Cloak Games: Thief Trap (7 page)

“Of course I want your business,” said Niles. “You always pay in cash, and there are never any…complications.”

“Complications are like hemorrhoids,” I said. “They’re bad.” 

“And I’m familiar with both,” said Niles, shifting a bit in his seat. 

“That,” I said, “was too much information. And not what I paid for.” 

“You haven’t paid me yet,” said Niles.

I reached into a pocket of my sweatshirt and drew out an envelope, concentrating on my Mask to make sure it looked like Ernie had reached into the inner pocket of his sport coat. I tossed the envelope on the desk, and Niles drew out the neat little bundle of hundred-dollar bills inside. The High Queen’s face gazed out from the bills with aloof serenity. 

“You don’t have to count it in front of me,” I said.

“Trust and openness make for a solid business relationship,” said Niles, counting the money. He nodded in satisfaction and then tucked the envelope away in a drawer. He then rummaged within the drawer for a moment, and drew out a small brown envelope. 

“You were able to answer my questions?” I said. 

“I was,” said Niles. “Took a bit of work, but I was able to track down the architectural firm that designed and constructed Paul McCade’s mansion. You know, I’m quite fond of McCade’s canned meat product. It’s really good on a toasted bun with some cheese and mayo.”

“That sounds like a heart attack,” I said. “And the second thing?” 

“A copy of the invitation to his Conquest Day gala?” said Niles. “Got that, too. Or the file template and the holographic watermark, anyway. You’ll have to find a high-end printer and print out the invitation yourself. I’m not having any physical evidence here. Speaking of which…”

He gestured with the brown envelope, and I took the envelope and opened it, part of my concentration focused on my Mask. Within the envelope was a small black thumb drive, and a slip of paper with a long string of letters and numbers. 

“That’s the encryption key to access the drive,” said Niles. “Don’t lose that paper. It’s the only copy of the key. I didn’t even keep one.” 

“No physical evidence,” I said, returning the drive and the paper to the envelope. “And no files left on your servers.” 

“Precisely,” said Niles. “Though of course I do not operate any unlicensed server-class computer systems, and have never once considered breaking the law for any reason whatsoever.” 

“Nor have I,” I said, lying just as much as he was.

Niles waved a thick hand at me. “But everything you need is on the drive. The blueprints, and the template file for the invitation. Just make sure you find a printer that can do the holographic code on the bottom.”

“Thank you,” I said. “Always a pleasure during business with you.” 

I turned to go.

“One other thing,” said Niles.

I turned again, fighting down a stab of irritation. Turning while Masked was always extra work.

“What, do you want more money?” I said.

“I wouldn’t object,” said Niles, “but you need to know something. There’s a blank spot on the plans.”

I made my Masked face scowl. “You charged me for incomplete blueprints?” 

“Of course not,” said Niles. He leaned forward, his chair giving an alarming creak. “Those are the complete blueprints. There’s just a large blank space in the center of the mansion, which means…”

“Which means McCade built part of his house off the books,” I said. I was certain that when I looked at the plans, the blank spot would correspond with the vault door in his library. 

“Yeah,” said Niles. “If you’re getting involved with a guy like Paul McCade, you should be careful. He has a bad reputation.” 

“Did you get food poisoning from a McCade canned meat product?” I said. 

“The stuff tastes better than it sounds,” said Niles. “But that’s not the point. In certain illegal circles, shall we say, McCade has a bad reputation. He likes to buy up stolen artwork and relics, and I’ve heard a rumor that he even does business with Rebel cells.”

“That seems unlikely,” I said, though not even Morvilind had been certain if McCade dealt with Rebels. “The Inquisition doesn’t screw around with Rebels. If a rich guy like McCade started doing business with a Rebel cell, the Inquisition would kill him and stick the video up on Punishment Day. ”

“The Inquisition is fearsome, but not omniscient,” said Niles. “That’s how men like you and I are in business. And a man like McCade has many friends in Homeland Security and the Elven nobility, which means he has space to do things quietly.” He shrugged. “Do as you wish. But you’re a reliable customer, and I would hate to lose the income stream.”

I laughed. “You’re getting sentimental.” 

