The Panther and the Thief

by Veronica Sommers

  Oakland roars with fury, but I snap him to his spot next, and he's immobilized, flat on his back, unable to move or shift.

  Ryden hasn't moved, hasn't spoken. His gaze is desperate anger and sadness.

  "Come on," I say, and I tug him along more gently than the others, using his kinetic energy to drag him step by step to the gravity point I made for him. Now he's a few feet from me, standing upright, feet gravity-glued to earth.

  "Good," murmurs Brenda. "Now, if any of you speak without permission, I'll have your tongues, cold and sliced, with my salad tonight."

  Oakland's eyes burn, but he doesn't speak, and neither do his siblings. I have no doubt that Brenda would do exactly as she says, and apparently they believe her, too.

  "Hold them there, Priscilla," Brenda says softly. "Iris, you and the others watch them. Riff and I will search the house."

  They're much more powerful than Nali and I are. No doubt they have some magical tricks to make quick work of scouring the place.

  "Wait!" I say. Nali throws me a rebuking glare. We're getting off easy so far, and she wants me to shut up and not make things worse.

  Brenda turns, icy eyes fixed on mine.

  "Why didn't the Patronage tell us there were shifters here?" I ask.

  "It wasn't relevant to your mission."

  "But it was a possible danger, one we weren't informed of."

  Brenda stalks toward me, smiling. "You feel that you were unfairly treated? That the Patronage didn't fulfill its duty toward you?"

  "Maybe." I refuse to back away as she comes nose to nose with me.

  "How interesting," she says. "Because I happen to know that the Patronage also feels unfairly treated. And you most certainly failed to fulfill your duties here."

  "There was another player involved."

  "We are well aware, and we will be investigating that aspect of the matter, as we will be investigating your conduct here and meting out any appropriate penalties."

  I should stop talking now. I'm already in deep trouble. But I have to know. "Why didn't someone get the stone earlier than this, when there was just an old man living here?"

  "Kobe Ashton was a very old, powerful, and well-connected shifter, and he had paid numerous sorcerers to place wards around his home and his person, for protection," Brenda says. "When he died, most of those wards disappeared, clearing the way for a retrieval—one that should have been easy. Now, enough questions, Priscilla, or your day will become much more painful."

  She nods at Iris, who twirls her finger in the air. A spike of pain jabs through my spinal cord and I gasp, doubling over, barely able to keep the gravity wells in place. Iris smiles. She's a mental sorceress, and her specialty is playing tricks with the brain, like creating phantom pain so acute that a person could go mad from it.

  "Enough," says Brenda. As Iris obeys, the pain in my spine disappears, and I'm able to stand straight again.

  Brenda glides toward the house with Riff in her wake, while Iris walks a slow, wide circle around all of us, prying crud from beneath her fingernails with a short knife. The three enforcers wait farther away, by the two black cars parked along the drive.

  The Madstone in my bra feels enormous, big as a baseball. I know they can't see it, but the urgency of getting it out of here pounds at my consciousness.

  Am I really doing this? Betraying Nali? Leaving the Patronage and breaking my contract?

  I can't think about it. Not right now. All I have to do is take the next step, and the next one after that, until it's done.

  I need to act.

  -10-

  Getaway Car

  I have the keys to my car, but it's blocked in by the black Patronage vehicles. Besides, the Patronage have probably put a tracker on it; they always seem to know where I am. I can't simply walk up to someone and ask to borrow a car. Even if I managed to get one, my nerves are so shot at this point that I'd have to crawl down the snakelike mountain road. No way could I drive fast enough to escape.

  There's only one person who can get me and the Madstone safely away from here—and as much as I hate to involve him, I don't have a choice.

  Ryden is still standing near me, his back rigid and fists clenched. I can practically feel the hurt and hatred pulsing from him.

  "Which car is yours?" I ask him, low.

  He stares straight ahead, but even in profile, I can read his anger, his shock that I would dare speak to him after what I've done. His jaw flexes, and he doesn't answer, so I make a guess. "The big silver SUV?"

