The Grift of the Magi

by Ally Carter

  “You’d never do that.”

  “Sure I would,” she told him. “I stole you.”

  “Kat, I can’t let you do this,” Hale said, but Kat turned. In the distance, a gavel fell.

  And when Kat turned back to him, she could have been sad that her favorite treasure was gone. She might have mourned what it meant. But she just shook her head.

  “It’s done.”

  Kat felt the cold air that blew through the door as Hale pushed his way outside. Kat didn’t hesitate. She followed.

  “Hale!” she called, but he kept walking, head down against the current of people who filled the sidewalk. “Come on, stop. Hey…” She scanned her mental list of W names. “Walter!” she tried, and, finally, he stopped.

  “You’ve already guessed that one.”

  “Okay. Windsor?” she said and he turned slowly, shaking his head but smiling now. “Wendell? Warren? Wycliffe?”

  “Give up, Kat,” he told her as she reached him.

  She smiled. “I don’t give up.”

  “Yeah. I know.”

  The sun was down and they stood on the dark streets of London, surrounded by the twinkle lights in shop windows and streetlights that were growing brighter by the second. And even though the snow fell harder, Kat could feel Hale start to thaw.

  “You didn’t have to do it,” he told her.

  “Yes, I did,” she said. “But not for you. I had to do it for me.”

  She didn’t realize she had started to shake until Hale took off his heavy coat and settled it around her shoulders. It still carried the warmth of his body and she felt cocooned in its warmth, safe.

  And then he kissed her.

  “You didn’t steal me,” he whispered, his face so close that she could feel the warmth of his breath. “You rescued me.”

  “Like Rapunzel?” she teased, and he kissed her again.

  And again.

  And again.

  “If you’ll excuse me, sir.”

  Only then did Kat realize that Marcus was behind them. She’d known him almost since the moment she met Hale, and she wasn’t entirely surprised to see him there.

  “Marcus, it’s Christmas,” Hale said. “Let’s go home.”

  “Yes, sir. But before we leave, I wanted to say that I know you have been busy, sir. The last I heard you were still looking for the perfect gift for Miss Bishop, so I took the liberty of acquiring this.”

  The case in his hands looked just like a regular briefcase. In his dark suit and wool overcoat, Marcus looked just like any other businessman in London, heading home at the end of the day.

  But when he raised the case and clicked it open, something inside of Kat knew to hold her breath.

  And there it was, nestled in a protective foam frame, newly cleaned and detailed, but unmistakably gorgeous. Unmistakably familiar.

  At the sight of the egg, up close and gleaming even in the dark street, Kat wanted to cry.

  She never thought she’d see it again, hold it again. She thought it was gone forever, but there it was.

  Then she remembered Marcus’s words: the perfect gift for Miss Bishop.

  “Marcus!” she gasped just as Hale started to laugh.

  “I don’t even care what it cost me,” he said, and Kat hit him on the arm.

  “You should care!”

  “Kat, what’s the use in being a billionaire if you can’t buy your girl something pretty for Christmas?”

  “But…”

  She looked to Marcus as if he was going to be any help.

  “I spoke with Miriam, and she assured me Hale Industries needed another charitable donation this fiscal year. My sister authorized me to bid at the auction and purchase this item on Mr. Hale’s behalf.”

  “Marcus…” Kat was speechless.

  Kat felt the two of them turning to her, but she was backing away.

  “No, Hale, I can’t take it.”

  “Yes.” He pulled her close. “You can.”

  Twenty Minutes Until Christmas

  Brooklyn, New York

  Uncle Eddie wouldn’t be there, but there was only one place to celebrate Christmas. Kat stood on the dark stoop, looking out over the quiet street while Hale worked on the lock and Angus threw snowballs at Hamish.

  “I wish Gabrielle were here,” Simon said, but Kat just shook her head.

  “She wanted to spend some time with her mother and the earl,” Kat said as she did the mental math. The sun would soon be up in England, and Kat hoped that Gabrielle was having the kind of Christmas morning of which she’d always dreamed.

  “Got it,” Hale said, and the door swung open. “We’re home,” he said—even though his family probably owned a half dozen houses and chateaus and mansions around the world, this was where W. W. Hale V wanted to be on Christmas morning.

  She totally couldn’t blame him.

  She eased into the dark brownstone, and the first thing Kat noticed was the smell. And the music.

  An old fashioned record player was turning somewhere, and scratchy Christmas songs filled the air. Someone had set up a tree, and there were voices in the kitchen.

  “I thought you said he was in Italy?” Simon asked.

