The Thief

by Aine Crabtree

  “Stupid,” she said flatly.

  “Chasing imaginary creatures...” Destin mumbles.

  “It is not imaginary! You saw it!”

  “What’s not imaginary?” Jul asks.

  “The reason we have this ridiculous detention in the first place,” I say, frowning at the window by the front door that was replaced a week ago. You’d never know anything had happened to it.

  “Yeah, how did you get detention?” Jul asks.

  “I made a riot,” Camille says.

  She doesn’t seem to think I can top that. “We found the creepy little monster that’s been stealing out of the lockers,” I say, folding my arms. I dare them to laugh. “I chased it around the school and it broke a window. Umino decided I was lying because she’s evil.”

  Jul’s eyes are wide. I’m not sure if I’ve ruined her opinion of me or not.

  “Monster?” Camille says.

  “It was this freaky little thing with a tail and wings and ears - ”

  “He’s calling it a catbat,” Destin says, deadpan.

  “Don’t you go pretending you didn’t see it,” I snap at him. “Maybe if you got a haircut you wouldn’t have an excuse - ”

  “If you say you saw it, you saw it,” Jul says, apparently nervous we’ll start fighting. “We’d better start cleaning something before Tailor comes back or we’ll never get done with detention, no matter how we got into it.”

  She and Camille take the dusters and brooms and go down the stairwell to the basement to clean the lights.

  “Thanks for the help,” I tell Destin.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “That was sarcasm.”

  He sighs, dunking a rag in cleaning solution. “Do you ever wonder if girls would like you better if you were less weird?”

  “Me?” I swipe the curling ironwork of the banister. “I’m not the one who sheds pillow stuffing.”

  Reflexively Destin looks around swiftly, tension in his shoulders. “Keep your voice down!” A single downy feather escapes the hem of his shirt.

  “Tailor’s shut upstairs and the girls are in the basement,” I say dismissively. “And let’s be clear about something. I’m not weird - I just don’t hide under the covers when something weird happens. There’s a difference. Also, weird means ‘not boring,’ and I am perfectly fine with being not boring.”

  “So is that a yes or a no to being weird? Because I think you just claimed both.”

  “What I am is awesome. End of discussion.”

  He chuckles and goes back to work on the grime in the grooves of the railing.

  Sometimes I wonder if he’d spend the rest of his life shut up in his room with comics and a laptop without me there to drag him out into the sun.

  I look up at the wide staircase curving up from both sides of the atrium, railings all twisted in iron vines. I heave a sigh. This is going to take all day.

  A flash of yellow catches my eye at the top of the staircase. I stare, unbelieving, but I swear I see a flash of pink tongue before the shadow darts away down the second floor hall.

  Why that little...

  I sprint up the stairs after it.

  “Mac?” Destin calls in shock.

  “It’s taunting me!” I yell back, tearing down the hall, catching sight of it zipping into the upward stairwell.

  And it was not going to get away with it.

  Jul

  We descended the stairs to the basement in silence.

  There weren’t any visible bruises on Camille, and the color was back to her face, but she held herself gingerly, almost wincing as she took each step down. I remembered that most of the beating she’d taken last night had been to her torso, hidden now by her signature oversized red hoodie. I didn’t think I’d even be vertical after the fight she’d had.

  “You look a lot better,” I said.

  “I feel like crap,” she said lightly, as we crossed the door into the basement level.

  “I-I’m sorry - ”

  “Did you hit me?” she asked.

  “N-no!” I stammered, staring at her.

  “So why apologize?”

  She was grinning at me, and it was infectious. The corners of my mouth quirked up as well.

  “You really believe Mac?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “I’ve seen too many weird things lately to rule out a...what was it...catbat?”

  She just shook her head. “I don’t know.”

  I look up at the long line of lights running down the ceiling. “Well, if you want to start at this end I’ll go around the corner,” I told her.

  She snatched up one of the dusters, gave it an expert twirl, and stretched up towards the first light.

