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

Lost in my thoughts, I’ve let the others move farther ahead while I linger behind. That kind of natural separation seems to happen more and more lately. I’m growing weary of fighting it, of trying to keep up with them and insert myself in their conversations.

Tonight, I don’t even try. Instead, I pause to inhale the whispering fragrance of the winter roses and the fresh chill of the breeze.

There’s a sting of cold in the air that hints of impending snow—our first of the year.

I wonder if it will snow while we’re in Faerie.

That’s something to consider, how the walls of the fortress might turn slippery, making them harder to scale.

I doubt we can use the Doras àlainn to enter the building itself—there’s sure to be magic in place to prevent that—so we’ll need to arrive outside and make our way in.

The Javelins are getting too far ahead, so I continue walking. But as I move forward, I hear echoing steps behind me.

Every sense sharpens instantly and my body tenses. My fingers toy with the hilt of one of my knives. I’m a thief, not an assassin, but knowing how to incapacitate an enemy is an essential skill in my chosen career. I’m not afraid of a fight.

Casually I bend and sniff an especially lush bunch of roses, and as I straighten, I glance sideways down the canal path, back the way we came.

I don’t see anyone following me. Every brownstone has a pair of lamps at its entrance, so the path is well-lit, and the trees are slender, not much good to hide behind.

“Devilry?” Maven has paused and she’s looking back at me. “Something wrong?”

“I’m fine.” I catch up to her, forcing a smile.

The fact that she waited for me warms my heart and gives me hope that perhaps she and I could reclaim the closeness we used to have, before Scriv joined the team. Although if I’m honest with myself, she was getting restless and pulling away from me before I even started looking for a forger.

My hope fades when she doesn’t smile. She keeps pace with me, but there’s no companionable linking of arms like we used to do when we walked side by side. Something is broken between us, and I’m not sure how to fix it. Either she has changed, or I have.

“You’re jumpy,” she says. “Always so anxious. It makes the rest of us nervous, too.”

Her comment hurts, because I’ve always thought I hid my anxiety well behind a facade of calm. But maybe as the Javelins have gotten to know me over the past few years, they’ve learned to see through my walls. It’s an unsettling thought.

“I just like to think ahead and be watchful,” I tell Maven.

She snorts a laugh. “Whatever you want to tell yourself. Personally, I think you need to find some way to relax. Maybe get laid.”

“I’m not good at finding people for a single night of pleasure. You know that. I’m either too invested or not interested at all.”

“What about that fellow from a few weeks ago? Harp’s friend, the one we met at the Puzzled Coin? He was handsome.”

“You think so?” I grimace. “He didn’t really appeal to me, especially after he introduced himself as ‘the future best fuck of my life.’”

Her eyes widen. “He said that?”

“Word for word.”

“What an asshole.”

“Indeed.”

“Maybe I should seek him out,” she says with a chuckle. “I don’t mind an asshole, especially if he’s good in bed. I could test him for you. See if his overconfidence has any basis in reality.”

“Men’s overconfidence is usually based on nothing.”

She chuckles, and I smile. There’s that hope again, sparking in my heart, igniting with barely any fuel.

Maybe this is just a rough patch with me and the Javelins. Maybe we can get through it and become stronger together.

We pass beneath Fifth Bridge and turn left immediately, following a long, narrow alley back to a forgotten blacksmith’s shop.

The smithy was poorly placed for its target clientele, which is why it failed.

So did the bakery that attempted to open here afterward, and the glass-blower’s workshop after that.

Once the glassblower went out of business, no one wanted the space, so I was able to purchase it cheaply with the proceeds of one of my first big jobs.

We all have a key to the Hearth, but the others let me unlock the heavy door.

As I’m fitting the key into the lock, Flex says, “Why do we call it the Hearth? Shouldn’t a robbers’ lair have a darker name? Something dreadful and more intense?”

“Like what?” I raise an eyebrow.

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Something like the Hollow or the Hole.”

“You want to call our refuge ‘the Hole’?”

Maven snorts, and Boulder guffaws outright.

“I put thought into the name, as I do everything,” I tell Flex. “The Hearth is a place where we can be safe, fed, and well-rested after the dangerous work we do. Yes, it’s a place for plotting and training, but I wanted the name to be something warm rather than threatening.”

Pushing the door open, I stand aside while the others enter.

I keep a watchful eye on the alley, because even though I don’t see anyone except my people, I have the strangest sense that I’m being observed.

My mentor Skull, who taught me the finer points of surveillance, always told me to scan above and below, not just in lateral directions.

“People always forget to look up,” he would say.

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 until the 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.