Page 16 of A Heist for Filthy Rivals (Mythic Holidays #3)

“Dumbass,” I retort. And then I have to duck aside, because Grisly unslings a crossbow from his back and sets a bolt in place. He yells in pain while he’s pulling the drawstring. His hands must have been damaged too, despite his gloves. Fae-Hunter traps pack a nasty punch.

“Try anything else, whore, and you’ll get a bolt through the eye!” Grisly shouts.

“Needle, you’ll have to pick the lock,” says Ravager. “I’m seeing double.”

“Right, boss!”

Needle has escaped injury so far, but that’s about to change. I pick up the sphere and dash to the central stairs, hurrying down them so I can witness what’s going to happen.

Earlier, I pulled a thick metal wire out of a contraption I found on the third floor. I have no idea what the device I took it from was designed to do, or why it wasn’t shielded, but I needed that component, so I took a chance.

The wire now extends from the inner workings of the front-door lock to the trigger mechanism of a live lightning trap we obtained from the Fae-Hunters. When Needle pokes his metal tools into the lock, he makes contact with the wire, tweaking it just enough to set off the trap.

I reach the main hallway of the first floor just in time to see lightning shoot from the trap, along the wire, and through the lock. There’s a strange keening noise, a sizzling sound, and a wet rattle—then silence.

My heart is beating so fast I can barely breathe.

Suddenly I’m reluctant to look into the sphere and see what happened.

Instead I cautiously approach the lightning trap.

It’s still active, still connected to the lock by a crooked bolt of live lightning that jerks and sparks, much like a white-hot snake that’s being held in place by its head and tail.

When Ravager speaks, I hear him through the sphere and through the door. “Needle… oh fuck.”

My mouth feels dry as sand. I swallow hard and force myself to gaze into the sphere I’m holding.

The eyes of Annordun show me what I already knew I would see. Needle’s body lies on the doorstep, inert, blackened, and smoking.

He’s dead. I killed him.

Some callous part of my brain whispers, One down, three to go.

“This fucking bitch,” wheezes Slaughter. “We’ve got to get in there.”

“Obviously we can’t go through the front door,” says Ravager calmly. “It’s not safe to pick the lock. And whichever point of entry we choose, she’ll know. She can see and hear us anytime she likes, isn’t that right, love?”

I don’t respond.

“We can blast in,” suggests Slaughter. “Blow a hole through the front of the place.”

Ravager looks glum. “I used most of my explosives on the moat. I’d prefer to save what’s left in case we end up in dire straits.”

“These straits are pretty fucking dire,” Grisly replies. “Needle is dead, Rav. Not that I care—he was a whiny little bitch—but I don’t want to be next.”

I focus the sphere’s image on Ravager’s face in time to see it change from gloomy regret about his explosives to a much darker, more frightening expression.

“You should care that Needle is dead.” His voice is menacingly soft.

“He was the one who knew how to work the dark magic of the Rathad. He was the only one who could get us home. Without him, we’re going to need the Doras álainn, which is currently in the possession of the irritating little scud-drinker who killed him. ”

Little, my ass. I’m not little. I’m nearly as tall as he is. Taller than plenty of men I’ve met.

I push aside my indignation to consider the new information he just provided.

The dark artifact that let them into Faerie is useless to them now, since they don’t understand it.

They want the Doras álainn—which is probably what Ravager was after when he broke into the Hearth. Somehow he knew that my crew had it.

Whether he’s after Drosselmeyer’s inventions or some other treasure of Annordun, he’s got an additional objective now—stealing the device that I need to get home. Which I obviously can’t allow. Before they get in here, I’ll have to hide it somewhere they’ll never think to look.

“You might be thinking of trying to hide the Doras álainn, sweetheart,” Ravager says loudly. “Don’t bother. Let’s do this the easy way, where you hand it over and we don’t have to waste time torturing you.”

His piercing gaze is unsettling, even though I’m looking at him through the sphere and he can’t see me. His eyes are blue, with creases at the corners like he’s lived in the sun most of his life. That’s the exact opposite of me. I prefer darkness.

Ravager turns his attention back to his men. “We’re going to split up. The traps in the second-floor windows have both been sprung. Nothing to fear from them anymore.”

“Nothing to fear?” exclaims Grisly. “What if she’s got more of those traps set up inside?”

“Then you’ll have to watch your step. I’ll take the east side. Slaughter, you go to the west. Grisly, you’re injured, so you wait here, as backup. If she pops her pretty head out of that little window again, go ahead and shoot her. We’ll find the Doras álainn the old-fashioned way if we have to.”

“What’s the old-fashioned way?”

Ravager closes his eyes briefly, an expression of pure annoyance crossing his face, but he answers patiently. “By looking for it.”

“Oh. Right. I got her, boss, don’t you worry.” Grisly renews his hold on the crossbow, glaring at the window above the door.

“Whoever reaches the main floor first will destroy the lightning trap and let Grisly in,” continues Ravager. “If we encounter the girl, we take her captive if possible.”

“When we get her, I’ll do the questioning,” Slaughter says. “You’d be surprised how fast a woman talks when you threaten to twist off her nipples or remove her clit.”

Through the sphere, I see Ravager wince, but he doesn’t reject the idea aloud.

I have to admit, he’s more interesting than I originally thought.

He talks a big game, and I have a feeling he has killed people before, but he doesn’t strike me as the type who enjoys the pain, fear, or death of others.

If anything, he’s the conscience of his crew, the one holding them back. Or at least he appears to be, for now.

That doesn’t mean I trust his apparent softheartedness, or the semblance of a moral compass.

I’ve met men who seemed kind at first, then proved themselves to be depraved monsters once my guard was down.

The nice ones are always the worst, because they lure you in.

They make you think you’re safe with them, and then they strike.

The men are splitting up now, Grisly remaining at the front, Slaughter going west, and Ravager going east. The two men who climb in through the upper windows will each face more traps as they cross those rooms. In addition, I’ve activated the seals on both those doors.

If they survive the rooms they initially enter, the intruders will have to navigate the second-floor hallway, which features a couple of tripwires and pendulum traps. Meanwhile I’ll be on the third level, preparing a few more surprises and watching them through my two backup spheres.

I’ll be ready to retreat to the observation tower if I need to, but I’m hoping it’ll take them at least an hour to make it through the second floor—if they survive it at all.

Supposing they succeed, they’ll go downstairs to let their friend in through the front door.

I’m not sure how long the lightning trap will stay active, but if luck is with me, it’ll pose quite the challenge for them as they try to figure out how to deactivate it.

Best case scenario, they’ll all be dead in a couple hours, and I’ll get to take a long nap while I wait for my crew to reappear. Slipping my fingers into my pocket, I touch the wishing stone.

“I never thought I could miss you four assholes so badly,” I whisper. “Come back soon, please. I need you.”