Chương 43: Chapter 42 - The Heist

The applause following Ellis Oliversen's brief closing remarks echoed around the wide room, filling the space between the round tables, full of well-dressed witches and their various guests, and the lofted, glittering chandeliers. As the noise faded, Olivia glanced over her shoulder toward the line of doors at the side of the reception room. Her gaze had to move past several other tables. A few people glanced at her. When she noticed, she turned back to her table.

The last of the applause changed into the gentle murmur of general conversation. Olivia didn't hear it. Her eyes took in the white of the table cloth, the shadow of the folds in her napkin, and the sparkle of the silverware, but she didn't really see them. Emerra was right, Olivia thought. Nothing is the worst that could happen. The young witch jumped when she felt a light touch on her arm.

"I'm sorry." It was Owen Ashworth. He smiled.

"I didn't mean to startle you."

"No," Olivia said.

"It's fine."

"I meant to ask," he nodded to the untouched place setting between Dr. Misserly and Rall Axton, "is Miss Cole all right? She never joined us." On Ashworth's other side, Nylah said, "There's nothing wrong with her. She just didn't want to come." Olivia was impressed with how effortless it was for her sister to take on that slight, scathing edge to her voice. It must be a habit.

"Oh?" Ashworth said. Olivia said with easy indifference— another habit, she thought—"She said she'd feel out of place at a formal dinner." The sparks in Rall Axton's eyes danced with amusement.

"That's what she said, but I think the girl's got the right kind of head on her shoulders." He leaned toward Misserly to grumble, "She's out enjoying the street fair while we're stuck in here, ankles crossed, tugging at our ties." Misserly nodded with complete sympathy, and his hand wandered toward his neck. In a musing voice, Ashworth repeated, "She said she'd feel out of place at a formal dinner…" He turned to Olivia, "She's a bit difficult to read, isn't she?" Olivia felt a stab of impatience. Difficult to read?

She's an idiot! — But behind Ashworth's casual manner there was a gravity that made Olivia hesitate. Memories flickered through her mind. The way Emerra listened. The two or three times she spoke in that quiet, intractable voice. The occasional intensity of her eyes. The times when Olivia had looked at Emerra and glimpsed an unexpected seriousness in her expression. It had seemed so natural and fit so well, Olivia had briefly wondered if it had always been there.

"Not a bit," Rall said.

"Miss Cole likes to have fun, she likes people, and she's fortunate enough to not know what the phrase 'black tie optional' means. She's no more difficult to read than a picture book." Olivia's eyes accidentally met Nylah's. Her sister's mouth was drawn into a tight frown that was a mirror of her own. That annoyed Olivia even more.

"What do you think, Olivia?" Rall prompted.

"I'm sure she'd agree with you." Olivia stood up.

"If you'll excuse me for a moment." Olivia left the reception room, and stepped out into the lobby. As the door shut behind her, the noise of the party cut to almost nothing, and she was enveloped by the silence. Only the recessed line of lights above the front doors and the reception room doors were left on. The back half of the lobby and the halls beyond it were kept dark to discourage guests from exploring.

Between the sudden quiet and the dim lighting that threw shadows on top of more shadows, Olivia felt as if she'd escaped into a secluded corner removed from reality. She had to look around for a few seconds before she noticed Big Jacky standing a few feet off to the side, out of the way of the reception room doors. She walked over to him.

"Anything yet?" she asked.

"No," Jacky said.

"This is a much harder job than I thought it would be."

"How so?"

"It seems as if half the guests have left the room at one time or another. Why would a gentleman excuse himself from the table, go to the restroom, and then wander around the lobby for five minutes before returning to his seat?"

"Because no one likes to listen to speeches. Did he leave anything lying around?"

"No. And I don't know how many people may have come and gone while I was watching him." The reasoning had been simple—because of the outer wards, the invisible person had to come in the front door, but they wouldn't be able to get past security if they were carrying the still-visible tool they'd created to pop the inner ward. That meant their partner had to be in the building, and they'd have to drop the tool off somewhere before the evening was over.

