From his hiding spot inside one of the kitchen cupboards, Victor peered with one eye through the narrow crack, watching in rapt horror as two bulky, heavily armored men dropped — or rather slammed — Pierre to the floor right below Lord Harvey’s still rotating corpse.

They both stepped back in unison, and the closer one pointed down at Pierre’s battered, shivering body. “This the one, yeah?”

A subtle shift in the shadows on the blood stained carpet alerted Victor to the presence of a third, yet unseen figure. “Roll him over. I need a better look.”

The thin, almost reedy voice carried little inflection, but it was somehow familiar to Victor.

The two thugs obliged, bending down and flipping Pierre over none to gently onto his back. The slightly older boy groaned, though by the strained sound of it, he was clearly trying to remain silent and motionless.

Playing dead was a defense that many kids like them learned early, but Victor doubted it would be of any use here — because acting like an uninteresting target only worked if your attackers weren’t already interested in you in the first place.

“Did we do good?”

The two huge men glanced between each other, and Victor swore he could feel the third figure frowning.

“Well, you actually managed to bring me the right person this time, but I find the speed with which you acquired him sorely wanting.”

“Sorry Boss, but this one was pretty slippery.” The first thug’s partner nodded. “We lost him nearly four times.”

Their leader scoffed. “Oh, that excuses it then. It’s not like just anyone is capable of letting a half starved orphan escape after being granted some very expensive Focuses.”

“Thank you, Boss.”

“…That was sarcasm.”

“Oh.”

A shuffling of boots echoed throughout the mansion, and then Victor managed to just barely see a black gloved hand caress Pierre’s quivering cheek. “Do you know why you’re here?”

Licking his chapped, busted lips, Pierre blinked. “No, Sir.”

The hand retreated from Victor’s view, and it sounded like the unseen man stood up. “Well then. It appears my associates and I have made a mistake. Seeing as how you don’t have the information we’re looking for, I’m afraid we’ll have to let you go.”

Blinking several times in confusion, Pierre began to slowly ease himself up, only for a polished black boot placed on his chest to shove him back down. “That was a joke.”

The boot slowly lifted back off of Victor’s unfortunate doppelganger, and a middle aged man in an exquisitely tailored, emerald green three piece suit circled into view. Victor couldn’t make out his face, as his back was turned, showing only his slick, salt and pepper hair…

Oh. Victor made the connection just as the man turned around, revealing the sharp, disinterested features of the vault manager, Lord Grantly.

“I think you do know why you’re here, Pierre. You must have thought you were so slick, so clever, just like your boss did.”

Flexing his fingers, Lord Grantly stooped down to a crouch. “Unfortunately… you’re not.” The vault manager clenched his jaw. “And don’t expect my whore daughter to come bail you out again.”

Pierre shivered, and Lord Grantly caressed his cheek one more, before gently trailing a finger down his neck. Glancing back to his minions, Lord Grantly pursed his lips. “Leave us.”

The two men turned to depart, only for their master to snap his fingers, freezing them in place. “Actually, bring me a cleaver, a spoon, and a corkscrew.” He returned his attention to Pierre, who had somehow turned even paler than his ordinarily pasty complexion, with cold sweat trickling up his forehead.

“Every self respecting man has to have a corkscrew in his kitchen,” Lord Grantly muttered.

Victor himself was sweating hard. As the two thugs entered the kitchen, he prayed to Creation that they wouldn’t need to look in the overhead cabinets.

Fortunately, they found what they needed in the usual places — the counter drawers and a knife rack by the sink. Returning to the sitting area, they offered the three tools to their boss, who dismissed them once more before returning his attention to Pierre.

“Look at me.”

Pierre did as commanded, and Lord Grantly tapped him in the eye with the back of the spoon. The boy flinched hard, and Victor had to fight to not do so himself. He thought he could see tears beginning to pool under his comrade’s bloodshot eyelids.

“So I’ll ask again. Why are you here?”

Pierre choked, a hoarse wet sound, before answering. “Because we broke into your vault and tried to steal your record book.”

Lord Grantly tilted his head. “Better. But not good enough.”

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

Victor didn’t even see him move. One moment, the vault manager was crouching over Pierre from behind his head, and the next — well, he had his boot on his stomach, a bloody cleaver in one hand, and Pierre’s right arm ended in a bloody stump.

Lord Grantly tossed the severed hand onto his victim’s chest, and Pierre screamed.

As Pierre cried and flailed limply, the vault manager remained completely still, seemingly willing to let his victim wallow in the misery he had inflicted upon him.

Within the cramped, hot cabinet, Victor fought to regain control over his own breathing. It was horrible to watch, yet he couldn’t make himself look away.

After several more seconds, Lord Grantly nodded to himself, stood up, and snapped his fingers.

Victor watched in morbid curiosity as the severed hand disintegrated into motes of pale golden light, while a similarly glowing translucent light materialized at the end of Pierre’s stump, solidifying back into a fleshy hand.

Shutting his eyes, Pierre fell silent, though sobs still racked his body. The fingers on his reformed hand slowly twitched, as if gradually becoming reacquainted with the rest of the boy’s body.

“Hush, it’s okay.” Lord Grantly gently squeezed Pierre’s other arm, then ruffled his hair. “So, are you ready to tell me the real reason you’re here?” Pierre just continued to sob, and the vault manager rolled his eyes with a sigh. “Fine. Let’s just get to the point then. Where is the book?”

