The Powerless Series: Complete 5-Book Set

by Jason Letts

  Mira nodded and took another look at the house across the field. The light vanished over the hillside, blanketing the house in darkness. The little candle in the one window twinkled like the stars above.

  “So if you know him you must be able to tell me who he is.”

  “I could tell you that, but I’m not going to.”

  “Well I hope he doesn’t automatically sense I’m there. You’ve got to at least tell me if there are other people or a dog in the house,” Mira said.

  “No, I don’t. In fact, I’m not going to tell you anything else. Now how are you going to approach this mission?”

  Mira shook her head for a moment, running her hand through her hair while she thought.

  “I’m going to wait until he’s fast asleep. I’ll take your flashlight and search for a point of entry. Considering this remote location, a window or door might be unlocked. I’ll find the tools and then bring them back here to you. Easy as pie,” Mira added.

  “I hope for your sake it goes as smoothly as you suppose. Don’t take a chance and find out what lengths this man is willing to go. Sometimes I think he’s not right in the head, and he may have forgotten our agreement completely. Don’t let him catch you!”

  Mira waited and watched, butterflies springing up in her stomach. Even if this were just another game, his warning made her think failure would mean much more than leaving empty-handed with her head hung low. This challenge seemed the most difficult she had faced yet, considering she was out in the unpredictable world dealing with threatening strangers.

  The light on the ground floor went out, and after a few minutes a light on the second floor came on. It died a short time later, giving Mira a good idea of where the resident slept. She would still have to wait for a few more hours until his sleep could not be easily broken. They snacked on fruit by the long wooden fence to pass the time.

  “Give me the flashlight,” she said to Widget when the night had reached its peak. She felt the cool metal in her hand, and she flipped it on. A small circular beam extended down to the ground, revealing some sticks, a beetle, and a footprint in the dirt.

  “Don’t come back without them,” Widget admonished as she flicked the flashlight off and set out through the woods along the fence.

  At any point earlier in her life, it would have scared her to be out in the woods at night where anything could get her. Though insects buzzed around her head and the eyes of small animals caught the moonlight, she stalked undaunted toward the farmhouse. She turned at the corner of the field and followed the fence along the edge of the trees.

  A few sheep murmured in their sleep, and Mira carefully crept past their pen. She slipped between the trees slowly and silently. Giving them the lightest touch, she pushed away branches and stepped over bushes. Enough light filtered through the web stretching over the night’s sky to distinguish the air from the objects around her.

  Peeking around a thick tree trunk, Mira gazed at the farmhouse. She had gained a much closer vantage point, opposite the owner’s bedroom, where no light shone through the curtained windows. Her heart beat faster with each step until she worried it might be loud enough to hear. She struggled to listen over it for any signs of movement within, but she perceived nothing. Taking one more look before making the sprint to the side of the house, she scanned the small front yard and the stony trail leading out into the woods. Beyond them, the barn’s front door hung open wide enough for her to easily slip in and out. Hopefully he was as inattentive with the rest of his doors.

  Creeping low on bent knees, in careful, bounding strides, Mira ducked behind the corner of the house. She leaned against it, pressing her fingertips and feeling the cold, wooden exterior. Standing up, she peeked through the window but couldn’t see anything more than the starlight cast on the wooden floorboards. Her hand gripped the flashlight, but she decided against using it.

  Coming to the side of the house facing the wide-open field, she spotted a small door leading to the cellar. It lay directly beneath the bedroom window, and any noise would surely travel up to the resident. Still, she decided it would be the easiest and most direct way in, and so she silently snuck up to it.

  Kneeling beside the cement foundation and the metal door, she tried to determine how much noise it would make to open. Her ears, trained upward to the bedroom, listened for even the most innocent noise. Placing one foot on the cement, she reached for the handle, but then retreated. Her hand shielding the top of the flashlight, she used it to inspect the cellar door. A lock held the door together from the bottom. It would have been disastrous to try it.

  Mira couldn’t help glancing back across the field to the edge of the woods. Dr. Flip Widget watched her, she knew, and she wondered if she had already failed in his eyes. Embarrassed, she slunk around to the far corner of the house.

  On this side, a small door led out to the barn, a window flanking it on each side. Casting an eye into the first window, she looked into a dark and desolate kitchen. Standing on her tiptoes, she tried to nudge the window open. It wouldn’t budge, and she cast about for another option. Lightly settling her fingers on the knob of the side door, she carefully twisted her wrist. She immediately felt her pressure come up against a bolt.

  Thinking she may have no choice but to break something to gain entry, she scanned the ground for a makeshift tool to pick apart the wooden frame and remove the glass, finding nothing. Trusting her luck it would open on its own, she moved on to the last window on this side, the bathroom window. Placing her fingers on the wooden support in the center of the frame, she pressed upward. When it gave way, she sighed with relief. Carefully and silently, she inched the window open.

  Grabbing the ledge once enough space had been created, Mira hopped up and pulled herself head first through the open window. Once her head and her torso were through, she felt the weight of her body press her middle against the ledge. She wriggled forward and extended her hands to catch the floor. Noticing the bathroom’s odd smell, she slipped her legs in the window and silently walked them down the wall to the floor.

