That night was cloudy, perfect for thieving. Kildare crouched on top of a building, forcing himself to not even look at Serene’s window, where he knew she’d be watching through cracked curtains. Instead, he kept his eyes straight ahead, fixed on the towering hall that rose several stories above the neighboring buildings. Fir sat with him, waiting.

It had been nearly an hour since Mock and Snitch had left, and it shouldn’t have been taking that long.

Fir cleared his throat. “Think they stopped along the way for a cuddle?”

“Are they even still together?”

Fir shrugged. “Maybe I should’ve gone.”

Kildare nodded. His thoughts strayed to Serene. How terrified she’d acted. What kind of hold did Basalt have on her? Although... It had been Eras’s name that had really frightened her. And angered her. He still wasn’t sure if she’d forgiven him once he’d slipped away.

Kildare rolled his shoulders back and shook off the thoughts. Focus. Tonight, he needed to focus. Once he had her contract in hand, Serene would forgive him for not listening to her.

“There it is.”

Kildare looked up. One lone, near-silent firework zipped upward, the glaring red illuminating the side of the hall. Feet above the roof, it popped. And in that glowing pop of color, Kildare spotted three men standing on the rooftop.

“Pox,” Fir spat. He glanced up at Kildare. “What do you think?”

Kildare stood, flexed his shoulders again. “We knew there was a possibility there would be guards on the roof. You have the grappler?”

Fir patted his belt, where the grappler swung beside his pouch of thieves’ tools. Kildare nodded and pulled off his shirt. As he shifted, the light fiber of the dragonsbane fading into his scales, Fir grabbed a backpack full of more tools, quickly stuffing Kildare’s shirt into the top. Kildare raised up on his hind legs and flapped his arms, rising into the air. He grasped the reinforced handle on the back of the rucksack.

Another firework popped. Two of the guards jogged to the other side of the roof, trying to figure out where the firework had come from, while the other opened the door of the guards’ shack, presumably to go downstairs to tell the other guards what was going on.

It was now or never.

Fir bit back a yelp as they leaped off the rooftop. Kildare wobbled a bit as he jerked on the backpack. He noticed Fir’s knuckles whitening as the Alfaren clung to the straps around his arms.

As they got closer to the hall, Kildare swept lower to the rooftops, making Fir curl his feet up with a mutter of protest. Kildare squinted, trying to find the tiniest bit of green that Fir’s ley could manipulate, making it easier for the Alfaren to climb, but the building was far too well upkept for that. He sighed and swept upward, leveraging all of his momentum to glide up without beating his wings. Just as he started to feel like he was losing speed, he swung his legs upward, pitching Fir at the ornately arched windows just below the roofline. Kildare tucked his wings, turned his stomach to the sky, and began to fall. He held his breath, bracing himself to snap open his wings and dive to rescue Fir, but the Alfaren’s nimble fingers latched onto a carved ledge and clung.

Kildare breathed out, opened his wings, and in three swift beats, shot above the rooftop. He shifted in midair, dropped to the roof, and rolled. He came up in a crouch, watching, but the guards were still at the opposite end of the roof, hidden by the glass dome of the entryway, though he could hear them talking in between the now more frequent pops of the rockets.

Fir heaved the backpack up onto the roof. Kildare grabbed it, then grabbed Fir’s hand and heaved him onto the roof.

“Didn’t even need the grappler,” Fir said, grinning.

Another pop sounded, but it was weaker. The fireworks were about over.

“C’mon.” Kildare ran to the guard shack and tried the handle. Locked. He hadn’t noticed the guard using a key to open it, but maybe he’d locked it from the inside. Smart.

Fir flipped open his set of lockpicks and inserted them into the lock. Ten seconds and the door swung open. Kildare retrieved his belt from the backpack and slung it around his waist as they stepped into the shack and started down the narrow spiral staircase. Their footsteps echoed in the stone shaft, but judging by the sounds echoing into the stairwell, their descent was covered by the chaos the fireworks outside were causing.

Kildare reached the bottom of the stairwell first and nudged the door. It eased open. The hinges didn’t even squeal. He poked his head out into the hall. Most of the hall was dark, with just a few flickering lanterns hung here and there to illuminate the cases. The scrolling metal curtains blocked any light from the outside, each pulled over a window and padlocked shut. From the echoing voices, he guessed that most of the guards had run to the front of the building. Maybe even outside.

