The Panther and the Thief

by Veronica Sommers

  "I don't know." I pinch the bridge of my nose. "Maybe I'm tired of these 'jobs.' Have you ever thought about quitting?"

  Nali casts a terrified look around the shadowed hallway. "No! And you shouldn't either. You wanted this, remember. Trained for it, practically begged for it. There's no going back. And you can't wimp out on me, not now. I need to know that my partner is reliable!" She glares at me. "Can I count on you?"

  "Yes, of course you can."

  "Then no more dance parties with the Hunk. We need to do our job."

  "I got it." I head back to the music room, muttering, "Why'd you have to shower so damn fast?"

  "I heard that," she snaps.

  With Nali in the room, there's no more music. It's all business, and we work hard, even when the heat of the day creeps into the room, turning it into a slow-cooker.

  "Unless we get the AC back on up here, some of these instruments will be ruined," Ryden says. He runs his fingers over the curving frame of a harp in the corner. "My mother used to play this."

  "Bring it downstairs," I tell him. "Oakland was going to tape over the broken windows. If he did, there will be cooler air down there, and less humidity."

  "Good idea, thanks!"

  He hoists the instrument and heads out of the room. I rise and follow him.

  "Where do you think you're going?" says Nali.

  "To get a drink. Geez, relax!"

  "See if you can get any information about the zemis," hisses Nali. "They might be worth taking along as a consolation prize, especially if we can't find the Madstone."

  "Fine," I spit.

  I hurry after Ryden, catching up with him at the bottom of the steps. He carries the harp into the great room and sets it down. "It should be all right in here."

  I'm about to ask if he wants a drink when an unbearably loud voice shakes the house. Like yesterday, the voice isn't yelling—it's calm and slow, with an undercurrent of deadly intent.

  "I'm disappointed, y'all. Really, I am. I thought you'd have found my things by now. Remember, the stuff I asked for? The book, the zemis—the Madstone? Where are they?"

  Ryden and I stare at each other, frozen.

  "You'll run out of fuel soon," the voice continues. "You've got another day, if you're careful, and then it's gonna get hot. And your food won't last long once the fridge dies. Better eat up that ice cream." The voice chuckles, low and grating. "I tell you what. Bring me what I want by sunset, and I'll lift the barrier. Okay? Or don't, and you'll get twice as many midnight visitors tonight. And if that doesn't work—well, we're gonna have to raise the stakes."

  In the silence that follows, I seize my opportunity. "Do you know where any of the things are? The book, or the—what are they called—zemis?"

  Ryden nods slowly. "They're all in Oakland's room. But we still need the Madstone."

  "You're going to give it to him?"

  "No," says Ryden. "Oak thinks we can use it to bust out of here."

  "But you don't have the right kind of magic. Do you?"

  "No. We'd need a wielder, someone with high-class magic. I tried to tell him that, but Dae has him convinced that it's just science, that we can bypass the rules somehow and wield it ourselves."

  Dae is wrong, but I'm not about to reveal that. My job right now is to let Nali know where the artifacts are, then distract the others so she can get her hands on one of the zemis, the spirit-trap statues. If the zemi contains a powerful enough spirit, it can blast through the barrier and take a message from us to the Patronage. And they'll send someone. I cringe thinking about who it might be and what they might do to us for failing our mission; but they'll have to understand that this wasn't our fault.

  "Cilla." Ryden's fingers graze my shoulder. "Are you all right? I know this is a lot to take in. You're doing great."

  The warmth in his voice, in his eyes, seeps into my soul, and I move closer to him without meaning to, like a chilled snake emerging from cold shadows to bask in the sun.

  A flicker of awareness and triumph in his eyes wakens me to what I'm doing. I'm acting like a silly lovestruck teenager.

  "I'm getting a drink," I say, and I spin away, marching toward the kitchen.

  "It's a little early for that," he calls after me.

  Winchester, the Golden retriever, is lying on the cool tiles in the kitchen. I pause to stroke his silky head and ears, and his tail thumps appreciatively against the floor. The eyes on that dog are like gooey chocolate, and the way he looks up, with that adoring slant of his brows—irresistible.

