Page 4 of Gifted Thief
It wasn’t that I was afraid of what they might do if they got hold of me, although that was a part of it. I just wanted a quiet life. My childhood with the Sidhe was little more than a distant memory; in fact sometimes I felt as if it had happened to someone else.
I ignored the gossip mags and whispered rumours about what each Clan was up to. I lived in the underclass, far away from them. I didn’t care whether Aifric remained Steward and was therefore still in charge, or which man Tipsania Scrymgeour was currently stepping out with. I didn’t even care that her father, the Bull, appeared to be making more money than Bill Gates. The Sidhe could spend their days worrying about politics, jockeying for position and doing whatever they could to rise above other Clans. I only cared about me and mine. And none of mine were Sidhe. Or Clan.
I tested my kit, adjusting the harness at my back to ensure it was secure, and skirted round the back of the building. It might be the middle of the night during a bank holiday weekend but I still needed to be circumspect. It would be sod’s law if I got nabbed on the very last day I spent as a career criminal. Tapping my forehead three times with my index finger to signal to my waiting crew, I gave one last look around then sprang up.
My fingertips curled easily around the first ledge. Despite the typical Scottish chill, I was barefoot. It made it far easier to gain purchase on the smooth glass surface of the towering bank. I also admit that I rather enjoyed it when I glanced down and caught a flash of the sparkly nail varnish adorning my toenails. It felt appropriate for this job; we were, after all, going after some more sparkles ? albeit of the more expensive kind.
Clambering up with fluid, nimble ease, I made fast work of my ascent. Beads of sweat were only just appearing on my brow when I reached the assigned floor. Piece of cake. I tightened my grip with my left hand, using my right to reach behind and unclip the glass breaker that was hooked to my belt.
It was a nifty piece of kit, designed to help trapped motorists break out of their cars. While I’d never heard of anyone actually using one to save their own life, I found mine particularly useful. It was a gift from Taylor when I graduated from simple manipulation tactics and dull look-out posts to full-blown thief. The others might scoff at its hot pink colour but I’d had it for seven lucky years and it had never let me down. I might wear black to stay camouflaged against the night sky but that didn’t mean that everything I carried had to be boring monochrome too.
Leaning back as far as I could, I swung it into the centre of the pane of tinted glass, shattering it instantly. Thanks both to the glass breaker’s and the window’s design, all the shards of glass fell inwards just as I wanted.
Flashing a satisfied smile to my inner thief, I heaved myself inside with a leap, landing far enough in to avoid catching my skin on any of the dangerous broken pieces. I pivoted round and grinned, curtseying at the now-gaping hole. Then I checked my watch. Less than ninety seconds from pavement to entry. That was impressive, even for me.
Without wasting another minute, I unclipped my harness and tested the nearby wall. The plaster seemed sound enough so I pulled out my tiny drill, made a hole in the wall and carefully inserted the climbing wire. I gave it an experimental tug; it would hold. Less than thirty seconds later, I was lowering the rope out of the window and whistling down softly.
Three dark shadows broke away from different corners of the street. As the rope grew taut with the weight of the first climber, I surveyed my surroundings. Taylor had insisted that this floor would be the easiest one for entry. Looking around at the low-spec furniture, I was inclined to agree. The employees on this level were clearly not the wealthy bankers who occupied other areas of this building and were universally despised by the rest of the world. The guys who worked here looked like they filled their days with dull data entry whilst suffering zero-hour contracts.
I wrinkled my nose and made my way along the narrow aisle between the cubicles until I reached the office, which was separated by walls rather than flimsy partitions. Frankly, it was a wonder that more people didn’t turn to a life of crime. Working here would drive me insane.
Inside the manager’s office was a heavy walnut desk and swivel chair. It looked considerably more comfortable than the chairs out front. I sat down experimentally and swung myself around. Yup - it was pretty damn fine. I examined the collection of family photos of beaming children and heavily lipsticked trophy wife; I resisted the temptation to find a Sharpie and draw a moustache on them.
The frame was marked with the Macfie Clan colours. Typical. I bet Mr Manager here had aligned himself with them, whereas his minions in the larger room outside remained Clan-less. The Macfies were always into bloody banking. If they’d chosen a different path, we wouldn’t be targeting them so bloody often. I shrugged. Their fault.
I helped myself to several boiled sweets from a crystal jar, raised my legs up, crossing my feet on the desktop, and waited.
The crunch of glass signalled Speck’s arrival. He hated heights so he had to be forced to go up the ropes first. If the warlock was left until last, he’d never pluck up the courage to clip on his carabiner. We’d learned that the hard way a couple of years ago and lost out on a fat purse as a result. I had tried coaching him through his fear but nothing seemed to work ? other than a swift kick up his arse. With Lexie following on his tail, of course, that wasn’t a problem.
Speck appeared in the doorway, cursing. ‘We didn’t have to climb. I could have bypassed the front door in less time than it took to get up here.’
‘Relax.’ I gestured towards the sweets. ‘Have some sugar and calm down. You know this was the sensible option.’
He grumbled at me, reaching out for the jar with a trembling hand. I knew better than to comment. His terror would subside by the time Brochan, the last of our motley crew, joined us. To point out that Speck was shaking like a leaf served no purpose. He could be rather sensitive, even at the best of times.
While he crumpled up the sweet wrapper into a ball and tossed it carelessly onto the floor, I opened up a drawer and peered inside. Lying on top of several heavily perfumed envelopes was an ornate letter opener. I lifted it out. It was an expensive tool, especially in today’s digital age. Made entirely from silver and with a perfectly balanced blade, it seemed a travesty to leave it where it was. I regarded it seriously for a moment then slid into one of my many zippered pockets. It would make a nice souvenir.
When Lexie appeared, grinning broadly at Speck’s pale face, I got to my feet and scooped up the jar of sweets. It wouldn’t be long now. I went back out to the main room, depositing one sweet next to each keyboard.
‘One for you,’ I sang out, ‘and one for you, and one for you.’ I paused at one cubicle laden with Star Wars memorabilia and pursed my lips. ‘You deserve two.’
‘You’re such a geek,’ Brochan told me, appearing silently from behind with the coil of climbing rope.
I winked at him and rattled the now almost empty jar. ‘Want one?’
He patted his flat stomach. ‘Watching my weight.’
I rolled my eyes. ‘Are we clear?’
‘As a mountain stream.’
I shot him a look, wondering whether that was a gibe at my upcoming change of career. His expression was innocent but I caught the faintest hint of merriment in the back of his eyes and stuck out my tongue.
‘If the wind changes…’
I waved a hand in the air. ‘Yeah, yeah. We’re not in Sidhe territory, remember.’
‘Well you’re the one who’d know.’