The reasoning was simple—but that didn't necessarily mean it was right. The whole building had been searched before the dinner, and Jacky had tried to keep an eye on everyone coming and going, but the night was almost over and they'd found nothing. It was enough to set Olivia's teeth on edge.

"It's all right, Mr. Noctis," she lied.

"We know they like to work at night. Maybe they'll drop it off on their way out."

"That would be problematic," Jacky observed. Olivia pretended not to hear him. He was right, of course. Once the stream of people started moving, they wouldn't have enough eyes to watch everyone. But there was nothing they could do about that. Olivia's dismal thoughts were interrupted when the dull, distant sounds of a struggle happening outside the front doors grew louder. Her shoulders tightened, and her eyes flew to the entryway.

Several extra security personnel, all dressed in the same black suits, were gathered around a single figure who was trying to push them off. Jacky and Olivia hurried over to the door. They were joined by two other security guards. When Olivia slammed open one of the doors, the muted sounds became shouting and raised voices. Olivia stayed in the doorway and called over them, "What's going on?" The security stepped away to reveal a woman in jeans and a coat. Her face was flushed.

"Olivia!" she cried.

"Stephanie?"

"You know her?" Jacky asked. Stephanie's eyes were fixed on Olivia's face.

"You have to get your mother. Nobody's answering their phones and these hired jackals won't listen to me!" The highest-ranking security guard tried to defend the honor of his crew: "Miss, we were told that no one was allowed in without an invitation." There were footsteps behind Olivia and Jacky, and a wash of expensive perfume rolled over them. A matronly woman with short gray hair, wearing a burgundy chiffon dress and matching jacket, opened the door beside them.

She demanded to know if there was a problem in a voice that made it clear to everyone that they should do their damnedest to ensure the answer was no. Stephanie's distress dissolved into relief.

"Mrs. Irvine! Thank god."

"Miss Adams!" The older woman paled.

"Is everything all right?"

"No." Stephanie tried to jerk her arm away from the security guard still holding her.

"Let her go!" Irvine ordered. The man obliged.

"Now what's going on?" For a second, Stephanie's lips disappeared when she pressed them together. Her eyes moved from Irvine, to Olivia and Jacky, to the guards still surrounding her in a loose circle.

"Can we talk somewhere private?" she asked. Olivia turned and dove back into ARC Hall. Jacky fell in step beside her. As they passed the reception room, the doors beside them opened, one after another, and a steady trickle of people emptied into the lobby. Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Olivia swore under her breath, then said, "You better go warn my mother." Big Jacky disappeared. Olivia ignored the crowd and continued toward the back hallways.

Someone grabbed her arm. She turned. It was Nylah.

"What are you doing out here?" her sister hissed.

"The dinner's over. Half the people are leaving to claim a spot for the fireworks!"

"We missed them, Nylah." Nylah's irritation disappeared.

"They're already inside?"

"Stephanie Adams was about to take out half the security guards to talk to mother. I saw the look on her face. That ward is gone."

"But I thought they'd wait until night to make their move!"

"I know. They must have thought they'd have a better chance of escaping in the crowd." Nylah looked over the stream of people heading for the front doors. The unintelligible babble grew. A thousand movements and a hundred colors never allowed her eyes to rest.

"They might be right," Nylah said. The two witches turned and marched deeper into the darkened building. It had worked. Each time a new part of the plan fell into place, first try—click! —like a domino, Sammy felt a happy glow shoot through him. This was what it was supposed to be like. He had the book in his hand, and he knew what he had to do. He just had to get it right. But he couldn't keep his mind where it should've been. He'd double checked that it was the right book.

He'd wiped the needle-tool, just like Mister had told him to, and he'd left immediately. The witches would be coming. He should've been focusing on the next step. Plan A. Get to the front door. But his mind kept circling back to everything he'd done before. Once he stopped in the middle of the hall to check, again, if he'd gotten the right book, and he almost turned back in a panic to wipe his fingerprints from the tool even though he was sure he'd already wiped them.

The fear made him feel like a bird was trapped in his chest, fluttering around in a panic, trying to escape. He was going to mess it up. He didn't know how, but he knew he would. First the blind guy. Then the last time he'd tried to get the book.

