by S. M. Reine
Race of Thieves
Artifact Hunters #1
S M Reine
SERIES IN THE DESCENTVERSE
The Descent Series
Seasons of the Moon
The Cain Chronicles
Preternatural Affairs
Tarot Witches
The Ascension Series
War of the Alphas
The Mage Craft Series
Dana McIntyre Must Die
A Fistful of Daggers
Artifact Hunters
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The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
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Copyright © SM Reine 2018
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Contents
About Race of Thieves
Race of Thieves
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Afterword
About the Author
About Race of Thieves
You’d never know that Shatter Cage is a were-squirrel by looking at him. Between fake fire charms and his impenetrable confidence, everyone believes he’s the phoenix he claims to be.
The lie is a necessary part of his branding. He’s determined to become a Hero, blessed by the Oracles and venerated by legions of followers. For now, he’s just one more thief slinging magical artifacts on the black market, hoping for infamy to strike like lightning. But he’s never going to become canonized if Gutterman, demon and loan shark, gets his pound of flesh from Cage first.
A job offer from the biggest Hero cult in America lights a path to fame—and enough money to repay Gutterman. Unfortunately, Cage’s ex-girlfriend, Brigid Byrne, wants the job as bad as he does. Whoever steals an artifact named Nábrók will be hired. And Brigid doesn’t mind kidnapping, poisoning, and back-stabbing Cage to win…
The race of thieves is on. And Cage is bent on scoring Nábrók before all his bad decisions catch up with him.
We hang the petty thieves and appoint the great ones to public office.
Aesopica
* * *
Dear Readers…
Sometimes I plan books years before committing words to page. And then sometimes, a book stalks me, corners me in an alleyway, and beats itself into my brain.
Race of Thieves is the latter.
Cage and Brigid blasted into my life out of nowhere. Given that these are the first thieves I’ve written into my Descentverse—an urban fantasy world that now contains over fifty books—I can’t imagine them appearing any other way.
For those of you new to the Descentverse, welcome! This is a great place to jump in. Artifact Hunters takes place fifty years after my other books, so it stands alone completely.
If you decide you’d like to spend more time in this world, you can find reading lists on my website.
For those of you who have already visited the Descentverse, welcome back! You don’t need to read anything else before this series. There are no spoilers.
I’ll stop talking so you can get to the shenanigans. If you want more blather, you can always find me on Twitter or Instagram. For a much lower shenanigans-to-news ratio, I also offer new release email alerts.
Happy reading!
~ Sara (SM Reine)
http://smreine.com/
Race of Thieves
* * *
Chapter One
The Helios Tether was open all night, so Phaethon Bay was too. Shops seldom closed. High-rises never darkened. Its rhythm merely shifted with the arrival of moonlight as the day-dwellers went inside and the population’s other half emerged.
At midday, children shouting at playgrounds formed the backbeat for the commuter vehicles on the way to the Tether. Once the sun dipped behind the towering skyscrapers, usually early in the afternoon, the music of the night rose. The howls of shifters, the sweep of feathered wings as long as helicopter rotors, the metallic zing of magetech.
Shatter Cage always thought that the city sounded alive at night. Almost like he was crouching upon the bony ridge of some impossibly huge animal’s brow rather than the roof of a skyscraper.
Of course, if Cage had seriously thought that there was anything biological to the city itself, he wouldn’t have been wiring a bomb to blast the top off one of its skyscrapers.
Magic pulsed quietly by his right ear, where Vision hovered. Although his dangling optic nerve didn’t move the air, Cage had gotten used to the infernal eye that followed him everywhere, and he was sensitive to its weight upon the universe. He could always feel his assistant’s living spy camera when it drew close.
Anton Vex’s voice murmured from the Link at the base of Cage’s skull. “You mixed up the red and blue wires.”
“No, I didn’t.” Cage flicked his thumb to make the charmed ring flare. In the moment of bright orange light washing over his bomb’s initiator, he saw that the red and blue wires were indeed crossed. “I just wanted to try an alternative wiring scheme this time. See if we can add a longer delay to the fire suppressant.”
Vex turned enthusiastic. “That’s a great idea! I usually test everything in my lab before taking it into the field, but if you think that will work, I’m sure it’ll be fine!”
Bless the warlock’s shriveled black heart. Even when he thought Cage was about to blow himself up, he had nothing but positivity to send through Vision.
Cage would fix the bomb. Eventually. For now, he fiddled with the ignitor’s battery to waste time and spare his dignity, much like how his cat always gave her ass a thorough licking after falling off the bed.
His fingers were numb from going this long without gloves. The air was too cold and wet to be outside, and it was only going to get worse. Another storm was rolling in off the ocean. Weather witches said they should expect fifteen centimeters of rain that week alone, beginning at midnight.
“I’ll just do conventional wiring if you’re worried about it. If only to make you more comfortable, Vex.” Cage flipped the wires around again, connecting red and blue where they belonged. “How’s it look now?”
Vision vaulted weightlessly over his shoulder to examine the bomb from every angle. Vex was the designer of their explosives, so he should have been deploying them too. But Phaethon Bay’s lively nights meant there were people outside, and Vex didn’t do people. The eye was as close as he could get.
