As I face the door to the Hearth, the wall of Fifth Bridge looms on my left, a solid mass of bricks. Looking back over my left shoulder, I can see the arch where it crosses the canal. To my right is another long wall belonging to the buildings that line the water between Fifth and Fourth Bridge.
Tilting my face up, I survey the strip of night sky between the walls. It’s dark here. The only light is the distant orange mist of the lamps along the top of the bridge.
For a second I could swear I see a shadow moving, but when I peer intensely at the spot, there’s nothing there.
At last I go inside, pull the ponderous door closed, and secure all three locks. As an added precaution, I attach the tripwire I sometimes use at the entrance. If anyone tries to go in or out, a tiny bell will ring in my room, right by my pillow. I’ll be the only one who hears it. And since I sleep closest to the door, I’ll be the first to respond to any threat.
Candle, the final and oldest member of our group, has fallen asleep in her chair by the enormous fireplace, her crochet needles lying inert in her lap. Her hair is a frothy white cloud against the floral fabric of her high-backed chair.
I invited her to come to the Night Goose with us tonight. She used to drink and sing and tell stories as raucously as a woman fifty years younger. She goes out less and less now, but she still strives to be useful, mending our torn clothes, preparing food, and keeping the Hearth tidy.
I wish she wouldn’t feel obliged to do any of it. She doesn’t have to. Whether she’s useful or not, I’ll keep her around untilthe day she passes on. She deserves a secure place to spend her last years.
If Scriv took over the Javelins, he’d put Candle out on her ass. I know he would. She is one more reason I need to stay in control here.
In the four years since I purchased this place, the team and I have erected partitions, dividing the large main area so that everyone can have a space of their own. Anyone walking into the Hearth would never suspect it to be the staging area for a gang of thieves. They would simply see a cozy common room and six sleeping alcoves along the walls, each furnished and decorated to suit the owner’s taste, each with its own heavy curtain for privacy.
To the right of the gigantic fireplace, behind a concealed door, lies a long, narrow back room, a storage area for supplies and weapons. It also contains the vault I built with Flex, where we store our loot until we can divide it up and sell it safely.
While the others disperse, I wake Candle gently. She’s not acting like herself—muddled, incoherent. I’ll have to send a message to Witch to come see her tomorrow and check her out. Witch is a healer who serves the less savory and less fortunate types throughout Belgate. The money she makes healing lawbreakers enables her to offer free healing to the poor. I’ve always respected her devotion to mercy, and I know she’ll take good care of Candle, as she’s always done.
“Boulder,” I hiss as he’s entering his sleeping nook. “Can you help me with her?”
He comes over, picks Candle up, and carries her to bed. I tuck her in and watch her for a moment.
“Her time is coming, Devilry,” Boulder says.
“I know,” I snap. Then I turn to him, instantly repentant. “Sorry. It’s not about you, it’s just—”
“You care about her. Like you care about all of us.” A shadow crosses his face. “You care too much, Dev. It makes things complicated.”
“What do you mean?”
He doesn’t answer, just rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “I’m headed to bed.”
It’s not like him to be cryptic. He might not be the wisest among us, but he is rarely evasive, at least not with me.
He shuffles off toward the lavatory, and I’m tempted to follow him, but I decide against it. They’ll all be in there, taking turns in the toilet stall, sponging their armpits over the wash trough, cleaning their teeth, and complaining about the lukewarm water. I can’t face them all at once, not when I have the dreadful feeling that this job in Faerie is our last one together. Either we’ll complete it successfully and go our separate ways to enjoy our wealth, or we’ll fail.
If the heist goes sideways and we somehow survive, I’ll be returning here in disgrace, only to be ousted from the crew I assembled. They’ll abandon me, and I’ll be left alone in the hideout we once called our home.
This venture into Faerie had better work. If it doesn’t, I have everything to lose.
2
Deep in the night, the bell from the tripwire chimes softly.
I whip the knife from beneath my pillow and land in a silent crouch on the floor. Staying low, I slink to the entrance of my sleeping alcove and peer around the corner of the partition at the front door.
A handful of steps away, there’s a figure bending over, disengaging their boot from the string I placed across the entrance. By the shape and movements of the person, I’m fairly sure they’re male.
When this intruder entered my sanctuary, his life became mine. I don’t kill thoughtlessly, but to protect the people I care about, I will cross that line.
I’ve been utterly silent, and we’re far from the light of the low-burning fire on the hearth. And yet, when the intruder straightens, he spots me.
“Well, fuck,” he whispers. A knitted mask covers most of his face, but I see him grin through the mouth hole. His teeth are slightly crooked, and one of his canines juts out noticeably, glinting in the light. The effect is odd, since there are X-shaped stitches in bold white on either side of the mouth opening, extending his smile in a way that’s both cocky and creepy.
I’m about to challenge him, to ask what he wants, but before I can speak, he says, “Goodbye,” and darts out the door, leaving it open. He must have picked all three locks in perfect silence.