"Bad things come in threes." His brother had always said that. Then he'd laugh and clap Sammy on the shoulder.

"Except us," he'd add.

"We come as a pair." Sammy had learned to force a smile, even though the joke always made him confused and sad. He shook his head. It didn't matter if he was scared. All he had to do was follow the plans. Mister was right—the witches were coming. When Sammy heard them, he walked over to the side, put the book down on the floor, pressed himself against the wall, and held still. One of the witches was holding her hand up, casting a bluish light over the scene. He recognized her. The redhead.

Mister had shown him her picture. Sammy knew he needed to look out for her. He held his breath as they passed. They didn't even glance his way. Sammy smiled and picked up the book. When he reached the opening to the main lobby, he hesitated. There was a whole crowd milling around, and two people were waiting by each front door. They must have been the security. They were dressed in black and facing into the building. Each time their eyes swept over the spot where Sammy stood, the bird in his chest fluttered again.

He backed away. Plan B. Leave by any other door. Sammy hated alarms, but he couldn't get out the front. It'll be okay, he told himself. Just follow the plan. Twice he had to move to the side or into a doorway as more women in dresses hurried by. Each time he held his breath, and each time they walked past him without pausing. The witches can't see me. He wanted to laugh. Mister had warned him they were powerful, but if they couldn't see what was going on, there was nothing they could do.

He turned a corner, toward one of the other exits he'd found, but his steps faltered. At the end of the hall, standing in front of the emergency door with a window set in it, was a young woman. He could see her silhouette coming from the dim light outside. She had been standing with her arms crossed, gazing toward him, frowning, but when he came around the corner, she unfolded her arms and her hands went to her hips. Sammy froze. Her frown deepened, and her eyes narrowed. Stop where you are. Hold still. Be quiet.

A tense minute crept by. The lights came on overhead, and he could see her. A brunette. She looked fierce. Behind Sammy, he could hear a distant commotion, but neither he nor the witch moved. He was close enough to hear her when she muttered a curse. She held her hands a few inches out from her sides and turned her palms toward him. What's she doing? The air around him gradually cooled until it was crisp enough it hurt to breathe. Goosebumps covered every inch of his body.

The brunette's roving eyes settled on the space where he was standing, shivering. He saw her smile, and saw the cloud of her breath when she said, "Found you." Her breath. He could see her breath. Sammy turned and ran. He didn't care if she saw the book. He needed to get away from the cold. He heard her yell something behind him, and he felt a shiver run horizontally through his body, as if he'd been cut in two by a bladeless sword. Dizziness flooded his brain, sloshing around, making his stomach churn.

When his head cleared enough he could raise his eyes, he saw the witch approaching, her hands raised. He rushed her, knocking her hard against the wall. She let out a grunt and fell. Without waiting to see if she'd get up, Sammy staggered down the hall, occasionally leaning against the wall for support. Nylah pushed herself up and searched for any hint of where the thief might be. At the end of the hall, she glimpsed movement and the fading mist of his breath.

She gingerly pushed herself off the floor and to her feet. She'd managed to hex him. She was sure of it. It'd been a dispersed spell, so it wouldn't last long or do any real damage, but it would leave a trace. Now the other witches would be able to sense him. Most of the other witches. Nylah pulled out her phone and dialed.

"Olivia, I just ran into our invisible thief. He might be headed your way. Look out for him." Olivia hung up and tucked her phone back in her pocket. If the thief was coming toward her, she wanted both hands free to better impress upon him how foolhardy it was to mess with her town, her coven, and her friends. She stared toward the main hall of the building, begrudging every time she had to blink. Everything was still. The door behind her led to the outside.

She could feel the cool air resting against her back, raising goosebumps on her arms. The air in front of her carried the faint scent of books. Her ears strained to hear anything other than the murmur of the witches in the archives and her own breathing. Her heart gave a start when she saw the grimoire's shadow moving unsteadily across the floor toward her. That tiny glimpse of motion was all she'd been waiting for.

