Page 11 of A Heist for Filthy Rivals (Mythic Holidays #3)

So it is counting down the hours. Three down, twenty-one to go until my team reappears or I can make another wish.

I roll the stone around in my palm, watching the way its glow turns my skin orange. This is potentially the most powerful object I’ve ever held. Will it give me endless wishes, three wishes, or just one? What’s the extent of its power?

What if I could wish for anything?

I start thinking of potential wishes, like giving Candle back her youth, or longer life for myself…

though right now, I’m not sure I would even want that.

Life feels like too much trouble, sometimes.

Too heavy to bear for longer than a few more decades.

I suppose I could wish for riches, but I’m already on the path to getting those.

Maybe I’d wish for my crew to adore me and never leave me.

But I reject the idea the moment it enters my head. That scenario wouldn’t make me happy, because I’d know that they were with me out of compulsion, because of magic, not from love or loyalty.

Besides, if my theory is correct, and wishes made with this stone endure for only twenty-four hours, nothing lasting or meaningful can come from using it. It can’t give me anything I really crave.

Stuffing it back in my pocket, I enter the door at the top of the stairs.

A strange shivery feeling passes over me as I walk in, and I wonder if perhaps I’ve passed through another layer of security spellwork intended only for Faeries, not for plucky human thieves.

I suppose the Fae tend to underestimate what humans are capable of.

Something about that concept bothers me, though, because of the tapestry I saw on the first floor, the one that depicted the Fae King marrying a human woman who then became his queen and the leader of his army.

If any of the Fae understood what humans are capable of, it would be him.

And according to legend, he built this place, with the help of the Unseelie Queen.

Wouldn’t he have safeguarded the fortress against humans, too?

Unless he figured that protecting the routes between realms was enough.

Getting in here was difficult, but I can’t help feeling like it was a little too easy, and when things are too easy at first, they’re about to become really fucking dangerous.

The room I’ve stepped into doesn’t ease my mind. Several glowing red orbs float among a network of rafters, against the domed ceiling of the tower chamber. As I enter, their scarlet hue lightens and they gradually change from red to orange to yellow.

The large, round room is entirely free of eyes. It contains a large cabinet, a long table, and dozens upon dozens of slim, stone pedestals, all different heights. On every pedestal, nestled in velvet, is a globe of dark glass crested with an ornamental medallion.

For a moment I’m dazzled by the number of pedestals and the sheer quantity of globes. They glisten like a hundred dark eyes. Each one is about the size of a grapefruit.

I approach the nearest pedestal, which stands at waist height on me, and I lean over it, peering into the globe.

It reminds me of a fortune-teller’s crystal ball, except there’s a fancy golden crest at the top, like the tip of a pointed tower.

Instead of emptiness or swirling color, there’s an image in the sphere.

An image of the outer wall of the fortress.

“What the hell?” I touch the globe lightly with my fingertip, then jump back, startled. The instant I touched it, the image grew larger and clearer.

Tentatively I stroke the surface of the ball and discover that it lets me shift my view of the outer wall closer or farther away, depending on the movement of my fingers on the glass.

The other orbs in the room show different parts of the fortress, from the perimeter to the inner wall to the hallways and rooms of the keep itself.

The truth floods my mind like heady wine.

The eyes that blink all over Annordun are connected to these spheres.

From this room, one can observe every area of the fortress—which could be very useful not only for security purposes, but for anyone who might want to conduct experiments on certain artifacts and observe the results from a safe distance.

The globes are placed in concentric rings and set at different heights depending on the part of Annordun that they overlook.

Some of them are at the level of my breast, representing the third floor, while the second-floor spheres are slightly lower and the first-floor ones are at waist-height.

A number of the pedestals are hip-height on me, representing a subterranean level whose existence my team and I never suspected.

In one of those lower spheres, I spot a large room containing haphazard piles of mechanical objects and clockwork devices that look instantly familiar.

“There you are,” I murmur, smiling. “Drosselmeyer’s collection. Now all I have to do is—”

Movement from a nearby globe catches my eye, and my stomach does a slow, sick flop.

Prowling along the hallway of the subterranean level is a creature with brick-red skin sucked against the jutting bones of its skeletal frame.

Three sets of bony shoulders poke up from along its spine, each branching into a pair of thick legs that look more like arms, ending in clawed paws.

Two huge, ribbed horns protrude where its eyes should be.

Behind its skull, ribbed fans of scarlet skin widen and flutter, and at its rear writhes a pair of prehensile tails.

As I watch, the beast yawns, its muzzle splitting into three different jaws, each rimmed with fangs.

“Shit.” I lean closer to the sphere, staring at the monster. This place isn’t entirely unguarded, after all. How am I supposed to defeat something like that by myself?

I stroke the glass ball, widening the image. One of my fingers brushes the ornament on the top of the globe, and suddenly I can hear sounds—hoarse, bestial breathing and the heavy fall of giant paws.

I reverse the accidental motion of my finger against the ornament, and the sound cuts off.

These magical spheres provide not only images, but sound as well. Fascinating, if not very helpful.

Sighing, I thread my way between the pedestals toward the table, hoping to find something useful among the books and papers there.

But again, I spot movement, this time from a globe at waist height. When I turn for a better look, I see four dark figures standing outside the exterior wall of Annordun.

At first my heart leaps. Maybe the wishing stone threw my team outside, and they’re either waiting for me out there or trying to get back in.

But as I manipulate the image for a closer view, dread turns my guts to stone.