“A weakness of mine,” he said. “Do take care. But bear in mind that if you get arrested, I’ve never met you.”

“Same goes,” I said, waved goodbye, and walked out of his office. The receptionist did not look as I passed, and I left the office and headed into the street. Part of my attention maintained the Mask, but the rest of my mind chewed over what Niles had told me. Was McCade a Rebel? Or was he working with them? I didn’t care about the Rebels and their mad plans to overthrow the High Queen, but I needed to get that stupid tablet for Morvilind and get out alive. It would be a lot harder to do that if I walked into some murky political intrigue. I muttered curses under my breath as I walked, venting my anger at Morvilind, at McCade, at the Elves, and the whole damned world. 

A few blocks later I turned into an alley between office buildings, making my way through a maze of parking lots and side streets. I planned to walk to one of the bus stops near the freeway and take the bus home. Then I would examine the data on the thumb drive and consider my next course of action. I had mapped out a plan for getting into McCade’s vault during the gala, but I needed more details.

I stopped and looked around. I was in an alley, and there was no one nearby. It should be safe to let my Mask dissipate. I released the spell and the illusion vanished, drifting away like smoke. Relief went through me, and I sighed and took a few deep breaths. Maintaining a Mask wasn’t hard, but it was a constant effort. Sort of like carrying a cinder block around with you. Which, come to think of it, sounded like a good workout idea…

I shook my head, crossed another parking lot, ducked into an alley, and froze. 

The man with the sweatshirt and the wrap-around sunglasses was walking down the center of the alley, no more than twenty yards away. It was the same man I had seen outside of McCade’s mansion, I was sure of it. Up close, he looked lean and tough, moving with the confident stride of a man who knew how to handle himself. 

He took one more step, saw me, and froze. The big sunglasses concealed much of his expression, but I could tell that he recognized me and that he hadn’t expected to see me here. 

For a moment we stared at each other, my heart pounding, my head racing with a dozen different plans. 

He spoke first.

“What’s a pretty girl like you doing in an alley like this?” he said. His voice was flat, unemotional. 

“Seriously?” I said. “You’re going with that? Bit clichéd, isn’t it? Next you’ll tell me it was a dark and stormy night.” 

“I saw you at McCade’s mansion,” said the man. “You were on the cleaning crew.” 

“Or are you hitting on me?” I said. “Are you going to tell me that heaven must be missing an angel? That’ll work. Women love getting hit on by weird guys with sunglasses in alleys.”

I had the pleasure of seeing his mouth tighten with annoyance. “No, you were there, with the cleaning crew." 

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” I said. “I’ve never cleaned a day in my life. I don’t even do laundry. I just buy new clothes when the old ones get dirty.” 

“You were at the mansion,” said the man, “and then you followed me here.”

I blinked. He thought that I had followed him? 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” I said. “I didn’t follow you. I just want to be left alone.”

“You’ve been following me,” he said. “Why?”

I couldn’t see any weapons on him, but he could have a knife or a small gun tucked away in that baggy sweatshirt. For that matter, he looked like he was in good shape. I was in good shape, too, but he stood a foot taller than me and outweighed me by fifty or sixty pounds. If he had any fighting experience at all, he wouldn’t need a gun or a knife to handle me. 

“I haven’t been following you,” I said, “and I’ve never seen you before in my life. I’d remember those stupid sunglasses.”

His mouth twitched a little. “They help my eyes.”

“Well, goody for you,” I said. “Why don’t you go help your eyes somewhere else?”

“You’re going to answer some questions for me,” said the man.

“Okay,” I said. “Fine. What do you want to know? I…”

I flinched and took a step back, my eyes going wide.

It was an old, old trick, but sometimes the old tricks work. The man half-turned, and as he did, I whirled and sprinted as fast as I could, grateful that I had not chosen a disguise that required high heels. I had reached the end of the alley before he got himself collected and started pursuit. 

He was fast. Like, professional athlete fast. I had a good lead, but he was going to catch me. I couldn’t fight him off. 

Which meant I was going to have to get clever. 