  I hefted up the other duster and started off down the hall. I was glad she seemed to be alright - and selfishly, more glad that she seemed to like me even better now. Strange that an event that ought to have been traumatic had left me with a smile on my face.

  Turning the corner of the L-shaped hall, I went down to the end, hearing my footsteps echo on the tile floor. Half of these labs weren’t even used as classrooms, and stayed locked up. The school had a lot of unused classrooms, presumably expecting that someday they’d have the students to fill them. I looked up at the circular recessed light at the end. Maybe if we got done quickly Tailor would let us leave early?

  “Hiya,” said a voice.

  I turned around and came face to face with Kei. I stifled a gasp. Where on earth had he come from? The school was supposed to be empty!

  “Kei, what are you - ”

  He pressed a finger to my mouth, smiling like the Mona Lisa. His flat black eyes glinted. Then he pulled back, opening his hand as he did so. Something cool and metallic fell down the front of my shirt and I yelped.

  “Jul?” I heard Camille call.

  “I’m here!” I said, an octave too high, turning towards her voice. She came around the corner, a look of puzzlement on her face.

  “My ears aren’t working again,” she said, worriedly. “Not since I got here. This building is wrong.”

  I turned back around, sure Kei would react, but he wasn’t there. I spun, looking for him, but there was no trace of him.

  “What are you looking for?” Camille asked, next to me.

  “It was Kei, he was just...”

  Immediately she was on alert. “What? Where?”

  I reached a hand down the front of my shirt. The metal item had caught in my bra. I pulled it out and found that it was a key. B4 was etched into the top.

  Camille was looking at me curiously. “Jul...”

  I flushed. “He dropped it down my collar and vanished! What do you want me to say?”

  She shook her head. “Not him. Please, not him.”

  “Oh, god, no!” I exclaimed, realizing her meaning. “I mean, I thought...but that was...”

  She sighed and took the key from me, inspecting it. “So what is this?”

  “A key to one of the classrooms down here, maybe?” I said, glad for the change of subject.

  “B-4,” she pointed to the room next to Ms. Miller’s chemistry lab. “Empty, I thought?”

  “I’ve never seen anyone go in there,” I admitted.

  She fitted the key into the lock and twisted; the door popped open.

  There were several tables scattered throughout the room, all with wide apparatus pinning down old, flaking pieces of parchment. More were tacked to the walls, like pale ghosts hovering. But despite the care with which each piece of paper was fastened, every single one was blank.

  The table at the center of the room held a series of beakers, flasks, and bottles in a range of colors. Hastily scribbled annotations on sticky notes and lined paper were strewn near. I perused them while Camille stared up at the empty parchment.

  “These formulas,” I said, looking closely at the bottles. “They remind me of our science experiment.”

  “Invisible ink?” she said.

  “Someone wants to know what’s on this paper,” I
said.

  “Umino.”

  “And Ms. Miller, I think.” The swooping handwriting on the notes was familiar. “There’s so many of these pages. Where did they come from?”

  Camille shrugged, and sniffed the paper. She shook her head. “My nose, my ears, still aren’t working right. Here, they never do. I hate this school.”

  I peered closely at one of the pieces of parchment tacked to the wall. It was yellowed, with frayed edges. The unmistakable feeling of something hidden flowed through me as I looked at it. My mother’s journal all over again.

  The rainy day in the orchard flashed into my mind. My hand on the tree trunk and wishing for home.

  Barely knowing what I was doing, I pressed my hand against the parchment.

  Show me.

  Lines furled away from my touch. I sprang back, but they continued to crawl across the page, some jagged, some curling. Slowly an image took shape - a portrait, composed of flowing black brushstrokes, except for the eyes. They had been painted in a vivid emerald green. It was a man with long, straight hair, and a handsome face twisted in a wicked grin.

  “Uwaa,” Camille murmured. “Nanda- what did you do?”

  “Apparently all you have to do is ask,” I said. Hand shaking, I pressed my fingers to the next one. “Show me,” I told it. Same as before, lines drew out from my touch, the faintest shadow dissipating as I took my hand away.