  It struck her then what she had done. She had broken into a house, the very action that had violently shredded her life on so many occasions. It chilled her to think she had committed the same transgression as the men who came for her and her parents on the night of the Final Trial, the same as the assassin when he tried to take her life, and the wild man when he took her sister away. And now she had done it too. She stayed still for a moment, crouched on the floor near the toilet. She had to trust Widget, trying to tell herself she now knew better the horrible thing they had done to her because she had done it herself.

  Taking a deep breath, she listened at the door for anything on the other side. Carefully, she turned the knob and pushed it open. Stepping out onto the hallway’s hardwood floor, she noticed how nice it was. No cracks or holes revealed what lay beneath and the wood didn’t squeak or bend. The comfort of walking on it even relieved the pain in her feet. Shielding the light with her hand, she took in her surroundings in pieces. Paintings and portraits hung on the painted walls.

  Peeking into the living room, what she saw made her want to gasp. A chandelier hung from the ceiling over a fancy rug and beautiful leather couches. She couldn’t help walking out into it, admiring the light lingering over each sculpture and piece of furniture. Mira wanted this to be her home. She wanted to stay in this place forever.

  Noiselessly, she sat down on one of the soft couches in the dark. It caught her off guard when she sank into it. It felt so different from her usual accommodations, rocks, logs, and the cold ground. All of a sudden, she started to feel better, yet sleepy at the same time. She looked up at the window, half expecting to see Widget, but the night had painted it black.

  When she got up, she realized how close the stairs were. If someone had come down, she would have been caught for sure. She slipped back into the hallway and this time turned into the kitchen. This room also had a distinct smell of cinnamon and oregano. Herbs waited on the
windowsill for the sun to return, and plates dried on a rack. There was so much space in the room Mira thought she could dance around it. Restraining herself, she headed to a closet in the corner.

  Hoping her search would meet a quick finish, she pulled it open, but found only canned food and jars of jam. They would be so easy to take, but they had been so carefully arranged. Shining the flashlight around a sack of grain on the floor, she gave up hope of finding anything here and closed the door.

  She began to search for a way to the cellar. The locked door outside could not be the only way. The kitchen offered no clues, and so Mira trudged through the silence back to the hallway and into the living room. Looking toward the front door was also a disappointment. She clasped another door handle, praying it led to a closet and not another bedroom, but a lock prevented her from finding out.

  Circling through the living room again, she dared to approach the stairs leading to the second floor. They had a decorative banister adorned with maple leaves. Keeping the light away from the stairs, she happened to shine it on a small door leading underneath the stairway. Thinking it might be a broom closet, possibly containing tools, she opened it.

  She found a cement staircase leading into the cellar. This door threatened to squeak if she opened it faster than a racing tortoise. Being equally patient and careful, she closed the door behind her and descended into the pitch-black cellar.

  Shining the light freely, she took in the subterranean space. Near the stairway leading outside, a stacked pile of wood lined the wall on one side. She saw saddles for horses, baskets, and ominous hooks hanging from the ceiling. A smile lit her face when she reached the far wall and took in an impressive array of tools. Some of the metal ones were rusty and broken. A few of the wooden ones were cracked and brittle.

  She carefully poked through for the right instruments. She only needed two, a big pair of farm pliers and a nice pickaxe. The long metal spike of the pickaxe sat within a cluster of assorted tools. Mira set her flashlight on the table so she could silently untangle them. After gently placing the tools on top to the side, Mira finally had a hold of it. It felt heavy and bulky in her hands.

  Checking further down the wall, her heart leapt when she found the farm pliers. They had rubber over the handles just as Widget said they would. She paused to calm herself, knowing it would be foolish to make a mistake now that she was so close to the end. Without making any noise, she lifted them from their spot on the wall.

  The pliers were weighty, making Mira realize getting them out would not be an easy task. As she held the light to them, Mira began to wonder. Was there a reason Widget wanted them? What were they for?

  The thought sprang into her mind that she was taking far too long. It was stupid for her to jeopardize her mission by lounging around in someone else’s house. She held one tool in each hand along with the flashlight in her left and made for the stairway. Taking her second step up, she stopped dead.

  A thump came from above, followed by another and another. Mira froze, trying to figure out what was going on and what she needed to do. Someone shuffled from the second floor on the stairway above her head. Had someone figured out she was there? She felt a flush and a tingle in her skin as the tension took hold of her chest and face.

  By the time the thumping had reached the ground floor, Mira had backed up and ducked in the corner behind where the cement stairwell jutted out beyond the wall. It would only take a few seconds for someone to reach the cellar doorway, and Mira felt her heart squeeze a hundred beats into each of those seconds.

  The doorway above her remained untouched, and Mira began to wonder what else might be going on upstairs and if it would giver her away. She couldn’t remember if she had shut the bathroom door but most certainly she’d left the bathroom window open. She breathed rapidly and cursed herself for getting into this situation.