  "Oak's."

  "The BMW?"

  "Dae's."

  That leaves my Volvo, Brenda's Audi, and— "The old Buick?"

  Scarlet washes his cheekbone. He bites out the answer. "My family has money. I don't. I have school loans. Dad thought it was important that we pay for part of our own education. Said we'd appreciate it more that way."

  A shifter with school loans—I almost giggle, but this is so not the time for laughter. "You got your keys on you?"

  "Yes."

  "We're going to move toward your car, slowly. Just shuffle, okay? When we're like six feet away, unlock it and we'll jump in. You drive."

  I release the gravity bond that holds him, but he stays solid as a rock.

  "Ryden, I need you to trust me once more. Just one more time, please. If you ever felt anything for me, please." I can't keep whispering to him like this. Iris's eyes have already crossed us twice.

  Slowly, I amble toward Ryden's car. After a beat, he meanders after me, hands in his pockets. I want to laugh with relief.

  We move, foot by foot, and we're lucky, because Iris takes her phone out and seems to be scrolling through a feed. She's not expecting me to make any disloyal moves. The enforcers are talking together in low tones. They apparently don't notice that Ryden is inching after me, towards his car. And Nali is too busy chewing her nails and watching Iris.

  When we're half a dozen feet from the car, I hiss, "Now!"

  Ryden whips out his key and unlocks the car. He's in the driver's seat in two seconds, and I slide into the backseat on the same side, releasing my magical grip on Daera and Oakland. "Go, go, go!"

  The car roars to life, half-drowning the yells of Iris and the enforcers as they realize what we're doing. Ryden wrenches the wheel, grinding backward, kicking up a maelstrom of dust, then lurching forward again and racing down the drive. The gate stands open, probably damaged from whatever magic the team used to break-in.

  I buckle in and peer out the rear windshield. "Those gun-toting guys are following us."

  "Of course they are! Damn it, Cilla, what are we doing? We're leaving my family behind!"

  "They'll be able to get away while everyone's distracted with us. They can shift and run." I face forward again. "Ryden, we've got to lose them. Can you do that?"

  He glances at me in the rearview mirror, his hazel eyes hard and cold. "Watch me."

  I try to watch, I really do. But Ryden slices around sharp turns and squeals along cliffside curves with such recklessness that I have to close my eyes and bite my wrist so I don't scream. He's done this before, I tell myself over and over. He's driven this road a thousand times—no, a million. He's got this under control.

  A horn blares, and my eyes snap open. A car going in the opposite direction streaks by, horn still shrilling. We probably scared the shit out of them, whoever they are. I risk a glance backward as Ryden takes another hairpin turn at heartstopping speed. The car immediately behind us skids, tires shrieking, and crashes into the barrier. The next car tries to stop, its brakes grinding horribly, but it's going too fast. It strikes the crashed vehicle and flips, right over the barrier, bouncing down the cliff. I shudder at each echoing smash until it comes to rest.

  Ryden keeps driving.

  The road behind us remains empty.

  Half an hour passes, and we're miles deeper into the mountains now, with no pursuers in sight. I ask him to pull over at a gas station to fill up the tank, and with shaking hands I withdraw all the c
ash I can from the ATM. It will have to do for now.

  "What's your plan?" Ryden snaps when I get back into the car, on the front passenger side this time.

  I stuff the cash into my jeans pockets. "We can't go to your place, or mine. They'll look for us there. So we have to run. As far away as possible, as fast as we can."

  "Why?" His jaw is hard, his eyes cold. "In case you hadn't noticed, I'm not your biggest fan right now, Cilla, and a deadly joyride isn't gonna change that."

  "I know," I say. "But we still have to run together."

  "Again, why the hell? I have a job, you know. I've got a few more days off, but that's it."

  I purse my lips. "This might take a little longer than that."

  "Cilla, I swear if you don't start making sense, I'm going to drive us right back to my dad's house and beg your coven or whatever to take you off my hands."