Pierre just shook his head side to side. “I don’t know —” Lord Grantly picked up the spoon — “what book you’re talking about.”

Lowering the spoon, Lord Grantly frowned. “While I am willing to entertain the notion that your former employer left you in the dark about certain aspects of your little heist, so to speak…” he tapped the spoon idly against his leg, to Pierre’s evident discomfort — “…I fail to see how an unbound Focus could, shall we say, simply walk out under its own power.”

Victor’s eyes widened, and he shrank back slightly. It was obvious that the tome was quite special — but was it so special that the vault manager had made such a daring, violent move against such a powerful, respected man — even if that man had robbed him?

The sound of soft footsteps approaching through the kitchen alerted both Victor and Lord Grantly to the arrival of a newcomer. “Sorry to interrupt you, Sir, but I have something important to report.”

Crossing his arms, Lord Grantly stared at the new arrival. Victor couldn’t see them at all, as they were directly on the other side of the cabinet door.

“It seems that Pierre here wasn’t acting alone with old Harvey.”

Straightening up and stepping over Pierre, the vault manager entered the kitchen and leaned against the nearest counter. “And?”

“As it turns out, Mister Pierre is part of a pair of identical twins.”

Lord Grantly remained still and silent for a moment before chuckling and shaking his head. “And here I was wondering what kind of ingenious artifice allowed them to pull off a stunt like that. Let me guess — they had one already at the casino, and then somehow signaled to each other to switch places?”

“That’s our best guess.”

Lord Grantly tapped his chin. “Any idea where the other one is?”

“We have an address.”

Victor’s heart stopped.

Nodding, Lord Grantly turned around to face Pierre again. “Take Mister Pierre here out back to the wagon. I’ll take care of his brother.” The vault manager left Victor’s narrow line of sight. “Wait, do you have the address?”

“Written down here.”

Victor’s heart was once more racing. He knew of places he could hide — his time on the street hadn’t been completely unproductive. But that’s not what worried him.

Classes would have ended for Chloe just a few minutes ago, and she would already be on her way home…

And the kids were probably just wrapping up their lunch.

----------------------------------------

Victor ran.

He had no hope of catching Chloe along her route, and either way, they would both agree the kids were more important. His only hope was to get to the apartment before Lord Grantly and his minions did.

He had forced himself to count to one hundred and twenty after the two men left, along with Pierre — just to be sure that he wouldn’t run into them on his way out.

It had been excruciating, and he had practically leapt out of the cabinet once he finished, with complete disregard for being at all discreet.

He couldn’t let such a monster anywhere near his family.

Even with his mind racing, Victor couldn’t help but notice that a storm was definitely coming. As he dashed through the park, he began to feel a faint spray of mist on his cheeks, and the light level was positively gloomy.

It would make getting them all to safety easier, at least, as the rain and darkness would provide at least a little bit of cover… assuming he could get there in time.

He did have one potential advantage. If Lord Grantly weren’t traveling by foot, then he would have to take the main streets, whereas Victor could weave in between obstacles and through narrow alleyways.

Of course, that assumed that Lord Grantly wasn’t also running — a possibility Victor couldn’t entirely discount.

The man had seemed pretty pissed about how long it took his mooks to apprehend Pierre, after all, and he also seemed more than capable of handling such a situation himself.

Finally, Victor made it through the gate. He took the stairs two at a time without slowing down, straining his already exhausted body to the limit.

The door to his apartment was closed. Nothing seemed out of place, at least on the exterior, and Victor’s hopes rose a little. Perhaps his mad dash from the mansion had given him a leg up after all.

The door was locked, but Victor didn’t bother with a key. The wood was thin and rotten, and all it took was a little momentum and a properly angled shoulder for him to burst inside.

He half expected screams of alarm, but the only sound that greeted him was the creaking and crackling of the splintered wood. Stepping further inside, Victor scanned the deserted apartment anxiously.

There were no signs of life, but no signs of a struggle either.

Putting his hands on his knees, Victor took big, gulping breaths. His lungs and legs were both burning, and he could literally feel a huge rush of blood rising up to his head.

Wiping his dampened forehead, Victor straightened up and looked around again. If neither his family nor Lord Grantly’s forces had arrived yet, perhaps he should find a place to hide outside. That way, there was a slim chance he could prevent them from running into each other.

Just as he was about to turn around to go back onto the balcony, the closet door swung open, and Victor froze.

A dark haired, sharp featured young woman stepped out — and she was armed and armored to the teeth.

Victor gulped.

She grinned, revealing unnaturally long and sharp canines. “Looking for someone?”

Victor began to back up towards the open door, but before he could get so much as two steps, she had a crossbolt aimed at his chest. “Not so fast.”

Victor swallowed again, and the woman tilted her head with a frown. “You know, my Boss said he needed you alive — but he didn’t give any other qualifications on your condition.”

Victor actually had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. What an incredibly stupid thing to say to someone you were holding at weapon’s point.

He licked his lips. “You’re after the book, aren’t you.”

“Ah, so you do know.”

Victor did roll his eyes this time. This one must not be very bright. “Well here you go, then.”

Tugging on that familiar sensation within his mind, Victor conjured the book and lazily tossed it towards her in one fluid motion.

Dropping her crossbolt, she caught it in both hands, glancing down at her hands in confusion.

By the time she looked back up, Victor was already out of the door.