by Al K. Line
A knock at the window drew me from my reverie and as Vicky beckoned I got out, arched my back until it cricked, patted my hat for luck, and pulled my jacket tight against the cold night air.
"You take this," I said, hauling a heavy bag out and thrusting it at Vicky.
"What's in it? Do I get to use it?" Vicky stumbled as she took the full weight, but slung the canvas bag over her shoulder and flared her back a little.
"It's the backup bag, just in case."
"In case of what?"
"Anything." I took a much smaller bag, essentials only, and slung it over my shoulder. "Damn, forgot." I ditched the bag and unlaced my boots, replacing them with bespoke footwear I'd had made years ago and had served me very well.
"Hey, how come you get ninja slippers and I don't?" Vicky stared at my work shoes with envy, then at her unfashionable pumps and frowned.
"Because you aren't coming inside." I tidied everything up so if I needed to come back and grab it I wouldn't be rooting around and getting frustrated, wasting precious seconds—one of many lessons I learned years ago—and then closed and locked up. Another lesson learned. Always lock your vehicle, and always keep the keys handy. Oh, and don't lose them. Yes, I did that once, and I spent several hours veiling my car until help arrived.
I stretched onto my toes a few times, warming the soft leather soles and uppers of what did look like a form of ninja slipper. They fitted like a glove, were silent, had no trademarks that could be traced—not that the kind of people I dealt with were likely to call in the police or report the theft of a magical artifact—and could grip like nobody's business.
"Let's go."
The Best Bit
Adrenaline surged through my system, the high I was addicted to. This was what I loved best in the world. Testing myself, putting into practice all I'd learned over long years of personal suffering and sacrifice.
How many hours had I spent honing my skills, sitting quietly in a room accessing the Quiet Place where I could let the universal energies inside to fill me and power me up so I could use the spells I'd mastered? More than I cared to think about, but here was what it all came down to.
Stealing other people's stuff. Gone were thoughts of monetary reward, gone was fear, gone was the stress of life. No worry, no tiredness. I was The Hat and in the zone, in the Flow State and at one with the art of the criminal. Magic was mine. The Ræth Næg called.
Some may see this as a sad use of such powers, but magic isn't a superpower where it means you can fly and save people falling from buildings, or fight giant lizards, although I suppose you could do that stuff. No, more than anything else, it's a furthering of your own personality and skill set. It allows you to do what you want to, but better. And most adepts used it for mostly criminal means. Sure, you could use it to do good, but it still resulted in those that took the years to learn magic of one form or another turning to criminal activities.
I never stole purely for money, at least not at this point in my life. There had to be a reason, and whenever the reason was only financial reward it ended badly. Usually it was to take something from someone who didn't deserve it and give it to someone who did. I made it my business to know who I was taking from and who I was giving to. Sometimes I didn't get all the information I wanted, and sometimes I walked away, but occasionally the lure of a job was too much and I took it without having the full picture, and once or twice I even felt bad about it.
Would this be one of those jobs? After what Sisiminimus had told me about who currently owned the belt then I certainly had no qualms about taking it from him. What concerned me was why Elion wanted it and what he intended to do with it. But we went back a long way, and although I disliked him I still owed him. More importantly, I knew that however much I distrusted him and kept my distance, he wasn't a bad elf, just another sentient creature trying to get along as best he could in a world he didn't belong to.
Oh, and the million dollars of course. I was tempted to ask Vicky to check the exchange rates but knew that was just daft. It would be whatever it was when I got paid and it would still be a serious chunk of change.
"You ready?" I asked Vicky, standing beside me at the large window, the carved lintel and sill ridiculously grand for a window on the side of the impressive building.
"For what?"
"Anything." With the motion sensor cameras already dealt with thanks to a little magic veiling, none of Vicky's technical trickery needed, the alarms at the windows would be a piece of cake. I reached out with my wand and the sigils sprang to life with an almost sentient glee. Gentle, warm magic flowed from my body by sheer force of wishful thinking with years of training behind it, and a simple spell formed and was directed with pinpoint accuracy as the tip of the wand shone pale blue with magic.
A thin jolt of energy entered the alarm system and not so much disabled it as confused the simple workings within. I took out two items from my bag and handed them to Vicky just so she could feel involved and her face lit up. She moved to the window but I shook my head and she frowned, sulking.
"Next time. Just watch," I said, and held out my hand for the suction pad. I attached it to the window pane and then held out my hand for the cutter. In a slow but confident motion I scored a circle then handed the tool back to Vicky. I pulled on the pad and the glass disk came away clean.
With a nod to Vicky, she placed everything back into her bag, first wrapping the glass in a cloth she had inside. She was a natural, which I found both very good and very bad. It would have been better if she was inept so I could scold her and have a reason to stop her being involved, but she seemed to understand what was to be done on an instinctive level.
Confident my magic held, and would for a good hour, I reached through the hole and undid the latch. It was always the same, people with security systems seemed to forget that the best way to protect your property is to have good locks, but it made my job easier so I wasn't complaining.
