Page 5 of A Heist for Filthy Rivals (Mythic Holidays #3)
THE MORNING OF
MIDWINTER’S EVE
“So how does this thing work?” I stare doubtfully at the Doras álainn. It looks like a simple piece of art, a circle carved from moonstone, engraved with clusters of mushrooms, and adorned with a frame of tiny, twisted black roots.
“Remember that book Wringer gave you a while back? The one with the picture of the Doras álainn pasted inside?” asks Maven.
“Yes.”
“That was the only source of information I could find on the device. I couldn’t find any references to it anywhere else.”
“Is that normal?”
She shrugs. “Not all Fae-Hunter devices are registered or known. Some groups design their own traps and create their own unique spelled objects. We’re lucky to have any information on it at all.
According to the book from Wringer, we’re supposed to set it on the ground and speak the name of the place where we want to go while picturing the location. ”
“Is that all?” asks Flex. “Judging by the stories you tell, I was expecting a blood ritual of some kind.”
“And you’re not wrong,” Maven replies. “We do have to paint a little of our blood on it, a drop for each person who wants to pass through. Then you’ll see what happens.”
Scriv eyes her and the device suspiciously. “Do you know what will happen?”
“Not exactly. But I have a general understanding of how it’s supposed to work. There will be some kind of portal.”
“And then we just… walk through?” I ask.
“We just walk through.”
“Seems easy enough.” I cast a glance over my shoulder toward the high-backed chair where Candle sits silently, covered in her favorite crocheted blanket.
Normally she would be over here with us, standing by the big table where we do most of our planning, contributing questions and ideas. But I think those days are past.
After my encounter with the intruder, I went to Witch for healing and asked her to come to the Hearth later that day to check on Candle. When she came around, Witch told me that the previous evening, while we were at the pub, Candle must have had a spasm in her brain, something that caused damage.
A good healer like Witch can repair most injuries, but they have to be tended as soon as possible, or they settle in the body and can’t be mended with magic.
If I’d gotten home earlier last night and summoned Witch immediately, she might have been able to fix the injury to Candle’s mind, but because I waited until the next morning, the damage became irreversible.
Witch told me that Candle will still have moments of clarity, but she may also suffer periods of confusion and vagueness, where she can’t communicate properly.
I haven’t forgiven myself for not recognizing that something was wrong, for not summoning Witch right away. But I didn’t know anything serious had happened. I thought Candle was simply tired and had fallen asleep where she sat, as she often does.
Guilt over her condition weighs on my heart, but I haven’t really been able to face it, nor have I taken the time to plan for her future care. I’m fixated on this job, because if it succeeds, I’ll have enough money to take care of myself and Candle, for as long as we live.
Witch will be checking on her within the hour, after we’ve left for Faerie. I didn’t tell Witch where we were going, or for how long, but I gave her my key to the Hearth and promised she’d be well-paid for keeping an eye on Candle.
Truthfully, I don’t know when—or if—we’ll return. I may not like Scriv, but he’s right about one thing—this job in Faerie is an extremely dangerous venture.
Two days wasn’t enough time for Maven to thoroughly research every item we scored from the Fae-Hunters, but she did a cursory test on each one and scribbled down the results, along with her best guess as to how we can use them.
Most of the items are designed to trap the Fae, so they’re not useful for breaking into Annordun unless we run into resistance.
As a group, we’ve agreed not to use any of the Fae-Hunter devices unless we’re in dire need.
It’s better to do things the normal, human way if we possibly can.
Maven isn’t even sure how Fae-Hunter magic will function inside the fortress.
There could be monitoring devices or active spellwork that might detect the use of magic inside Annordun and sound some kind of alarm.
Just in case, we’ll need to proceed with caution and use the items sparingly, if at all.
The bulk of Maven’s time was devoted to tracking down anything she could find about Annordun in her books about Faerie.
Unfortunately, since the fortress is a fairly recent establishment in the Fae realm, there isn’t much to go on.
But she did manage to find a booklet on famous buildings of Faerie, which contains a rudimentary sketch of Annordun as it looked during its planning stages.