  Excited, Camille pressed her hand to the next one. “Show me!”

  Nothing happened.

  “You have to concentrate,” I told her.

  “I did,” she said. She looked at me curiously. “Maybe it’s just you?”

  I looked back at the second parchment, black ink settling into the shape of a castle with twisting turrets and furling banners.

  Just me?

  Camille looked at me incredulously. “You are a monster,” she said.

  I stared at her, my eyes wide, hands twisting at my hair over my shoulder, but she was smiling, a wide grin that lit her whole face, green-gold eyes sparkling. “Me, too,” she said. “Me too.”

  She said it like it wasn’t a curse. Like we were special. Me, special?

  “What can you do?” I asked.

  “Hear better, smell better - usually. And I break stuff,” she laughed. “Like you.”

  “I haven’t broken anything!” I protested.

  Camille pointed to the portrait leering down at us. “You broke this. The spell.”

  I stared up at it in wonder. That’s what I was doing? Breaking spells?

  I put my hand over one of the scrolls pinned on a table, trying to see if I could sense what was hiding the image. I felt a faint resistance in my mind, like a fine mesh over the whole parchment. I imagined peeling it away, this time slowly. Show me.

  The scroll almost seemed to waver like a mirage, hazed over with a misty sheen. When I touched my fingers to the paper, the mist dissipated to nothing. The lines of the image beneath bled out from my touch, stretching into the shape of a high waterfall.

  I stepped back, breathing heavily. “You’re right!” I gasped.

  “Awesome,” Camille stated, looking eminently impressed.

  Show me. Show me. Show me. I touched each piece in turn, laughing, watching images bloom to life under my hand. Before I knew it, I’d dispelled every image in the room. I looked around at my handiwork.

  Most of the paintings were landscapes or buildings - ancient-looking places. Forests, rivers, thatched-roof villages, castles. Some were objects - a jewelry box, a crown, a mirror similar to the one in the orchard, but with different scrollwork. A silver fox, staring back with intelligent eyes. But the portraits were the most curious of all.

  Camille was staring transfixed at one in particular. I came up next to her and saw why - the face scrawled on the parchment was unmistakably Gabriel. The expression was all wrong - serious and foreboding, reminiscent almost of Rhys in one of his moods - but the features pegged him as her guardian, right down to the odd puckered scars peeking around his collar. At the bottom of the page was an icy blue symbol, like a sideways 8, and the name Gohei Katsura.

  “Is that his real name, do you think?” I asked softly.

  She was silent a moment. “What is that?” she asked, pointing to the symbol instead.

  “I think it’s the symbol for infinity,” I said, and at her faint look of confusion, added, “you know, something that goes on forever.”

  “I saw that,” she said, spinning away to a different corner of the room. “Here,” she said, pointing to another portrait, “and there,” indicating the one I’d touched first. I looked back up at the green-eyed man, unsettled by his grin. The inscription read Hemlock, and nothing else but the infinity symbol in the same emerald color as his eyes. I moved toward Camille and the other portrait. This was of a woman, and though she wasn’t necessarily the most beautiful, there was a sort of magnetic pull to her expression, one of captivating total self-assurance. Meredith the Ender, it read, with the infinity painted in blood red.

  Camille murmured something.

  “What was that?” I asked.

  “Three immortals,” she repeated, looking up at the woman with an odd reluctance. “Once upon a time, chosen by gods. Pawns in a war. Bets on the winner.” She shook her head. “A story Gabriel told me.”

  “Who won?” I asked.

  “‘Ask me later,’ he said.” She looked at his portrait, expression unreadable.

  The painting pinned up next to it caught my eye. The Tailor’s Sword was scrawled across the bottom.

  “Camille,” I tugged on her sleeve, pointing at it. “You think this is what that guy wanted?”

  It was a very plain-looking sword, in an ancient style. There was nothing distinct about the handle, or the hilt; nothing remarkable except perhaps its total lack of individuality.

