territory for the owner’s thermographic imprint. When she didn’t find it, she warily assumed that her old acquaintance was out of town and decided to proceed with extreme caution.
Celia usually teleported into and out of the places she burglarized, but with Evi’s home it wasn’t that simple. Because Evi was descended from an extremely archaic and powerful magical line, Celia knew that his property was protected from overtly magical infiltration attempts.
No, she would have to do this the old-fashioned way. The plan was to get in and get out as quickly as possible, hopefully without having to use the sidearm strapped to her thigh or any of the pouches and vials of potions and dusts she carried with her.
With graceful agility, she easily vaulted over the twenty-foot iron gates, landed safely on the snow and rapidly moved to the tree line. Taking advantage of her crisp night vision, she darted from trunk to trunk, moving closer to the left wing of the estate. Subzero gusts pelted her body but the nanotech fibers of her tactical catsuit maintained her core body temperature while wicking moisture away from her skin. The numerous pockets lining the matching tactical vest were also incredibly handy for storing all her necessary gear.
She’d have to remember to thank Perry for coming through splendidly. It was amazing what the man could acquire with a little cajoling and cash.
Finally, she reached the house. Her back against the stone, she listened intently for any strange sounds before extending her radar and scanning for any nearby heartbeats. The coast was clear. She checked her watch and set the vibrating timer for six minutes. Surveying the closest window, Celia decided that as a point of entry, this old casement window was as good as any.
Very quickly and quietly, she removed the circular glass cutter from a vest pocket, dried a patch of window and applied the suction. With great care, she cut a circle the size of a dinner plate and discarded the glass in the nearby snow. Cautiously, she slipped her arm through the freshly cut hole, rotating her elbow so she could unlock the latch. She lifted the window and, inevitably, it squealed with resistance. Reassured by the fact that this wing of the house was empty, Celia climbed through the window and gently closed it. To avoid rousing suspicions, she left the curtains drawn exactly as they had been before her entrance.
On tiptoes, she slipped into the hallway and began navigating the labyrinth of corridors in her search for the vault. Childhood memories of playing within the walls of this museum of antiquities and rarities allowed Celia to scurry without pause along her preplanned route. As she rounded a corner, Celia’s cerulean eyes landed on the surprisingly well-preserved mille fleur tapestry running the length of the right wall. She slowed her pace, her eyes searching the weaving for the lone red rose among the green and white.
Aha!
Lifting the musty tapestry in that section, Celia slipped between the fabric and the wall—and there it was! A rather generic wooden door that Celia knew was the entrance to the Leshnikov family vault.
She retrieved a plastic baggie from another vest pocket and shook the contents onto her palm. Without wasting a second, she placed the sliver of lotus root under her tongue, shivering at the bitter taste even as she pressed the wad of chicory to the door with her left hand.
“ Sign argis !” She clearly spoke the ancient unlocking spell that had been drilled into her mind from preschool. Instantly, the locks disengaged. There was no lock, magical or conventional, that could withstand her family’s oldest incantation.
She slipped the lotus root and chicory back into the vest pocket and entered the vault. It was a stone room lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves that held both supernatural and culturally significant objects, from enchanted amulets to some of the only surviving Albrecht Dürer woodcuts and prints. Inarguably, the
Celia usually teleported into and out of the places she burglarized, but with Evi’s home it wasn’t that simple. Because Evi was descended from an extremely archaic and powerful magical line, Celia knew that his property was protected from overtly magical infiltration attempts.
No, she would have to do this the old-fashioned way. The plan was to get in and get out as quickly as possible, hopefully without having to use the sidearm strapped to her thigh or any of the pouches and vials of potions and dusts she carried with her.
With graceful agility, she easily vaulted over the twenty-foot iron gates, landed safely on the snow and rapidly moved to the tree line. Taking advantage of her crisp night vision, she darted from trunk to trunk, moving closer to the left wing of the estate. Subzero gusts pelted her body but the nanotech fibers of her tactical catsuit maintained her core body temperature while wicking moisture away from her skin. The numerous pockets lining the matching tactical vest were also incredibly handy for storing all her necessary gear.
She’d have to remember to thank Perry for coming through splendidly. It was amazing what the man could acquire with a little cajoling and cash.
Finally, she reached the house. Her back against the stone, she listened intently for any strange sounds before extending her radar and scanning for any nearby heartbeats. The coast was clear. She checked her watch and set the vibrating timer for six minutes. Surveying the closest window, Celia decided that as a point of entry, this old casement window was as good as any.
Very quickly and quietly, she removed the circular glass cutter from a vest pocket, dried a patch of window and applied the suction. With great care, she cut a circle the size of a dinner plate and discarded the glass in the nearby snow. Cautiously, she slipped her arm through the freshly cut hole, rotating her elbow so she could unlock the latch. She lifted the window and, inevitably, it squealed with resistance. Reassured by the fact that this wing of the house was empty, Celia climbed through the window and gently closed it. To avoid rousing suspicions, she left the curtains drawn exactly as they had been before her entrance.
On tiptoes, she slipped into the hallway and began navigating the labyrinth of corridors in her search for the vault. Childhood memories of playing within the walls of this museum of antiquities and rarities allowed Celia to scurry without pause along her preplanned route. As she rounded a corner, Celia’s cerulean eyes landed on the surprisingly well-preserved mille fleur tapestry running the length of the right wall. She slowed her pace, her eyes searching the weaving for the lone red rose among the green and white.
Aha!
Lifting the musty tapestry in that section, Celia slipped between the fabric and the wall—and there it was! A rather generic wooden door that Celia knew was the entrance to the Leshnikov family vault.
She retrieved a plastic baggie from another vest pocket and shook the contents onto her palm. Without wasting a second, she placed the sliver of lotus root under her tongue, shivering at the bitter taste even as she pressed the wad of chicory to the door with her left hand.
“ Sign argis !” She clearly spoke the ancient unlocking spell that had been drilled into her mind from preschool. Instantly, the locks disengaged. There was no lock, magical or conventional, that could withstand her family’s oldest incantation.
She slipped the lotus root and chicory back into the vest pocket and entered the vault. It was a stone room lined with floor-to-ceiling shelves that held both supernatural and culturally significant objects, from enchanted amulets to some of the only surviving Albrecht Dürer woodcuts and prints. Inarguably, the
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