We have no assurance that it looks the same now, and the sections of the fortress are labeled in nearly illegible bits of scratchy handwriting.
I spread the map on our planning table, taking a final look at the layout of the fortress.
The island on which it lies is eye-shaped, with a pointed tip at the north and south.
The fortress roughly follows the shape of the island, in that it’s oblong, with two outer walls and an inner keep.
At the north end of the keep is a circle designating a watchtower—or at least that’s our best guess.
“You know what that drawing looks like.” Flex peers over my shoulder, gnawing on one of his lockpicking shims. “It looks like a vagina. With the tapered bits at the north and south, and the layers, and the round bit up top... doesn’t it?”
“Oh my gods, Flex,” I exclaim. “Get your mind out of the gutter and take mine with you, because I thought the same thing!”
We burst into laughter, while Maven rolls her eyes. And for a moment we’re us again, our crew before Scriv arrived, before he started eyeing me like I’m a broken bridge spanning a chasm he wants to cross.
“I’m glad you’re all feeling so jovial.” Scriv rises from the bench where he was sitting. “Seems ill-timed, seeing as we’ll be standing in another realm soon, and a dangerous one at that.”
The smile slips from my face. “I understand the danger.”
“Good. I’d hate to think that our dauntless leader was rushing headlong into this job out of desperation or madness.”
An uncertain silence falls as the other Javelins glance at each other.
“We do our best work when we operate from a place of joy and trust,” I tell him. “Maybe that makes us a little mad. I’d rather be mad than malignant.”
He stares at me with real poison in his gaze, but I break the eye-lock almost instantly. Holding it would only ratchet up the tension and put us all in the wrong frame of mind for a heist.
“Final prep, everyone,” I announce. “We know the general layout, and we’ve got some magic at our fingertips thanks to the Fae-Hunters.”
“Thank you, Fae-Hunters,” says Flex with a theatrical bow. “May you rest in peace.”
“Rest in ashes is more like it.” Scriv smirks and casts a cutting glance at me.
I shift my gaze, determined not to have this conversation with him again.
During our raid of the Fae-Hunter’s hideout, he, Flex, and Boulder killed the two hunters who were present, instead of tying them up and blindfolding them like I ordered.
At Scriv’s direction, Boulder carried the bodies to the bakehouse next door and stuffed them into the largest, hottest oven.
When my team returned to the wagon with the loot, they didn’t tell me what happened at first. I only found out about the killings when they began making jokes about “baked goods.” I rebuked them for not following orders, but Scriv said, “Are we not allowed to defend ourselves? Would you rather let our marks survive while we die? Is that how the Javelins operate?”
It didn’t matter that he was willfully misinterpreting what I said. The others joined their voices with his, and I had to walk back my rebuke. The damage was done. I wasn’t there, so I couldn’t contradict his claim that they killed the men in self-defense.
I’m determined to take more of an active role this time, and I’ve made sure everyone knows it.
I’m not just the girl with the schemes and the network of underworld contacts.
I’m not just a worrier and a planner. I can pick a lock almost as fast as Flex and knock a man out as effectively as Boulder, if not as quickly. I can pull my weight.
I pick up my pack, mentally running through its contents.
Like me, each of the other thieves is carrying a few of the Fae-Hunters’ items along with their regular gear.
We’re all dressed in tight-fitting, pliant black clothing that’s both warm and breathable, fashioned by a seamstress who goes by the name of Lace among the criminals of Belgate.
She tailored an outfit for each of us, suited to our particular skill set.
We all wear her clothing as our first layer, then add jackets, vests, capes, or coats on top of it depending on the requirements of the job we’re planning to do.
When it was my turn to put in my order with Lace, she asked me several questions, looked me up and down, and sent me away without even taking measurements.
Weeks later I received word that my outfit was ready.
It was softer than I ever thought a thief’s gear could be, durable and resilient as well as comfortable.
The shirt cups my small chest, providing just enough support.
The pants have multiple pockets and several integrated straps that I can cinch tighter to provide support in various areas or use to attach knives and tools.