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Selene

I never stole books because I needed them.

I stole them because they called to me.

Besides, not every book belonged with who had purchased it.

That was most certainly the case with The Book of Hours .

Geyrion Wyndsal bought it in secret during the season, on the black market.

The Book of Hours had last been stolen from the Order of Mysteries’ cloistered library—a place that my family did not have access to—yet.

But when I stole it back, and returned it, it would change everything for us.

Luckily, Mother was in residence at Aphelion for the rest of the academic year, and Wyndsal had gone further south to his private island to escape the crowds.

His staff had gone with him, and the wards should have been my only problem.

Should have been were the key words here.

The witchlights shining in the Wyndsal villa were another story altogether.

I had enough sense to stay put in my hiding place and watch.

It was unlikely that anyone else suspected Geyrion Wyndsal of having The Book of Hours , but there were plenty of other things to steal inside the villa.

Wind rustled through the palms and I shivered, missing the noisy streets of Nuva Troi.

Despite the fact that being here gave me an excellent opportunity to steal the Book , I longed for home.

I’d never liked Nea Sterlis much.

It felt like the kind of place where bad things happened.

No one else agreed with me, and my last season had been another flop, so here we were.

Movement within the house startled me out of my dreamy state.

I sat up, peering through the bougainvillea vines I'd tucked myself into in the arbor. A figure moved within the house. They were tall and slender, with squared-off shoulders that looked wonderful in Geyrion Wyndsal's tuxedo.

Whoever that was, it certainly was not Geyrion Wyndsal.

Geyrion was reclusive, the last of the Wyndsals, and though he always made plans to attend social functions, his hermetic nature always got the best of him.

Thus, he always had the latest styles, but no one ever saw him in them.

There were rumors about distant relatives from Falcyra, but none ever showed.

Only his terrible niece, Belle Wyndsal.

Even the thought of her ignorant tastelessness brought on a grimace.

But that definitely was not Belle inside.

She was shorter, for one thing, and the figure was quite tall.

I was too far away to make out the intruder's face, and though I certainly wasn't going in now for the Book , I wanted to know who else knew the ins and outs of Geyrion Wyndsal's movements. I crept past some large agave until I was close enough to the house to see a bit more clearly. The slender figure came into better focus now. They were sitting in the dressing room off one of the guest chambers, reading the social section of Nuva Troi's primary news outlet, the Times .

That's exactly what I'd do if I were planning some kind of robbery.

Which, of course, I actually was, given my current state.

Section Seven writers editorialized a bit too much for my taste, but they gave a comprehensive report on where all the elite of the Immortal Orders were summering—who was going to which parties, who had traveled south from the city for the remainder of the year.

The paper lowered slightly as the intruder looked up.

Though she stared straight at the window, I knew I was invisible.

Her hair was nearly black, though in the lamplight it had a warm brown sheen, and it had been cut into one of the longer masculine styles popular this season.

She had cheekbones that could cut glass, an aristocratic nose, and a wide, generous mouth that would be lovely smiling, smirking or sneering.

There was no good reason that the person foiling my plan to steal The Book of Hours needed to be so handsome, but here we were.

I muttered a plea to Akatei to spare me from such nonsense thoughts.

I sounded like my mother, who was forever matchmaking.

There was nothing else I could do tonight, but I would remember the handsome stranger’s face.

If she entered society, as she clearly meant to, I could target her and get into the house.

Slowly, I backed away, back to the safety of the bougainvillea first, and then off the Wyndsal property altogether.

I yawned, checking the narrow wristwatch I wore.

It was nearly two.

Time to get home, and back in bed, before anyone had a chance to notice that I was gone.