had I not known the boy, I would swear he was a seasoned groom. “Didn’t even know I could make a noise like that. Dangers of the job, eh? Can I do anything for you?”

One of the horses whinnied, the light stopped moving, and the constable said, “Have I seen you somewhere before?”

My heart squeezed so hard it stopped. 

Sam laughed. “Not unless you like horses more than a normal man.”

The constable snorted but sounded a bit more at ease. “You about finished in here?”

“Just locking up.”

“Good. Get inside then.”

“Yessir.” The door swung shut and Sam said, “Go back to sleep, lads. All’s well,” as retreating footsteps became fainter. We were safe.

I slumped to the ground and gave myself a few moments to calm my buzzing nerves and ascertain the damage. I did not re-break my ribs, but my hip would be bruised terribly and I had at least one gash from the branches I broke landing in the shrub.

But I was alive and unseen, so I contented myself with that and opened the door to the tack room. The constable had opened the cupboard to check inside and left the bottom drawer ajar.

“Bloody hell, my lady,” Sam said with a shaky laugh. “Are you alright?” 

“I’ll live. And watch your language, young man.” He snorted and turned to keep an eye on the front of the stable. 

Wincing at the pain in my hip, I crouched to close the cupboard and hide any trace of our entry. There, tucked in among a series of packages, was a weather-worn and spotted package tied with twine and stamped with several postage stamps from Greece and the continent.

If that had been all it was, I would have closed the door and left well enough alone. But the paper on the package was torn at one corner, and through that tear a pale green light shone, faint as a distant firefly. Had it been daylight, I never would have seen the glow.

The Cutthroat King’s voice echoed in my memory. The man is a great collector of items he has no business possessing.

I shouldn’t have done it. There was no excuse for my behavior except…I was struck with an overwhelming curiosity and found myself opening the package before I mustered the willpower to stop.

“Lady Gwen,” Sam hissed, but I barely heard him. My skin was buzzing with a feeling I could not name.

Crushed on one side and soft with water spots, the rough wood shipping box wasn’t doing a very good job of protecting whatever was inside. As I pried back the lid with the blade of my knife, the glow grew stronger. Inside was a wrapped and tied sphere, surprisingly heavy for its size, that glowed softly even through the paper.

I unwrapped it, hands trembling in anticipation. 

An eye stared back at me.

Not just any eye, but one made of crystal, faceted to reflect light toward the iris, a circular opal around an inch and a half in diameter. The pupil was made of a rich, emerald green cabochon jade that lit up the small space with the green glow I’d noticed.

The crystal eye hummed with power. It was mesmerizing. Aristotle cried once, twice, three times. I jerked in surprise and fumbled the eye before trapping it against my chest. 

“We have to go,” Sam said.

There wasn’t enough time to repackage the gem and escape the stable. Cursing my stupidity under my breath, I rearranged the packages and shut the cabinet door, then crept around the auto and slipped into the hedges on the side of the stable, Sam right behind me. Mere seconds later, two beams of light shone on the building from the front of the house.

Damn and double-damn.

Aristotle hopped around the crystal, turning his head to get a clear view from one eye at a time, making cooing noises.

“Ooh,” he said, dropping his head till his eyeball was millimeters from touching the surface. “Ahh.”

“I know you love shiny things,” I grunted as I tried to extricate myself from my clothing without causing various scrapes and bruises to sing with pain. “So you had better enjoy it now. I must sneak it back as soon as possible.”

He gasped at my suggestion, then gathered the eye to himself, pulling it under his chest with his wings as if he could hide it from me, like a mother hen with her eggs.

“We cannot keep the eye,” I told him as I tossed the blood-stained sweater onto the top of the growing pile of ruined clothes.

“What eye?”

“Very funny. As of now, I am a thief by accident. I have no wish to become a thief on purpose.”

He ignored me and continued to coo over his newfound egg (which was far too large for him, being roughly the size of my fist) as I doctored and bandaged my wounds. The scrape on my hip was deeper than I thought, just shy of requiring stitches, and dried the trousers to my skin with a thick layer of blood.

“God’s breath, that hurts,” I muttered as I peeled away the fabric after soaking it in water from the pitcher on my bureau. “Ouch! What kind of gentlemen keeps such rotten, bloodthirsty, fly-bitten, ill-bred shrubbery right below their windows? It should be illegal. Just look what it’s done to my hip!”

Aristotle considered the injury, tilted his head, and said, “Oh la la.”

“You,” I said and bopped him on the beak, “are a little pervert.”

Once my injuries were dressed and I swallowed a good deal of brandy to dull the pain, I fought Aristotle for the eye and sat to examine it properly. The crystal that composed the body of the eye was clear as glass in some facets, and very slightly milky in others. It was old enough that some of the faceted edges were smoothed by countless hands over hundreds, maybe thousands, of years.

I turned the eye, watching it refract the light. Script of some kind was carved into the side opposite the iris.

“It’s not Greek,” I said, turning the stone to catch the light. “It may be Mycenaean, or proto-Sinaitic, but I doubt it. The letters are too worn to identify. If it is Mycenaean or perhaps…it cannot be…” My voice slowly died away as an idea gripped me. “Is this the Eye of the Grey Sisters?”

“Mine?” Aristotle said as he hopped onto my arm.

“No, silly bird. I think this is a representation of the eye used by the daughters of Ceto. They were witches, the children of Titans, and Perseus stole the eye they shared to force them to reveal how to kill Medusa. Hecate and Ceto have been conflated in the past, and with the recurring symbol of three…”

My mind positively whirred with information, bits of knowledge spinning and slamming together with only one inevitable outcome.

My voice came out thin, high, and excited. “I think I can use this as an amplifier for the spell.”

“Save the girl?” Aristotle asked.

“Yes. Save the girl.”

He sidestepped down my arm to get close to the eye, stared longingly at it for a moment, then looked up at me, tilted his head, and said, “Mine?”

Falling asleep was impossible. Visions of Lia stepping through a spectral door filled my head. The force of my love would pull her toward me. We would wrap our arms around one another and never be separated again. But those visions were contrasted by the guilt of having stolen something invaluable and knowing that I would not return it until I knew whether it was the key to making the spell work.

What was the pompous Lord Rutledge doing with it, anyway? He could not know what it was, or the power it possessed. When I held it to the light, it focused the beam into the iris, making the jade pupil glow. If it channeled magical energy the same way it channeled light…then it may only be a matter of days before I wrapped my arms around my sister.

She would change everything, and I would no longer be alone. And Mama... Well, I almost could not bear to imagine what she would feel when she saw her daughter alive.

Of course, I could not move forward with the spell until I stole the construct and returned it to the blasted Cutthroat King. 

And I learned tonight that stealing from the Marquis’s townhome was not a good idea. 

This meant my other option was to steal it from the House of Parliament, right from under his nose, while hundreds of people watched. I needed a really good plan…a really good, foolproof plan.

But I drank too much brandy and fell asleep before I thought of one.