  I tug down the neck of my shirt with two fingers and reach inside my bra. Ryden swears and looks away. "Your boobs, beautiful as they are, will not change my mind, and honestly I'm offended that you think I'm going to be convinced so easily."

  "No, idiot. Look."

  He turns, and I hold up the stone, smooth as sea glass, one half scarlet, the other white.

  "See, moron? I've got the Madstone."

  He gapes. "Damn it all, Cilla, what the hell? You had it all this time?"

  "Not all this time. I found it by accident, right before we—" I tilt my head and bite my lip significantly.

  His beautiful face hardens even further. "You had it then, and you didn't tell me." The pain in his voice breaks my heart.

  "I didn't know what to do, Ryden. I didn't know whom to choose. And then I realized that I wasn't on anyone's side, because no one was really on my side. No one except you."

  "There's a Lord of the Rings reference in there that I would appreciate if I weren't so pissed at you," he says.

  "Can you be pissed and drive at the same time? They will search for us once the road is clear."

  He starts the car, and we rumble away from the gas station. "Where to?"

  "Just—west."

  "Hm. I always wanted to take a road-trip out West. Didn't think I'd be starting one in the company of a lying, thieving sorceress bitch."

  Nali has called me a "bitch" more times than I can count, but from her it's practically a term of endearment, like, "Let's get some ice cream up in here, bitch," or "Bitch, come here and hug it out," and that sort of thing.

  When Ryden spits the word into the humming silence of car, it slices my heart and works deep, deep inside, oozing poison. He means it, and it's proof of how much I have hurt and betrayed him.

  We stop again, about half an hour later, and I withdraw more cash. I only have a few thousand in savings, but it's better than nothing. I'd rather hit ATMs near our known location. Once we get farther away, I'll have to avoid using my card and use cash only for a while, in case they can track my banking activities somehow.

  When I explain this to Ryden, he shakes his head. "What are they, the freaking FBI?"

  "No. If they were, we'd have to worry about your license plate being spotted, or our faces being ID'ed on a random security camera and fed back to monitors at the headquarters for Operation Madstone."

  "There's an Operation Madstone?"

  "No. I was kidding."

  "Oh. Yeah." He rubs a hand across his forehead. "Before we keep going, can we get snacks?"

  "What do you want?"

  "Monster energy, the java one, and flaming hot Cheetos. And beef jerky."

  I raise my eyebrows. "You're stomach's going to be messed up if you down all of that."

  "Shut up and get me the snacks, woman."

  I give him the finger, slam the car door, and stalk into the gas station. I wouldn't even get him the stuff on principle because of the "bitch" and the "woman" thing, but I figure I should cut him a little slack. I did lie to his face and steal from his family while screwing him and pumping him for information. So there's that.

  When I return with the snacks, and a entire box of cheese crackers for myself, he's tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, looking pensive.

  "What is it?" I ask, settling in and buckling up.

  "I'm sorry."

  "Come again?"

  "I'm sorry I called you a bitch. My mom would say that someone else's bad behavior doesn't give me an excuse to 'act ugly.' So yeah. Sorry."

  I'm too shocked to reply.

  "This doesn't mean I forgive you," he says.

  "I know."

  With a deep sigh, he starts the car again.

  We don't talk much for the next few hours. At his request, I plug in my phone and text his siblings, but they don't reply. They're probably running free in the forest in panther form, until the Zenith Trio finish up with the house. Once the Patronage get everything they can, they'll leave. They have no interest in the property itself, or in the Ashton siblings. With luck, any desire for revenge will be focused on me and my betrayal, rather than on Nali or Daera or Oakland.

  After sending reassuring emails to Daera and Oakland and another to Nali, I take the battery out of my phone and toss it into the glove compartment. Thankfully I don't have a swanky phone with a non-removable battery, and Ryden didn't bring his phone along.

  Ryden follows my movements. "You think they could track your phone?"

  "Maybe. They keep close tabs on all the acquisitions specialists."

  When Ryden turns on the radio, it's Bruno Mars singing "Grenade." I cringe as he nods along enthusiastically to the lyrics.