  Unable to think of any way out, she cast a glance to the other exit, wondering if these tools would be strong enough to bust open the door despite the lock. Each moment, she prayed for the thudding to travel back upstairs. The comfortable floor that had proven her silent ally now betrayed her by concealing the whereabouts of her tormentor. Holding his tools, her mind caught the outrageous inconsistency in her thinking. He was not her tormentor. He was her victim.

  Realizing there was nowhere to go but back the way she came, she emerged from her secluded spot in the cellar to ascend the cement stairs. She listened at the top for any sound, fearing at any moment the door in front of her would pop open to reveal a furious and aggrieved face.

  As hard as she listened, she couldn’t hear anything. Only after straining her ears proved painful did she relax and notice a tiny ray of light slipping onto her through the space between the door and the frame. It hurt her to accept the obvious. He had lit a candle and did not intend to return to his bedroom for some time.

  She remembered the layout of the living room on the other side of the door. None of the couches faced the door she kneeled beside. Judging the source of the light, she wouldn’t be able to see where he sat until the door was halfway open. She wouldn’t know which way he faced or if he were about to get up. Opening the door without it making noise would take time, and closing it would be impossible. Mira recalled her mother’s vial of tears and considered the possibility of sneaking up behind the owner and putting him to sleep.

  She began to think he might have fallen asleep downstairs on the soft couch or was reading a book. As long as the door didn’t squeak, she should be able to slip out, scamper to the hallway, and exit through the bathroom without causing any reason for him to turn his head.

  Holding her breath, she gathered the courage to take this leap of faith and push the door open. Gritting her teeth and closing her eyes, she pushed down on the lever while grasping the pickaxe. She felt the latch slip out of its hold and she silently and steadily inched the door open.

  She expected to hear a raucous outburst or thundering steps, but neither came. Her shoulder also defied her expectations, refusing to succumb to the weight of the heavy tool. The rest of her stayed so motionless and fixed in place that it seemed detached from her.

  As the door inched open, she saw the polished floorboards, a small nightstand, and a painting of a windmill on the wall. She nudged the door until she created just enough room for her body, slipping silently out into the living room.

  While sneaking around to the hallway, she twisted her head to view the source of her peril. She imagined a face watching her slink away, but in the soft candlelight there was only the dark hair covering the back of the man’s head. He gazed out through the window, the burning candle on the sill.

  A shock of emotion sapped Mira. The desire to apologize to him for violating his home gripped her. She forced herself to remain calm; she had no choice but to ignore the urge. There wasn’t time to wonder how he might punish her, or why Widget warned her about him so. Taking her next step, she faced the narrow juncture between the living room and the hallway. In another moment, she had slipped around the corner, unseen and out of sight.

  Somehow she had felt more at ease when she could see him, and now with the empty hallway stretching before her, each shadow conjured up a new kind of fear. If she couldn’t see him, he could be anywhere. And any surprise would mean her ruin.

  Cursing herself, she pulled the bathroom’s door open. She saw the gaping window next, and escape suddenly felt so tangible and effortless. She wished she could float through it in a swan dive while casting off any trace of this horrible deed.

  Alas, her actual escape proved much trickier. Once inside the bathroom, she nudged the door closed against the frame. She maneuvered the pickaxe through the opening, lowered her arm, and dropped it onto the ground with a soft thud. Sliding the hefty pliers through, followed by her arms and head, she pressed her torso onto the ledge and began to wriggle through. The blood rushed to her head and she strained the muscles in her face. Once the pliers touched the ground, it became much easier to lower herself down and
slip her legs through the window.

  Mira yearned for an end to this tiresome discomfort. She got on all fours and quickly snatched the pickaxe. The breeze caught her and seemed to carry her away. Casting aside any semblance of strategy, Mira raced through the field to Widget on the far side. She arced around to avoid the candlelight, but she didn’t look to see if the owner had seen her. Sprinting in the black night, she could only hear the sound of the grass she trampled under her feet. Even the sheep proved faithful to the silence.

  Though she ran some distance, she never took the flashlight from her pocket. Either she would see the fence and stop or smack into it. She didn’t care which. As hard as she ran, with the tools wrapped in her sweaty hands, she knew in the back of her mind she ran to escape what she had done and not where she had been. It sickened her to think of what she had just been through.

  Mira didn’t need to worry about running into the fence because Widget had stationed himself alongside. His anxious words warned her to slow down.

  “Do you have them? Do you have them?”

  The tools struck the ground on the opposite side of the fence with a rattle and a clink. Mira put her hands on the top of the wooden fence and hopped over to the other side. She couldn’t see anything, and a branch jabbed her in the side as she stumbled.

  “That was the most terrible, repulsive thing I’ve ever done in my life! I can’t believe you asked me to do such a thing. Never, ever again. That’s not how my parents raised me.”

  The tools scraped together as Widget picked them up off the ground. Some pleased, incoherent grumbling escaped his lips, haunting Mira as it got closer.

  “You’re forgetting what I told you. These are my tools. Now that we’ve got them, the house is exactly the same as it always has been. Unless you trashed the place and started slicing open the furniture, you’ve got no reason to be unhappy at all.”

  His explanation did not satisfy Mira, however, and she took out the flashlight and began to search for her bag.