I tore around the corner into an alley between a strip mall and an office building. Dumpsters stood here and there, and closed steel doors led into the back rooms of the various mall shops. I had maybe six seconds before my pursuer came around the corner. I stopped, put my back to the wall, and took a deep breath, trying to clear my mind and summon magical power. 

Then I cast the Cloak spell. 

Cloaking was hard, really hard. When Masking, I could move around and interact with people. Cloaking took the entirety of my concentration and willpower. It was a bit like doing a deadlift at the limits of your strength – it took everything I had to do it.

But I did it.

Silver light flashed around me, and the world went hazy and indistinct, like a sheet of cloudy glass had fallen over my vision. While the Cloak spell was in place, I was completely invisible. No one could see me, and no magical spell could detect my presence.

I just couldn’t do anything else while I maintained the Cloak.

My pursuer came around the corner maybe a second and a half later. He ran past me, then stopped, his face turning back and forth as he tried to find me. I took deep, controlled breaths, focused on holding the Cloak. Working the Cloak had been difficult. Maintaining the Cloak got harder with every passing second. It was a lot like holding a barbell over my head – hard at first, and getting more difficult. 

The man took three quick steps back, his sunglasses swiveling back and forth, and came to a stop two feet away from me. I could have reached out and touched him. Up close, he looked handsome in a lean sort of way beneath the big sunglasses, and for an absurd instant I wondered what color his eyes were. He had a ragged shock of brown hair above the sunglasses, his brow furrowed as he looked back and forth. 

I noticed something else, too. He didn’t have a shadow. At this time of day, the dumpsters cast shadows. I had a shadow, too, though the Cloak hid it. Yet he didn’t have one. That was bad. I had heard rumors of men without shadows, and none of them were good. 

For now, though, the man with no shadow looked puzzled. To his perspective, I had just disappeared. There hadn’t been enough time to force open one of the doors or to climb up the wall to the roof. His gaze turned towards the nearest dumpster, his frown tightening. Likely he thought that I had hidden myself among the trash bags. I expected him to stride forward and search the dumpster, and then depart the alley. That would take no more than a few moments, and I could maintain my Cloak that long. 

Instead he lifted his right hand, gesturing with his left, and tiny arcs of lightning snarled around the fingers of his right hand, harsh and blue-white. 

The man was a wizard. 

He pushed out his right hand, and the arcs of lightning burst from his fingers and jumped to strike the dumpster, wrapping around it with a crackling hiss. The man strode forward as the lightning faded away, reached up, and flipped the lid open to rummage through the trash bags. 

I started to shake from the effort of maintaining the Cloak. 

At last the man with no shadow stepped back and looked around once more, his frustration plain. 

“How in the hell did she do that?” he muttered. 

That gave me a little jolt of satisfaction. I tried to use it to maintain the Cloak. The man cast another spell, one I recognized. It was the spell to detect the presence of magic. It would have worked to detect a Mask (one of the reasons I couldn’t use it with Elves or other wizards), but the Cloak shielded me from detection spells. The man swept his hand back and forth and found nothing. He gave another annoyed shake of his head, turned, and stalked from the alley. 

I was alone again.

I made myself count to three hundred, my shoulders and legs shuddering with the effort of maintaining the Cloak. The man did not return, and at last I let the Cloak dissipate, the magic fading away. I wanted to sit down and take a nap, but I made myself turn and walk, gathering energy for another spell. I whispered in Elven and worked another Mask, making myself look like an elderly woman in a tracksuit and sneakers. If the man with the sunglasses saw me from a distance, he would only see an old woman out for a walk. The effort made my head throb with pain, but I dared not lower the Mask. 

I did not release the Mask until I got on the bus, got off at the stop near my apartment, and made sure that no one was nearby. A wave of dizziness went over me, and I just barely managed to get into my apartment before I slumped against the wall and slid to the floor, breathing hard. 

A wave of despair went through me. Morvilind would work spells like this with barely an effort, and I felt as exhausted as if I had run a marathon. How could I ever break free of him if I could not even do this?

I pushed aside the despair. One problem at a time. First, I had to steal the tablet from McCade. I had to avoid McCade’s security and the strange man in the sunglasses, whoever or whatever he was. Then I could worry about other things.