He glanced over his shoulder, raised his eyebrows. Fir nodded.

They slipped into the hall, and Kildare gently closed the door behind them. Fir went straight for one of the glass display cases, while Kildare jogged along the back wall, testing the doors. The first he tried was locked, but a little jiggling of the handle popped it open, revealing an empty office. The second door swung open at a touch, revealing a staircase lit by a single lantern hanging from the ceiling.

Kildare looked over his shoulder, then descended, gently pulling the door closed. A few steps down, the stairs turned sharply, then opened up into a basement. A lantern hung from the ceiling again, but it was utilitarian, just a small metal cage to provide a place to set a candle, nothing like the ornate wrought ironwork that hung in the hall. A few shelves lined the basic wooden walls, and there was a closed wooden door across from the bottom of the staircase. Kildare put his hand on the door handle, which was also made of wood, and stiffened. The hair on the back of his neck rose. He could taste some acidic tang in the air, and there was a faint metallic buzz that set his teeth on edge.

He pushed open the door.

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An enormous vinegar battery sat in a long, low-ceilinged room. Each pottery jar was chest-height and as big around as a good-size tree trunk. Each stopper had a wire coiling out of the top, snaking upward to the ceiling, where they all joined together and ran in a thick bundle up through what looked like a hollowed out pillar. Kildare was willing to bet that if he could follow the wires, they would lead through the pillar up to the ceiling of the hall, eventually spreading out to the glittering net that covered the underside of the skylight.

He reached into his toolkit and pulled out the gloves Fir had made for him. He’d spent half the night dipping a pair of new leather gloves into hevea sap, coating the palm and fingers of each hand with the sticky sap and drying it over the fire before adding the next layer. Supposedly, they would protect him from the vinegar battery, which Snitch claimed had enough voltage to fry anyone, even if they possessed the extra-tough skin and healing powers of a shifter.

Now, confronted with the buzzing, acidic specimen itself, Kildare wasn’t so sure. He licked his lips, then drew the gloves over his hands. The hevea sap made them stiff and clumsy, but would work well enough for the job. He pulled the wire cutters from his belt and went to work, snipping each wire from the top of the jar.

Normally, they wouldn’t even bother. Two inside could generally pull off a job, while the two outside provided plenty of distractions. But they needed everyone inside on this one. Kildare planned on hauling off enough treasure that he could pay his team, pay off Serene’s contract, and still have enough for them all to lay low for a couple of years after this. And to do that, he needed his entire team.

He was halfway done with the jars when he heard footsteps clomping down the stairs. Kildare scrambled to the back of the room and ducked down behind the pots, watching between them.

A guard came into the room, sword drawn, a lantern held low so it brightened the room but didn’t glare too much in his eyes. The man looked over the battery, and his eyes narrowed when he saw the cut wires. He sighed. “You may as well come out. There’s only so many places to hide in here, and trust me, I know them all.”

Might as well get it over with. Kildare stood up and whipped the wire cutters at the guard’s head. He scrambled around the battery as a clang sounded, and the guard stepped in front of him, a notch out of his sword and an irritated look in his eyes.

Kildare reached out and grabbed the lantern swinging from the man’s fist. The metal was hot, but not searing. He wrenched it free and stepped back. Now, at least, he had something a little better than his dagger to block the guard’s swings with.

The guard lunged forward.

Kildare threw himself backward. The sword tip whistled within inches of his chest. He hit the ground on his shoulders and threw himself into a roll, coming up on his knees. The guard was already swinging again. Kildare batted the sword away with the lantern, watching the point take a deep gouge out of one of the pottery jars. He jumped, driving his shoulder into the guard’s stomach. They crashed hard against another jar. It split open, and the vinegar washed into Kildare’s face.

He let go of the guard’s shirt and rolled to the side, gagging and wiping at his eyes. His nose and mouth burned. He blinked and looked down. The guard lay at his feet, the bloodied tip of a pottery shard poking through his shoulders and a gash across his temple. The smell of fresh blood was already mingling with the stench of the vinegar.

Kildare’s gut heaved, and he pressed the side of his fist against his mouth. When he’d pushed down the urge to be sick, he straightened and looked for his wire cutters.

They lay near the door, in pieces.

