Page 12

Chapter

Seven

TESSA

I open my mouth to scream but muffle the sound with my scarf just in time. A pained whimper still escapes me. Then I twist away sharply to avoid the cloud that’s dispersing through the room.

I can’t tell what color it is in the darkness, but the pain in my hand is severe, and when I bring my palm up in front of the window, small blisters are already popping up all over.

“Fuck,” I whimper, curling my body over my throbbing hand.

Then my thoughts rally, and I grab that same liquor bottle, splashing the liquid all over my hand to rinse away the toxic substance. The liquor burns my injured skin. It hurts like nothing I’ve felt before, and I breathe quickly through my nose, hoping I won’t pass out from the pain.

The noise that would make would surely send the guards running toward me.

What is this thing? I set down the bottle and turn back toward the lockbox, eyeing it warily.

The smoke is dissipating, the small dust particles falling all over Damen’s desk, staining the papers and the wood.

There will be no hiding that. The moment Damen steps into the study, he’ll know someone robbed him.

And with how severely my hand is injured, I’ll have to hide for days, or anyone who knows what to look for will be able to tell I was the one who did this.

A sick feeling of dread slams into me at the thought of what would have happened if I’d stood fully in front of the lockbox when the smoke hit me. I’d likely be lying on the floor right now, writhing and screaming in pain as whatever alchemical solution this was melted my face away.

Gods, I was lucky.

I creep forward, holding my breath, but the dust has settled completely now. I study the mechanism that attacked me. I guessed the combination correctly, as the lock did open, but I have no clue what happened…

Oh. A tiny metal button is hidden in the shadow of the dial.

I missed it in my eagerness to crack the number combination, and pressing it must have been a necessary step.

Or perhaps it was something else—a trap I can’t discern in this poor light—but it doesn’t matter.

The result is the same: my hand is blistered all over and stained, the desk and all the papers on it are ruined, and I still don’t know if this was all worth it.

Only one way to find out.

I wrap the sleeve of my jacket over my left hand and carefully reach into the lockbox.

The contents are undamaged since the smoke exploded outward.

There’s a jewelry box, which I set aside for now, and several coin purses stuffed with gold.

A necklace is next, a heavy thing that glitters with dark stones, likely rubies, though it’s impossible to tell in this light.

And there, right at the bottom, is a well-used, leather-bound book, heavy as a brick. I set it on top of the lockbox and flick the cover open with my uninjured hand. Rows and rows of numbers and notes stare up at me, written in Damen’s cramped handwriting.

His ledger.

If this doesn’t contain the information I’m searching for, Damen isn’t guilty of making Lindie disappear, and I broke in here for nothing. But I still believe this is exactly what I need.

I’d meant to only read the ledger and put it right back to avoid detection, but that horse has left the stable.

There is no hiding the burglary now. I think for a moment, wondering if I should just stuff the large book in my satchel and take it with me, but there must be information worth killing for in here.

I don’t want the entire Ravens gang on my tail.

Breaking in is bad enough, but stealing their secrets would mean sure death if they ever found me.

I flip the pages to where the last notes are written.

Lindie disappeared about a week ago, which means the information must be toward the end somewhere.

I select the last ten pages or so and rip them out, stuff them in my satchel, and shove the book back into the lockbox.

I grab the necklace and one purse of gold, money I’ll use to get away from Ultrup and pay for a discreet healer to mend my hand once I’m far enough away.

Then I tuck my injured hand against my chest and creep toward the door. I press my ear to it, listening for any sounds of movement outside, and when I hear nothing, I crack the door open and slip into the hallway.

I close the door behind me, hoping no one will notice it’s not locked.

As I tiptoe past the guards’ quarters, I strain to catch any sound from inside, but there’s nothing.

The kitchen also seems quiet, and I think it’s too soon for the guard to do another round so soon after the first. If I remain quiet, I might actually make it out of here alive.

The thought of climbing that slick, wet rope with my injured hand sends a shiver of worry through me.

I make it all the way to the first landing when the faint sound of a chair scraping back brings me to a halt. In the silence, the clatter of a carriage in the street is louder than expected. It stops suddenly, and voices call out, greetings exchanged between guards and whoever has arrived.

My instincts take over. I race up to the second floor, then force myself to stop just in time.

A guard emerges from the kitchen, and if I were still running, he might have heard me.

Instead, he walks into the hallway I’ve just vacated and bangs his fist on the door to the room where Toby is sleeping.

“Wake up. The boss has returned. Go light a fire in his study.”

Oh, fuck.

My time has run out. I throw caution to the wind, hoping the noise of Damen’s arrival will mask my footsteps on the stairs.

I sprint up to the top floor and down the hallway, past Lindie’s room, to the window I entered through.

A gust of wind slaps raindrops into my face just as shouts echo from downstairs.

The guards must have found the wrecked study, and since I didn’t leave any windows open, they’ll know the culprit didn’t escape that way.

I curse myself for not laying a false trail, but I’ve been reacting poorly because of the pain. It’s all I can do not to give myself away.

The pain in my hand sharpens to a constant, pulsing throb, but I need both hands to tie the rope around my waist. I climb out onto the window ledge.

I don’t bother closing the window latch.

The rain has already splattered the floorboards, and there will be no hiding the path I took once they reach this floor.

Will they figure out it was me because of the entry point? There aren’t many cat burglars in the city capable of pulling this off, and I should have thought of that sooner. But I didn’t count on an exploding lockbox. I couldn’t have prepared for that.

I brace my legs against the wet wall and grip the rope, wincing as pain shoots through my hand. This will be so much harder than lowering myself, but I can’t stay here, dangling like an apple, waiting to be plucked.

Hand over hand, I climb higher toward the eaves of the roof. Blisters burst on my right palm, and I whimper, then bite my lip to keep from making a sound. In the inner courtyard, the guards are already searching every nook and cranny. It’s only a matter of time before their gazes turn upward.

The rain is my only cover now, but it won’t help if I give myself away.

A shuffling sound from the roof has me looking up. Rain pelts my face, and I blink the water away, unable to spare a hand to wipe my eyes.

Then my vision clears, and my heart stutters to a stop.

There’s someone on the roof, and they’re staring right down at me.