  "Damn, I really get this song now." His eyes cut toward me. "There's real meaning here, you know? A warning for all us stupid guys who think we can trust a woman."

  I glare out the window at the trees and farms flashing past, nails digging into my palms until the song is over.

  I haven't told him I'm sorry. The words are inside me, fighting to get out, but I'm holding them back, because part of me believes that he should understand, that he should know why I couldn't tell him everything.

  Suddenly he hits the button, shutting off the radio. "Okay. Start talking."

  "About?"

  "Who you are, what you are, why you were at my house with Nali. What you're doing right now. You owe me an explanation."

  Drawing a deep breath, I begin. "I'm a wielder, a sorceress. Physical class, which means I can manipulate certain forces of nature. My specialties are kinetic energy and gravity, but I can do a little bit with magnetism, too."

  "Like Magneto, in X-Men?"

  "Not at that level, no."

  "Okay. But your name's still Priscilla?"

  "Yes. And I really am a licensed professional organizer. But that's also our cover, me and Nali. We use it to get into homes and take magical artifacts or talismans that the Patronage wants."

  "Like the Madstone, or the zemis." His words are taut, clipped.

  "Yes, like that. We used a spirit from one of the zemis to break through the dome and call for backup."

  "After I told you where the zemis were."

  When I don't reply, he slams his hand against the wheel, and for a second his body goes partly transparent. The car swerves a little.

  "Ry!" I grab the wheel.

  He solidifies again, panting. "Sorry. Damn."

  I remember what Oak said, about Ryden needing to change when he's upset. "Do you want me to drive?"

  "No! Keep talking. Tell me more about this Patronage that you work for."

  "I'm really not supposed to—"

  He cuts me off with a barking laugh. "You're worried about getting in trouble for spilling their secrets? I think you burned those bridges, girl. Now tell me who they are."

  "They're a society of wielders. It's a huge organization, really, with different branches—research, acquisition, application, sales, management. I'm in acquisitions, obviously; I've been with them for two years, since I graduated from college."

  "Did you always want to be a thief?"

  "It's not like th
at," I say, stung. "When I got to Rathton College, I entered the Humanities program, which is basically a cover for magical training. Nali was my roommate that first year, and she told me about the Patronage. She was aiming to get in with them—said they were the elite group, the best of the best." I turn to him desperately, wanting him to understand, but he's staring fixedly at the road. "Ryden, I had no idea what to do with my life, or my magic. When Nali told me about the Patronage, it sounded like a dream job. And then, when we were juniors, we met with a Patronage rep, and he said we could sign a five-year contract in ground-level acquisitions and afterwards get moved up to the next rank, or to the application department, if that's what we wanted."

  "So you signed on."

  "Not that easy." I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose. "There were tests, tasks—it was complicated. Most of the applicants get cut. But Nali and I made it in, together." And she's hating me now. Wondering why I left her. Probably swearing till she's blue in the face. I hope the Trio doesn't hurt her for what I've done.

  Hell, what have I done? I betrayed her, for what? Maybe a little for Ryden, but mostly for the power of the Madstone.

  I was thinking of myself, not caring who got hurt in the process.

  Just like my mother.

  I'm not like her. No. Never. I refuse to be like her.

  "You're not done," says Ryden. "You haven't told me everything."

  "I'm done."

  "No. That's not fair." His voice is actually shaking. "What about my family? You were there to steal from us, but how did you even get the organizing gig?"

  "We contacted Daera, and she was happy to hire us. It meant she didn't have to go hunting for someone to do the job."

  "But you had references, she said. High ratings."

  "Those are real. Most of the families we hit never realized that we took anything. Many of them didn't even know they owned anything of magical value. Nali and I are low-level acquirers, so we get the easy ones—the ones where a relative recently died or moved away, where we can simply slip the items into a bag and no one's the wiser."

  "And you were going to take my father's Madstone. That's what you were sent to find."

  "It would have been simple, if that dome-throwing cowboy hadn't screwed it up."