“Dammit.” Kildare leaned his head back and sighed. There was only one other option. Muttering apologies to the guard, Kildare quickly knocked over the remaining eight jars that he hadn’t gotten to before the fight. The stink of vinegar rose until by the end he was gagging and coughing as he tipped over the last jar. He left the gloves and wire cutters where they lay and splashed to the door, dragged the guard to the bottom of the stairs so the man wouldn’t drown, then ran up the stairs as fast as he could. The hall above was in total darkness, save for a hovering globe of Mock’s purple werelight. Kildare followed the light and found Fir, Mock, and Snitch hovering over the body of an unconscious guard.

No, not unconscious. A thin trickle of blood webbed the tile floor, seeping from underneath the guard’s body, and a bloody gap slashed across his throat.

Fir looked up at his footsteps. “Snitch killed him,” he said flatly.

“I never,” Snitch growled. “I told you half a dozen times already, that.” He looked at Kildare and wrinkled his nose. “You reek of vinegar, Kil.”

Kildare ignored him and looked at Mock.

She looked at the floor and licked her lips. “I dunno. The net only went out on one side so we broke a skylight and rappelled down. We got separated looking for the guards. I thought there were five, and I knocked out three and went looking for everyone else. Found them two were leaning over this body.”

“And I found Snitch with blood on his hands,” Fir said.

“I tell you, it weren’t me!”

“You missed one,” Kildare told Mock. “He came down to the basement.”

“Are you hurt?” she asked.

Kildare shook his head. “He’s knocked out.” He pressed his lips to a thin line. “You guys know I don’t like leaving bodies in our wake. At this rate we’re going to get a bounty on our heads.”

“But I swear to all of you, I never touched this one!” Snitch said.

“Fir?” Kildare looked at him,

Fir shook his head.

“Mock, you’re sure you didn’t miscount?”

The look of anger on her face was enough. She’d been illiterate when she’d joined the team, and though she could write, read, and spell with the perfection of a noblewoman now, she hated the reminder.

“I’m sorry,” Kildare said. “You know it had to be asked.”

“We need to get outta here,” Mock said

“But I’ve only emptied three cases!” Fir protested. “We need this job!”

“Doesn’t matter,” Snitch growled."Someone else is here, which means someone’s onto us, and judging by the fact that they killed a guard, I don’t think they’d be so friendly to other thieves." He looked at Kildare. “This is Serene’s doing. I told you this was a trap.”

Kildare’s guts twisted at his words.

Kildare ground his teeth. The last thing he wanted to do was run. The thought of putting off his wife’s freedom made him sick—not to mention, the longer they waited, the more likely it was that Basalt would notice something was up. Especially if Serene was right and Eras already suspected something. He had to get her out.

And that, right there, made the decision for him.

“Listen,” he growled, his deep bass rumble cutting through the arguments of the other three. “I don’t like it, but Fir is right. We need this job.”

Mock tilted her head to one side a little and frowned. “You’ve been holding out on us. There’s something you need money for too, isn’t there?”

Rot. She was always too perceptive for her own good.

Fir looked at him in shock. “What?”

Snitch merely looked smug.

“I’ll tell you later,” Kildare hissed, glaring at Mock. “Right now, we need to focus. Snitch, what are your debts?”

“Fifty goldmarks.”

Kildare looked at the other two.

“I’m fine,” Mock said. “Unlike some people, I live modestly and have a stash hidden.”

“I could do with a few hundred,” Fir admitted quietly.

Snitch gaped at him. “You?”

Kildare nodded, jaw bunching. “Gambling debts?”

Fir nodded, looking at the floor.

Rot it all. He’d thought he knew these people. Especially Fir."Kil? How much do you need?" Mock demanded.

But then...who was he to judge? He looked at the dead guard and his throat tightened. “A thousand.”

Fir audibly gasped.

“Are you rotting joking?” Snitch yelled.

Mock punched him. “Keep your voice down, you pox-riddled idiot!”

Fir stared at him for a moment, then said, “Plus expenses and enough to keep us all sustained and hidden for about six months, I assume? That will come to about ten thousand goldmarks.”

Kildare nodded. He was well aware.

“Well.” Fir sighed. “We’ll need about six more items, just to be sure. Some of this stuff we might not be able to fence right away. Mock, go see what you can find. Snitch, watch her back.” He looked at Kildare for approval.

Kildare nodded.

Mock tapped the side of her werelight, guiding it in front of her as she and Snitch walked away.

Fir stood, conjured his own golden werelight with a flick of his hands, and looked at Kildare. “Come on. Let’s find that puzzle box.”