  “He is,” Kat said, not expecting to find Uncle Eddie in his kitchen.

  She certainly wasn’t expecting to find two of him, and for a moment Kat froze on the threshold, staring at the two men who stood at the old stove, fighting over a wooden spoon.

  “Uncle Charlie?” she asked when Eddie’s twin turned from the stove. She ran to hug him.

  “I see where I rank, Katarina,” Eddie huffed, but Kat hugged him as well.

  “But what about Italy?” she asked.

  “It’s still there. Too hot, though. And full of bugs. Big ones.”

  He pushed his brother from the stove, and it took Kat a moment to process what she was seeing. Charlie was the best forger in the world, but he was also a hermit who lived on a mountain in the Alps.

  “What are you doing here, Uncle Charlie?”

  “I brought him.”

  At the sound of Bobby’s voice, Kat turned toward the door. Her father looked younger than he had when he was pretending to be the Director of UK Operations for Interpol. And yet she had the feeling that “Director Hoyt” might make another appearance at some point in the future, much to Amelia Bennett’s dismay. But Kat would worry about that when the time came.

  She just kept looking at the uncle who shared Eddie’s face but, to Kat, was almost a stranger. “It must have been hard to get down the mountain this time of year,” she told him. “Thank you for coming, Uncle Charlie. It’s good to see you.”

  She knew what it cost him to leave his home, to give up his isolation.

  “Your father told me about the egg, Katarina,” he said, his accent thicker than his brother’s. “I’m sorry to hear it shattered.”

  Kat couldn’t help but glance briefly at Hale, then at the case that held the egg that she had loved and lost and found again.

  “It’s okay, Uncle Charlie. It was…” She found Hale’s eyes, shared his smile.

  But Uncle Charlie filled in.

  “It was one of the most beautiful forgeries I ever made.”

  It seemed to take a moment for Kat to process the words, for her to remember the virtual mountain of eggs that the earl had acquired through the years.

  “No, Uncle Charlie,” Kat said with a shake of her head. “I’m sorry. The earl has a ton of forgeries, but it was the real egg. It…shattered.”

  Kat’s voice cracked, and a moment of silence seemed to fill the kitchen as they all mourned the fact that one of the most beautiful things in the world could never be stolen again.

  Only Charlie dared to break it. “No, Katarina.” His eyes twinkled. He walked to an ancient, old fashioned suitcase. Not a soul spoke as Charlie clicked it open and pulled from it an egg nearly identical to the one she’d loved her whole life.

  “This is the real egg.”

  “But…how?” Kat co
uldn’t keep the wonder from her voice as she inched toward it, but Charlie merely shrugged.

  “It must have been twenty years ago now…before I went up the mountain. The earl found me somehow, asked me to make some duplicates.” Charlie shrugged but looked like a little boy who’d just been caught waiting up and spying on Santa. “I might have made a few extras. And I might have forgotten to send the original back with the fakes.”

  “Charlie had it the whole time,” Hale said, and Kat might have doubted the story except that the egg in Charlie’s hands could never be confused with a fake, not when sharing the same space with one of its mates.

  Hale took Kat’s Frankincense egg from Marcus’s case and set it on Uncle Eddie’s kitchen table. A moment later, Charlie placed the original Gold beside it. They stood, glistening, together for the first time in decades, and not for the first time in her life, Kat believed in miracles.

  As, somewhere, a clock struck midnight, Kat looked at the eggs and thought about the Magi. They followed a star and brought presents to a king, but never before had Kat felt less like having a normal Christmas with normal presents.

  Eddie began setting the table and ladling out soup as Hale’s hand slipped into hers. Bobby’s arm went around her shoulders. It was Christmas Eve, and all was right in Kat’s world.

  Right up until the point when Bobby said, “You know, the Myrrh egg is in a not-very-secure private residence in Budapest…”

  The End

  About this Series

  Thanks for reading The Grift of the Magi, a novella in the Heist Society series. I hope you enjoyed it! Reviews help other readers find books and I appreciate all reviews, whether positive or negative. Please take a moment and write a review for The Grift of the Magi.