  “I don’t see what the big deal is,” I said. “It doesn’t even look cool.”

  Camille shrugged, rubbing her bracer with her right hand as if she could scratch the skin beneath. “Doesn’t have to, if it’s magic,” she said. She looked across the room. “Oi, one more.”

  I followed her gaze, seeing one blank parchment. “I thought I got them all,” I said, approaching it. I pressed my hand to it. “Show me.”

  Nothing happened. “Maybe it’s really just blank,” I said.

  “Yeah right,” Camille said. “Just being an ass. Show it who’s boss.”

  Brows knitted in concentration, I focused on the rough paper under my fingers, trying to pull the image out of it, looking for the web of what it hid behind. An outline ghosted into my mind, sketchy and colorless, of a woman in a flowing, low-cut gown studded with gemstones, long hair cascading in looping curls down her shoulders and back. A delicate, heart-shaped face with curling lashes, looking shyly over her shoulder, partially hidden by a lacy parasol. She was almost familiar, but I needed to peel back the spell to see her more clearly. The resistance was as tightly woven as silk, and my hand on the parchment made a fist, as if I could rip it away. Sharp pains spiked up my arm. I cried out, sinking to my knees.

  “Jul!” Camille exclaimed.

  I looked at my trembling arm. Black, vein-like marks pulsed, until the pain subsided and they vanished. “Holy crap,” I breathed.

  “Holy crap,” she echoed. “Are you alright?”

  “I think so,” I said, accepting her proffered hand, standing shakily. The parchment was still blank of the woman I’d caught a glimpse of, but at the bottom in the same titling scrawl as the other paintings, was one word.

  Harbinger.

  “What’s that?” Camille asked.

  I shook my head. I was so far out of my league.

  The latch behind us clicked and we turned.

  “You idiots,” came Tailor’s horrified voice from the doorway. “What have you done?”

  Mac

  Who left the door to the roof open? Don’t they know catbats can escape the building that way?

  The little monster cringes to
a halt at the top of the stairs, apparently stunned by the sudden sunlight. Sensitive eyes, eh? Finally, something to my advantage. I bound up the stairs and grab for the scruff of its neck.

  “Gotcha!” I exclaim, too soon. It skitters beyond my reaching fingers, squinting blearily at the ground. In the sun, its fur no longer looks like an extension of shadow - it’s a dingy dark grey, matted with leaves and dirt. Its eyes are as big around as golf balls, with eerie yellow irises. The long, flicking tail is tufted like a kangaroo rat. Leathery scales grow from its joints and its jaw. Its wide, catlike ears flatten as it looks back at me. It opens its mouth and hisses, jaw unhinging like a snake to show an extra-wide mouth filled with deceptively long, needlelike teeth.

  I rock back slightly. What the hell is this thing? I wonder, but I’m not going to be deterred. I have to prove my innocence, especially after the mess I just caused.

  “Can it, catbatsnakemonkey,” I tell the creature. “You’re coming with me.” I advance cautiously, wary of its teeth.

  It backs up, disoriented, weaving. I’m not going to let it get back into the door behind me.

  “You’re going to help me prove to the principal that I’m not insane.” I hold out my jacket, inching closer. “So I’m gonna wrap you up in this, and you’re not going to give me rabies. Deal?”

  It dives at me with a screech. I catch it, trying to keep it away from my face. I stumble back and trip over an exposed pipe, and fall off the roof. My jacket flutters away and I yell, still clutching the creature. In an instant, my face will be splattered across the dumpster -

  But it doesn’t happen.

  A weird feeling goes through me, like my entire nervous system is rotating a quarter of an inch.

  And then I land in a big pile of mud, in near darkness. I cough, tasting the clay in my mouth. The catbat has wriggled out of my hands and leaps for a dark spot on the floor. It’s about to vanish through it. I grab its tail.

  “Oh no you - ”

  My nerves twist again, and I fall forward, landing on tile floor.

  “ - don’t,” I grunt. Free of me at last, the creature sprints down the hall.

  The hall?