Plus, I knew what waited inside, and that was where the real security began.
But I was The Hat, and they hadn't counted on me coming calling. Haha.
A Little Thievery
After some discussion, "we'd" picked what "we" thought was the best place to start. Meaning, I picked it and waited for Vicky to suggest this room and then I bigged her up—gotta keep the sidekick happy. Once I'd opened the window and slid inside, I closed it and bent to the hole.
"There's tape in the bag. Replace the glass and use the tape to keep it in place. Do not," I warned, "break it."
"Why?" Vicky was already searching for the tape, keen to get involved.
"Because a gust of wind might trigger something, or something might fly in and set off the alarms."
"Ah, right, good idea."
I held in a groan and nodded farewell.
I closed the drapes so I didn't have to look at Vicky, tongue out the side of her mouth, trying to figure out how to perform her task, and took stock of the room. It was elegant in a timeless way. Lots of expensive antique furniture, numerous bookshelves, plenty of interesting objects, many of which I could tell were magical, others almost powerful, and would be in time because of the sheer weight of history behind them, and some just pleasing to the eye.
Several lamps were lit, and I could see that two adjoining rooms through open doors were equally well-appointed. This was a study of sorts, a comfortable room for the owner to read in, work, or admire the things he felt were suitable for display. The only item that brought the room up to resembling something modern was the very expensive computer on the leather inlaid desk, but it held no interest for me, and no way was I letting Vicky in to get her hands on it.
I stayed completely still, waiting for my presence to be felt by the only creature I was concerned about, and several minutes later our research paid off. I heard a soft thud, almost imperceptible, from another room, and I held my breath whilst sending out confident vibes like I owned the place. A huge ginger cat padded with indifference from the other room, paused
in the open doorway, sniffed the air, then meowed lazily before it strolled over at a snail's pace. Telling me in no uncertain terms that it wasn't coming because I wanted it to, and it wasn't interested, not really, but seeing as I was here it would make sure I was unworthy of its attention and it would show me and I should be grateful.
The well-groomed moggie sat a few feet away, yawned, then lifted a leg and licked its unmentionables. Yeah, nice to meet you too.
When it was good and ready, it rubbed against my legs a few times then wandered off, disinterested. I heard the sound of four evil feet landing on soft cushions and knew it had gone back to sleep. Ugh, cats, but now the coast was clear.
The upside to the cat was the absence of active motion detectors inside the house. When Vicky went through the records and we found that they were disabled it was a bit of a head scratcher until I told her to check for pets and my hunch was proved right.
Good for me, bad for the dude who owned the cat. Served him right, they're the devil's spawn, and I should know.
Sending out feelers through the air as my magical awareness expanded, I searched for disturbances. There were plenty. Nothing human, but some things way too close to sentience for my liking. These were magical items. Books, statues, totems, and all manner of ancient goodies, and baddies, with immense power. Some verging on having a type of soul, plenty definitely with personality.
Ignoring everything in the room—none of it could harm me if I left well alone—I made my way silently through the house, the blueprints overlaid on my vision like I was wearing a high-tech headset.
Creaks and groans of an unfamiliar house settling for the night can turn you into a bag of nerves, but I'd grown used to such sounds over the years, and as long as nobody was shouting at me, trying to shoot me, or blasting me with magic, then I knew I was good. A few more twists and turns and I came to a door at the rear of the house that looked like any other, only difference being this one was closed. No cats allowed in here, certainly no wildcat wizards.
On a long metal box about the length of my forearm to the left of the wooden door, although I knew it was reinforced with steel, was a state of the art biometrics system. The iris recognition security was nothing like the exterior alarms, this was serious, very expensive stuff. The door was also the only way in. And out.
I diverted the simpler, easy to overlook sensors that many a lesser criminal would trigger, and then I got out my phone and sent a message to Vicky. I could picture her made-up face grinning with devilish delight as she got to work, accessing the system and convincing it that it had just been activated.
Knowing Vicky was good, because she'd done similar for me in the past although from a much greater distance, I waited patiently until I got a reply, saying to be ready in five. The door would remain unlocked for just two seconds after it opened, so time was of the essence. I counted down and right on cue heard a series of bolts slide back into the recesses of the wall. Buzzing, I turned the handle, stepped inside, and closed the door silently and with forced calm behind me.
The locks activated and I was sealed in a modest room of fifteen feet by twelve on the inside, much smaller than it should be because of all the damn concrete and rods that meant if the house burned down this room would remain standing. Wasting no time, I took off my jacket, emptied my pockets of everything but my wand, tucked my shirt in tight, checked my pockets again, reluctantly took off my hat, and placed everything in the bag.
Then I walked up the wall.
Yeah, perks of being a wizard. Plus the ninja slippers helped a little.
So Close
I edged up slowly, getting a feel for the position. Such maneuvers were disconcerting. Everything you think you know is flipped around and its remarkably easy to lose all your bearings. But after a few small steps I felt the familiar click in my head as my brain readjusted and I walked up to the join with the ceiling and performed the hardest part of the whole ordeal. Stepping from the ground onto a wall takes major control, and I've got the dull ache of a shattered hipbone to prove it, but going from a wall to a ceiling, now that takes mad skills.