  "You've both got it down, huh?" I say, with a final pat. "The art of charming me."

  He licks my hand in response and rises, tail still wagging.

  "Sorry, buddy," I say. "I can't play right now. I've got work to do."

  Glass of water in hand, I hurry upstairs and find Nali. "The zemis are in Oak's bedroom," I whisper to her. "I'll distract the others."

  She nods, her eyes lighting with greed.

  "Hey!" I snap. "Just one, okay?"

  She sticks out her tongue at me.

  I gather Oakland, Daera, and Ryden in the living room, under pretense of revising our work contract.

  "I don't see why this is necessary," Oak says patiently. "We've agree to pay you a flat fee for helping with the house."

  "But you have to admit that the situation has changed significantly," I say. "There's a lot more peril involved."

  "That's not our fault," says Ryden.

  I meet his gaze. "It kind of is."

  "So you're trying to rip us off, or blackmail us. Is that it?" Dae crosses her long legs and glares.

  "Not at all. We simply need to talk about fair compensation for the additional hours we've been required to spend here, and for the—um, the pain and suffering."

  Oak leans forward. "It sounds as if we may need to table this discussion until after all this is over. Then we can speak about it with our lawyers present."

  "I don't think there's any need for lawyers," I say. "Surely we can agree on something fair. Honestly, we aren't trying to shake you down."

  "Really?" says Dae. "Then what are you trying to do?"

  "Geez, Dae." Ryden tosses a couch pillow at her. "Relax. The girls have been through a lot with us already, and tonight is going to be worse if we don't find that stone. Cut her some slack."

  "Stop thinking with your dick, Ry," Daera snaps.

  I cough a little, crossing my legs. "Let's keep this professional."

  "Yeah, you're so professional," she sneers. "By the way, where's your sidekick—excuse me—your colleague?"

  "Probably still working upstairs," I say coolly.

  "As we should be." Oak rises. "Survival depends on our success."

  I don't think Nali has had enough time to find the zemis, and she certainly hasn't had enough time to use one.

  "What about the basement?" I blurt out. "Why didn't we start with the basement and the attic? Aren't those the places where people generally hide things they don't want found?"

  "Not the Madstone," says Daera. "It isn't a vintage brooch or a box of Christmas decorations. It's a centuries' old magical talisman—not the kind of thing you stuff in a box with your grandma's bell-bottoms and forget about for decades."

  "Who keeps their grandma's bell-bottoms, Dae?" Ryden stares at her. "What are you even saying?"

  "Shut up."

  "No, Cilla may be right," Oakland says. "We should check the attic and the basement as well."

  "I vote basement," Ryden says. "The attic will already be hot as an oven at this time of day."

  "Then let's go to the basement." I stand, tugging down my short sundress—Dae's dress, technically. "I'll go find Nali and we'll meet you there."

  I check Nali's room, and when I tap on the door, she lets me in, closing and locking it quickly behind me. Her room is prettily furnished with rich, dark furniture, a rose-patterned comforter on the bed, and paintings of eighteenth-century children.

  "This is cute," I say. "I'll bet you love it in here."<
br />
  She frowns, her eyebrow piercings bobbing. "The hell I do. But forget about that—look!"

  In the center of the bed lies a figure carved from dark wood. Its knees are bent, its shoulders hunched. Atop those shoulders sits a grinning head with huge ears and round, staring eyes.

  "It's carved from ironwood, I think, with shell inlay for the teeth. Probably dates back to the fifteenth century." Nali strokes the image reverently with one finger.

  "Can you sense anything from it?"

  "Yes. A very powerful spirit dwells inside—not the original one though. This one is a lot more recent. Normally I could commune with it easily, but the barrier's suppression effect complicates matters. We'll have to free the spirit the messy way, and since I nearly passed out from that failed summoning yesterday, I vote that you donate the necessary fluids. Hold out your arm." She brandishes her small knife, its blade gleaming in the shafts of light slipping between the sheer curtains.

  "For real?" I sigh. "All right. Let's at least do this in the bathroom, to minimize the damage to this gloriously pretty bedroom."