The people outside look human, dressed in black, wearing a variety of gear. But they’re all men, and their shapes are unfamiliar to me, except for one—a tall, lanky figure with broad shoulders and a casual grace to his movements.

“It can’t be.” I lean closer, my body heating with shock and anger. “No fucking way.”

I slide my fingers along the sphere, looking for the telltale white stitches flanking the mouth-hole of his knitted mask.

He turns slightly, perhaps to speak to one of his men, and the crisscross stitches appear, making him look just as cocky and malicious as he did the other night, when he broke into the Hearth and then ran from me.

It’s the mysterious intruder, the man who saved me from falling by grabbing my throat.

He’s here. In Faerie. Outside Annordun. With a gang of his own.

How? How is he here? No one else was supposed to know about this.

Annordun was supposed to be mine. My triumph, my salvation, my path to one of two futures: a relaxing retirement, or a place of strength among the gangs of Belgate.

I haven’t yet decided which one I want more—a quiet life free of crime, or the moral satisfaction of cleansing the city.

With the kind of renown and power this job would have given me, I’d be better positioned to take on the real criminals of Belgate: the corrupt politicians, the hessen lords, and the ruthless merchant magnates.

Either way, the Javelins and I were going to be the first and only humans to pull off a heist in Faerie, and now this asshole is here, fucking with the plan.

He and his people have somehow managed to clear away the acidic snow from a section of the fortress.

But rather than climbing the wall, the tall bastard starts marking something on it.

The sphere can’t provide me with the exact angle I need, so I switch to a different one which gives a slightly better view.

He’s painting lightning-shaped lines on the dark stone, crooked branches snaking between and around the blinking eyes.

He gives the wall a final swipe with his brush, seals the small bucket he was using, then stows both the bucket and the brush in his pack.

Bending, he touches something to the wall, then gestures for his companions to back away.

He dances backward too, like an excited child running in reverse to watch a kite soar up into the air.

I fiddle with the ornament on top of the sphere, trying to hear what he’s saying to his companions, but the only sound that comes through is a prolonged hiss that grows louder and louder. I twist wildly at the ornament, turning it down just in time.

A massive explosion whites out the image inside the sphere and causes the whole island to tremble. I hear the distant boom, and I feel the reverberations rolling through the watchtower.

A memory from several months ago niggles at my brain—someone in the Night Goose talking about a thief in Talgus, up north, who caused havoc by blowing up the palace of some reigning oligarch.

He used an explosive of his own invention, they said, a substance whose recipe he’d share with no one else—a type of volatile gel paint.

What was it they called him? Wreck? Roar? Ravager?

That was it. Ravager.

A few of the nearby spheres have gone completely dark, destroyed by the explosion. I fiddle with the sound control on my sphere until I can hear the crackle of sparks, the tumble of stones, and the rattle of pebbles as the dust settles. The smoke clears, revealing a jagged hole in the outer wall.

This guy thinks he can blast his way into Annordun. If my crew didn’t already set off any magical alarms, his bumbling, chaotic method of thievery is bound to draw attention.

“You absolute idiot,” I mutter. “What do you think you’re doing?”

There’s a strange echo to my words, and the four men beyond the wall react immediately with startled exclamations. The tall one holds up his hand for them to be quiet and strides closer to the wall, gazing up at the eyes like he’s searching for something.

Does the sound on these devices work both ways? Did they hear me?

“Devilry?” says the tall man. “That you, sweetheart?”

Shit. He recognized my voice.

“Looks like you and your crew beat us here,” he calls out.

“I thought I told you to lay low for a few days. Guess you have trouble listening to advice, eh? I don’t blame you.

I’m not so good with following orders myself.

But I really wish you’d taken my warning to heart, love, because now, if you get in my way, I’m going to have to kill you.

We’re coming in, and we’re taking what we came for. Don’t try to interfere.”

I retreat a few steps, cupping my hand over my mouth to stifle my breathing. My butt bumps into a sphere behind me and I have to whirl and catch it before it falls off its pedestal. I set it back into place with shaking fingers, trying to slow the pounding of my heart.

They’re coming in. And I’m here alone, without my crew to back me up.

I have less than twenty-one hours until the Javelins might possibly return. Twenty-one hours during which I’ll have to hold this place by myself, because I’m not about to let Ravager and his gang strut in here and help themselves to Drosselmeyer’s trove.

That treasure represents my future and my legacy. It’s going to keep my crew loyal and provide Candle with safety and peace during her final days. It’s going to protect me from the real villains of Belgate and give me the life I deserve.

This asshole might have saved himself time by blowing through the outer wall, but it will take him and his crew a while to navigate the red lightning, and after that he’ll have to deal with the lava moat. Which gives me time to prepare.

The inner keep of Annordun isn’t just the scene of a heist anymore—it’s my home for the next twenty-one hours. I have to defend it.

Most of the items we scored from the Fae-Hunters were traps designed to catch Faeries, but I’m betting some of them can be used on humans, too. And there’s a wealth of dangerous objects in this place. While I may not understand how they all work, I’m sure I can find a way to use some of them.

The masked bastard wants to take my treasure, but I’ll be damned if I let him. At the very least, I can make it so difficult and so excruciatingly painful that he’ll wish he’d never tried it.

I approach the globe again and focus the image on Ravager’s face, on that cocky grin with the prominent eye-tooth. Even though he can’t see me, I hope he can hear the smile in my voice as I say, “Bring it on, motherfucker.”