  Heist Society series suggested reading order:

  Heist Society

  Uncommon Criminals

  Perfect Scoundrels

  AllyCarter.com

  Twitter: @OfficiallyAlly

  Instagram: @theallycarter

  Facebook.com/TheAllyCarter

  TheAllyCarter.tumblr.com

  About the Author

  Ally Carter is the New York Times bestselling author of three YA series about the world’s best teenage art thieves (the Heist Society series), the world’s coolest spy school (the Gallagher Girls series, including I’d Tell You I Love You But Then I’d Have To Kill You), and the granddaughter of a diplomat who has to find her mother’s killer (the Embassy Row series). Her novels have sold well over two-million copies and have been published in more than twenty countries. She lives in Oklahoma, where her life is either very ordinary or the best deep-cover legend ever. She’d tell you more, but…well…you know…

  AllyCarter.com

  Twitter: @OfficiallyAlly

  Instagram: @theallycarter

  Facebook.com/TheAllyCarter

  TheAllyCarter.tumblr.com

  Also by Ally Carter

  The Gallagher Girls Series

  I’d Tell You I Love You but Then I’d Have To Kill You

  Cross My Heart and Hope To Spy

  Don’t Judge a Girl by Her Cover

  Only the Good Spy Young

  Out of Sight, Out of Time

  United We Spy

  The Heist Society Series

  Heist Society

  Uncommon Criminals

  Perfect Scoundrels

  The Grift of the Magi, A Heist Society Novella

  Double-Crossed, a Spies and Thieves novella featuring characters from Gallagher Girls and Heist Society

  The Embassy Row Series

  All Fall Down

  See How They Run

  Take the Key and Lock Her Up

  An Excerpt from Heist Society

  Please enjoy the following excerpt from Ally Carter’s Heist Society.

  No one knew for certain when the trouble started at the Colgan School. Some members of its alumni association blamed the decision to admit girls. Others cited newfangled liberal ideals and a general decline in the respect for elders worldwide. But no matter the theory, no one could deny that, recently, life at the Colgan School was different.

  Oh, its grounds were still perfectly manicured. Three-quarters of the senior class were already well on their way to being early-accepted to the Ivy League. Photos of presidents and senators and CEOs still lined the dark-paneled hallway outside the headmaster’s office.

  But in the old days, no one would ever decline admission to Colgan on the day before classes started, forcing the administration to scramble to fill the slot. Historically, any vacancy would have been met with a waiting list a mile long, but this year, for some reason, there was only one applicant eager to come at that late date.

  And most of all, there had been a time when honor meant something at the Colgan School; when school property was respected, when the faculty was revered–when the headmaster’s mint condition 1958 Porsche Speedster would never have been placed on top of the fountain in the quad with water shooting out of its headlights on a particularly warm evening in November.

  There had been a time when the girl responsible—the very one who had lucked into that last-minute vacancy only a few months before—would have had the decency to admit what she’d done and quietly take her leave of the school. But, unfortunately, that era, much like the headmaster’s car, was finished.

  Two days after Porsche-gate, as the students had taken to calling it, the girl in question had the nerve to sit in the hallway of the administration building beneath the black-and-white stare of three senators, two presidents, and a Supreme Court justice, with her head held high, as if she had done nothing wrong.

  More students than usual filed down the corridor that day, going out of their way to steal a glance and whisper behind cupped hands.

  “That’s her.”

  “She’s the one I was telling you about.”

  “How do you think she did it?”

  Any other student might have flinched in that bright spotlight, but from the moment Katarina Bishop had set foot on the Colgan campus, she’d been something of an enigma. Some said she gained her last minute slot at the school because she was the daughter of an incredibly wealthy European businessman who had made a very large donation. Some looked at her perfect posture and cool demeanor, rolled her first name across their tongues and assumed that she was Russian royalty—one of the last of the Romanoffs.

  Some called her a hero.

  Others called her a freak.

  Everyone had heard a different story, but no one knew the truth—that Kat really had grown up all over Europe, but she wasn’t an heiress. That she did, in fact, have a Faberge egg, but she wasn’t a Romanoff. Kat could have added a thousand rumors to the mill, but she stayed quiet, knowing that the only thing no one would believe was the truth.

  “Katarina?” the headmaster’s secretary said. “The board will see you now.”

  Kat got up, but as she stepped toward the open door twenty feet from the headmaster’s office she heard her shoes squeak; she felt her hands tingle. Every nerve in her body seemed to stand on end as she realized that somehow in the last three months she had become someone who wears squeaky shoes.

  That, whether she liked it or not, they were going to hear her coming.

  ***

  Did you like what you read? Read more in Heist Society, available at all major eRetailers.

  THE GRIFT OF THE MAGI

  A Heist Society Novella

  Ally Carter

  Copyright © 2016

  All Rights Reserved.

  978-1-62051-257-9

  AGENCY INFORMATION

  NLA Digital LLC

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Please respect writers and their work by buying their books from legitimate sources. The scanning, uploading and distribution of this book via the
Internet or any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.