  Her lip curls. "Fine."

  I snatch the knife from her, and she carries the statue. We set the zemi at an angle in the sink, its shell-white mouth grinning up at us. I shiver, stretching my arm over its smile.

  "Ready?" Nali poises the knife above my skin.

  "Just do it."

  Pain flares through my forearm, white-hot and dizzying. My blood trickles over the zemi, staining its teeth and lips. Nali presses her hand over the statue's mouth and closes her eyes. Snatching a towel to wrap my arm, I step back to watch.

  For a long moment, nothing happens. Then the air around the zemi shivers, and smoke pours out of its huge ears, forming an ever-thickening cloud. The swirling smoke takes on features—hooded eyes under thick brows, a drooping mustache, and a receding chin.

  "I freed you," Nali says. "Before you wander off to do whatever it is you want to do, I need you to take someone a message for me."

  The smoky spirit blinks, then speaks in a hoarse, whispery voice. "Can't you text? Or email?"

  "Our phones aren't working, wise-ass," she says. "Come on. You owe me."

  "Right. What's the message?"

  "I need you to go to Sages of the Patronage. Tell them that the job at the Ashton house went wrong. There's another magic-wielder involved, and Nali and Cilla need backup."

  "That's a lot to remember," the spirit complains. "Say it again."

  Nali groans and repeats the message. "Got it?"

  "Got it," says the spirit. "Hey, any tips on how to avoid getting harnessed to a zemi? It was really, really boring in there."

  "Stay clear of soul-class sorcerers," Nali says. "That would be people like me."

  "What were you, in life?" I ask. "You're powerful, right? How did you become this powerful?"

  The spirit wheezes and shifts. "I ate the flesh of my victims. Surprisingly tasty. Pan-fried, usually, with garlic and salt, like a steak. Consumption of flesh enables consumption of the soul and its power. I ate several tender little sorceresses like you. If the cops hadn't caught on, I would have been the most powerful wielder in the world. It was all part of my ten-year plan. Become a Prime Adept by age thirty, and all that. #Lifegoals, am I right?"

  I swallow, sickened. "And who put your soul in here?"

  "No idea. Hey, I gotta go, 'kay? Gotta deliver your little memo before I forget it. Thanks for the freedom, babes. Laterz."

  He floats upward, through the ceiling.

  "I'm going to watch and see if he makes it through the dome," Nali says, and races out of the bathroom.

  Sighing, I rinse the blood off the zemi and pat it dry. If I return it to Oak's room right now, no one will ever know we freed its spirit.

  Tucking the empty zemi under my elbow and clamping the bloodstained towel over my bleeding arm, I hurry to Oak's room. It takes a few minutes to find the other zemis, and by the time I open the right drawer, I can hear voices down the hall. I tumble the statue into the drawer with the others, close it quickly, and slide under the bed, crowding against a storage box—and something hairy and lumpy. I pinch my lips to keep from squealing.

  Someone bumps the door open, walks to the bed, and sets a heavy object on it.

  "Is this really the time for sentimentality, Oak?" says Dae's voice.

  "There's no harm in taking a moment to savor good memories," he answers.

  Demi's pointed shoe taps the hardwood. "Where are the organizers? They should have joined us in the basement by now."

  "Probably got distracted."

  "Something's up with those two. I don't trust them."

  "They're just scared."

  "They don't seem nearly freaked out enough. They saw us shift, Oak."

  "And they were shocked, and upset."

  "Most humans would be piles of blubbering goo after seeing a magical barrier and demons and shifters all in the same day. I don't know, Oak. Something feels off here."

  "Everything about this feels wrong." The bed creaks as Oak sits down. "And what makes it worse is not being able to call Marilyn and the kids, to let them know I'm okay. They're going to think I've left them, or died. I'm just hoping Marilyn doesn't decide to come here herself to look for me. It's the sort of thing she would do."

  "So let's go hunt for the damn Madstone and end this." Dae's voice is gentler. "We've got to get you back to my little nieces and nephews."

  After they've left the room, I drag myself out from under the bed. So they do suspect us. Crap. I thought we were doing so well.