Olivia pulled a handful of dried thorns out of her pocket and threw them in an arc, scattering them across the hall. When she raised her hands, coiling branches erupted from where they'd fallen and curled along the floor, every inch of them covered in fresh reddish-pink thorns. Halfway between her and the main hall, two of the thick tendrils coiled upward, climbing an unseen form. The book hovered nearby. Olivia squeezed her hands closed. The tangle of thorns constricted, scraping along the wooden floors.

She listened for the thief to cry out. There was no sound, but the book fluttered and dropped. Olivia kept one hand clutched tight. She turned the other until her palm was facing her, then drew it to her shoulder. The coils of thorns under the grimoire rolled toward her, carrying their prize. The two pillars of thorns lifted away from the floor, one after the other. The branches strained, then broke, snapping off with frayed edges before falling to dust.

"No!" Olivia cried. It shouldn't have been possible. How big was this thief? How strong did you have to be to snap those vines by pulling your legs out? Olivia ran for the grimoire. The thorns parted before her feet. The thief was running as well. She could see the plants twitching under his weight. He was closer to the book, but he was running over thorns to reach it. She would get there first. She snatched it from the branches and stood up straight with her teeth bared in a grin.

In her ear, a deep, low, sorrowful voice said, "Please don't." Her breath caught and her heart stalled. He was so close that the shock made her fingers go slack. The book was ripped from her hands to hover in the air, only inches away. Before she could react, an invisible arm slammed across her chest, knocking her back. When her body hit the floor, the coils of thorns exploded into a cloud of dust. Olivia coughed and rolled to her side. She could hear footsteps. She saw the dust, unsettled by his tread.

He was running toward the exit that had been behind her, but she couldn't tell where he was. No! The word, part command, part panic, echoed in her head. Ignoring her smarting shoulders and aching head, Olivia shoved herself off the floor, onto her knees, raised her hand, and shouted out a brief incantation. Sammy heard her yell. He turned in time to see the witch curl into a ball with her back to the ceiling and her hands covering her head.

Behind him, near the exit, the ceiling light exploded, and the light went dead. There was only one loud heartbeat before the next light in the line, coming toward him, exploded. Then the next. Then the next. The darkness was advancing in bursts, accompanied by the sound of glass raining to the floor. Sammy sprinted back the way he'd come in a race to get away from the devastation. He cleared the hall as the last eruption threw shards at his heels. The brunette was coming toward him.

She was almost to the intersection where the side halls met the main hall. Sammy had nowhere else to go. He turned right, down the last long hall that led to the back of the building. Considering how the other two were guarded, he half expected to see another witch, running to see what had happened, but there was no one there. Over his shoulder, he heard the brunette scream, "Olivia!"

"No! I'm fine. Just—stay there!" Sammy didn't stay to hear any more. He ran for the exit. His feet ached with every hurried step, but he ignored the pain. He wasn't sure if he'd outrun all the glass. If he'd been cut, he had to get out before his blood dried and became visible. He saw the door—Emergency Exit Only. A desperate laugh bubbled up in his chest, and tears built up at the edges of his eyes. He'd made it! He'd taken on two witches and made it out alive!

He wrapped his arms around the book and squeezed it to his chest. They'd tried to take it from him, and he'd stopped them! Now he was only a few feet away from freedom. A whole year without having to learn any more plans. A whole year where he wouldn't have to steal anything. He didn't slow down. He put out a shaky hand, slammed into the cross bar, and stepped out into the night. A skeletal hand reached out and pulled the door shut behind him. Outside, Sammy stopped short.

His weight settled between his tortured feet, making them burn where the thorns had done damage. He didn't notice. His thoughts had come to a standstill. The snow resting on the dormant hedges around him reflected the white light from the nearby street lamp, making him feel as if he was standing in a spotlight. The night beyond was nothing but darkness. Between him and the darkness was a line of eight people. Seven of them were wearing dark suits. The last one was wearing a police officer's uniform.

Under the harsh light, the exaggerated shadows made everything about them appear magnified and dramatic. Their guns looked like seven small black holes, pointed right at him. The man wearing a long coat—the only one without a gun—said, "Emerra?"

"He's right there, Darius." Sammy looked around to see who'd answered. On a short brick wall off to the right sat a skinny bald girl. She was pointing right at him. When their eyes met, she winked and said with a smile, "Hey."