For years I'd wussed out of trying it, as lifting one foot off while keeping the pressure of the air tight against your body in exactly the right position was inordinately difficult. But moving that foot at the correct angle, and the necessary adjustments to the whole body and your limbs at precisely the right time seemed a frankly impossible transition to make. Walking takes enough practice as a toddler, and it all comes down to performing a lot of falls and catching yourself before you smack your head into the floor, and that's with gravity pointing in the right direction, which is a real help.
Making up your own gravity, and bonding it to your will, wrapping magic tight around you in an ever-morphing cocoon of falsehood, it takes it out of you. It's not just the power of your magic, willing pressures to subtly alter to push against you in the right position and at the right strength, it's just that it's so unfamiliar, such a disorientating position to be in, that your mind can't cope with the change of direction.
So I practiced, and eventually got up the nerve to try it when I was at my most reckless. I fractured my skull, broke my nose, shattered my jaw, and lost several teeth. When I got out of hospital I went straight back at it, and it was with a frown that the nurses greeted me when I returned the same day I was signed out, this time with a fractured wrist and in need of rehab on my neck where I'd managed to pile drive my head into a thankfully thick collection of rugs.
Never one to give up, as, of course, what self-respecting wizard wouldn't want to be Spiderman now he could call forth the powers of the universe, and plus it was just so damn cool, I bought a crash mat, was sure to wear a lot of padding, invested in a helmet, and persevered. One shattered hip bone, and many other minor injuries later, I got the hang of it. A bit.
So I called the air to me, and I directed the pressures in subtle ways learned and mastered over decades, and without even pausing I stepped onto the ceiling and walked halfway into the room. Then I opened my eyes, breathed again, and looked down.
Boy was it one sweet setup.
After a few minutes of standing upside down glued to the high ceiling, my brain accepted the conundrum of viewing everything the wrong way up and did what it always did, and would for anyone. It switched everything around so in my head it was like I was looking at the world the right way up, just from a weird angle. If you don't believe me buy a pair of perspective flipping goggles and wear them for a while, eventually your brain adjusts and everything is the right way up again.
The room, while not large, was super cool and truly sweet in proper secret magical lair style. I hadn't seen many like this but they were becoming increasingly prevalent as technology caught up with magic to a degree and all the best stuff was stored and displayed in a manner worthy of its power. The bare walls, ceiling, and floor were rough where wooden shuttering had been used to cast the concrete box, grains and swirls making a delightful pattern any modern architect would have been proud of.
Recessed accent lighting from several angles played on display cases cast from the same concrete, their contents under glass cubes to keep them pristine. There were a half dozen of these plinths dotted artfully around the room, and three of the four walls had long oblong slashes, shallow recesses with more lighting, but no glass to protect them. Aligned in a seemingly random, but somehow artful and considered way, creating a powerful aesthetic, were all manner of items I would have loved to have taken. But I was a professional, and that wasn't how I did things.
That's what amateurs did, got greedy, and that's how accidents happened and how you got caught. The last thing you wanted was something exploding on you, or a fine looking statue to suddenly grab your throat as it was imbued with the spirit of an ancient nasty dude right out of a foreign citizenship's nightmares. Plus, where would you put it all? This was the drawback to being a collector, everyone wanted your stuff, so you stuck to the job, took what you came for, and left nothing but your
mad skills behind to be appreciated once your mark got over the shouting and the swearing of vengeance.
It was tempting though, as this guy had clearly been at it for years. He was picky too, choosing nothing but the best. Things nobody had heard even a rumor about for years, some of it unknown to me, and I knew a lot about magical artifacts. More than I cared to if truth be told.
Still, there were some nice things.
I walked back to a corner by the door, hanging like a bat in dark shadow, savoring the classy atmosphere and the magic emanations and vibes that sang in the air, powerful and intoxicating. Merely being in rooms like this was like spending a day in my attic where I sat naked to charge up my magical batteries. I felt the power surge in my system. A cellular awakening of various wondrous spells and secret techniques that were stored and so familiar I no longer even remembered the words to summon them, just knew I could. They lay coiled like hungry serpents, all boosted with endless magical variations on many themes, there for the taking by an adept such as myself. Everything twitched, keen to join the magical party going on below.
Which is why backing into a corner was a good idea. This stuff could suck you in and it wouldn't spit you back out until you were lost to the madness such items held. You couldn't even touch half this stuff, let alone hope to use it unless you spent months, maybe years, uncovering its secrets and finessing your own skills to be in tune with what you craved to use. And even then only if your personal magical abilities were inclined to their unique ways of using primordial forces that would rip you apart given the slightest opportunity.
Faint etchings on the glass cases sparkled in the ambient light. Sigils and runes and all manner of wards there not to keep anyone out so much as to contain the magic within. Even that wasn't enough to stop the pressure building over time, and although not strong enough to kill an adept it was volatile nonetheless.