  Another quick bathroom stop for some gauze and bandage tape for my sliced arm, and I'm ready to join the others in the basement. Nali meets me at the foot of the stairs.

  "The spirit got out," she says. "He made it through."

  "How long before the Patronage sends someone?" I ask.

  She shrugs. "Spirits can move through things, but they're not jet planes. I'd say several hours for him to make it to Patronage headquarters, and then another few hours for a team to get here."

  So I have ten, maybe twelve hours left with Ryden.

  I should make them count.

  -7-

  Love So Soft

  The basement is cool, with a stale, damp, cave-like scent—not surprising, since it must have been carved straight into the rock of the mountain. And it's huge, a maze of storage racks and support pillars, pipes and plastic tubs. The harsh white lights cast an alien glow over the room, throwing sharp shadows into unexpected places.

  There's an air hockey table, cracked down the middle, pushed up against the wall. Several old punching bags, strips of thick fabric hanging where fangs or claws shredded them. Pieces of what looks like a very, very large scratching post. Bins of papers, tubs of jumbled items nestled in bubble wrap.

  Daera and Oakland are poking through boxes while Ryden strides between the storage racks, pulling out bins and stirring their contents.

  The sheer magnitude of the task crashes over me, and my knees weaken. Going through everything in this basement would take days, maybe weeks.

  "He's being unreasonable," I say.

  Oakland looks up. "What?"

  "The man, the one keeping us here. He's being completely unreasonable. There's no way we'll ever find that stone in all of this."

  "What other choice do we have?" Daera meets my eyes, her desperation mirroring mine.

  "Is there any way to track it? By scent, or a spell?"

  She shakes her head. "No."

  I turn, glancing at Nali behind me. She keeps her face carefully blank, but I know that the answer is 'no' from her, too.

  "We can't find it," I say. "We need to find another way out."

  "Not possible. We've told you that," snaps Daera. "Unless you have some special knowledge that could help us out?" Her eyes challenge me, suspicion sharpening her gaze.

  "Not at all," I say.

  "Then get to work."

  I swallow a foul retort and settle in to rifle through boxes, s
huddering every time I see a cockroach carcass or a scuttling spider. Over the next hour, Ryden grows increasingly restless, prowling the basement, hunting without order or strategy. His random approach to the search bothers me, as does his incessant pacing. Finally, with a frustrated growl, he brushes past me.

  "I've got to get out of here," he mumbles, disappearing up the stairs.

  "Is he always like that?" I ask.

  "Restless? Yeah." Dae throws a handful of papers back into a box. "He has trouble staying on task. ADHD, I guess."

  I almost laugh, because it's so the opposite of me, with my hyper-focus and my need for order. Ryden and I are not well-matched at all. It's ironic that we should be so drawn to each other.

  Half an hour passes, and he still doesn't return. I feel the absence of him like an itch, bothersome and persistent. I wonder what he's doing, and where, and why.

  "Bathroom break," I say, stretching.

  No one looks up, so I hurry upstairs and hunt the first floor for Ryden. When I check the sun room, my heart flips over. There he is, outside.

  I ease open the screen door and pad barefoot across the grass toward him. He's standing near the boundary of the dome, and scattered around him are various shriveled, smoking objects, so burned I can't tell what most of them are.

  "What the hell are you doing?"

  He glances at me. "Oh, hey. I'm throwing stuff at the wall to see if anything can make it through. A fun game, but so far unsuccessful. And a little dangerous, since they tend to come shooting back at me after I throw them. I did discover something cool though. Check it out."

  Rooting around in a bag at his feet, he pulls out a marshmallow and sticks it on the end of a thin stick. He holds it toward the magical barrier, closer, closer, till the lightning forks out and zaps it. Then he pulls back the smoking lump. "Perfectly toasted. Okay, it's a little dark, but hey—it's fun, right? You try."

  He holds out the bag of marshmallows, and damn me if I can resist that playful grin of his. I take another wooden skewer, impale a marshmallow, and zap-roast it on the glimmering wall. When it cools a bit, I pop it into my mouth, and the crunchy toasted skin crackles away, the gooey sweetness coating my tongue.