“It looks perfect! You did so great!” Vex cheered through the Link. His voice sounded loud to Cage, but since it was transmitted through the Link and encrypted by Vision, nobody else would be able to hear the warlock. Cage’s cheering squad of one never needed to stop talking, even when he was in delicate situations.
Like the very delicate situation Cage was about to be in.
He checked his watch before pulling warm gloves over his stiffening fingers. It was ten thirty-seven. Their plan would begin at ten forty-four at the latest.
Cage wedged the bomb between two air conditioning units and stepped onto the edge of the roof. He dropped into a crouch so the wind wouldn’t
buffet him as hard.
He was so high up, in such a wealthy stratum, that the understory’s freeway looked like a bioluminescent bloodstream hundreds of meters below. Tracks and tunnels sang with the passage of steel bodies. Cage had grown up in the city, among the best magetech you’d find in human spaces, and its beauty still staggered him. “Any signs of rewiring in our target’s security system?”
“Everything’s green for now.” Vision dropped onto his knee, warm and reassuring.
Not that Cage needed the reassurance. He was a seasoned thief with hundreds of grabs under his belt, so he wasn’t worried about the job. Yet Cage always felt better with Vision resting against him. He couldn’t resist the urge to pet the little eyeball while wind yanked his jacket’s flaps, enclosing them in a cocoon that Phaethon Bay’s ethereal glow couldn’t penetrate.
“Any sign of the silver BMW?” asked Cage.
Vision’s iris seemed to blink vertically. The Tether reflected off his eye, casting a blazing white bar over his crimson pupil. “No, but I’m watching every traffic camera for a kilometer radius. We’ll know when he’s out.”
Cage’s laugh was sucked away by the wind off the bay. “You won’t miss him. You never do.” Vex was meticulous. He’d kept Cage alive against the odds for years.
Of all of the professional thieves in the North American Union, Cage was not the smartest. Not to say that he was stupid—just not the smartest. Ever since the Gaean Security Amendment passed, trafficking pre-Genesis artifacts had become more lucrative than any other industry. The field attracted the best minds and the toughest competition. Cage was a medium-sized fish in a pond that was somehow fitting whales.
That meant he had to make up in other places. Mostly, he made up by having a constant connection with Vex—easily the best assistant any thief could ask for worldwide, not just in the NAU.
Cage also made up for his inadequacies by being obsessive. As the seconds ticked nearer the launch of the next phase, his fingers wandered, performing one last check of his gear. He’d brought a lot of things he’d probably never need. But if he did need them, and didn’t have them in functional condition, he’d be dead.
So he’d checked and repacked and checked again, every idle moment for the last several hours.
Parachute? Check. Backup parachute? Check. Grappling hook? Check. Spare grappling hook? Check, and check three more times, because he had brought a hook for every occasion.
Breaking into Araboth Condominiums was not an easy feat. Cage had spent all week looking for a way in and out other than the bay-facing windows, since they were thousands of meters above pavement. It was a scary entry point. Scary because failure meant falling. Scarier still because the fall wouldn’t kill him, and he’d fail the theft with no way to repay his debts.
Then he would die.
Unfortunately, Araboth Tower’s security couldn’t be evaded. Their lower floors were staffed by witches who could see through any glamour. Their computer system was impenetrable, meaning that Vex couldn’t fabricate credentials for Cage. Even hiding on a resident’s body as they passed security wouldn’t work against the scanners. Hitchhiking was a favorite way for demons to break into fancy places just like this one, after all. Araboth Condominiums was ready for it.
Cage had spent all week researching and found no way inside.
That left the windows.
Vision alighted from Cage’s knee. “Bad news,” Vex said. “He’s on the move.”
“Being on the move is part of the plan.” Cage clenched his fist and fire flared again over his knuckles. His hands warmed within the gloves.
“Not Forfax. Gutterman’s guys.” Vex’s voice over the Link was not exactly panicking, but he had lost some of his chill. If Vex lost his chill, Cage was going to lose his chill, and that was indeed bad news.
“Are they heading toward you? Did they find our apartment?”
“I can’t tell,” Vex said. “We should still have four hours, so…”
Cage relaxed. “He won’t try to kill us until we’re out of time. Gutterman always wants money more than blood.”
Gutterman was a nightmare demon by biology and a loan shark by choice. His infernal ability to feast upon human fear made him perfect for the criminal underworld. He could intimidate anyone into doing anything, except for producing money out of thin air. Cage was so terrified of the guy that he’d have done it if he could.
Cage had taken a teeny, tiny business loan from Gutterman six months back. A million northcoins.
He’d been due to repay a week ago.
It should have been easy to repay. Cage had immediately invested the loan into his Museum of Oddities and Hellspawn—a guaranteed income stream. It was near Third at Thirteen. It had a view of the Helios Tether. His exhibits were cool.
Perfect tourist bait…in theory.
In practice, the museum was dust bait. For some reason nobody was interested in Cage’s oddities, no matter how many thousands of fliers he left on car windows, how many northcoins he drained into his online ads, and how many fake five-star reviews he left on Yelp. The best he could figure was that someone had cursed him. Vex was still looking into that, but so far, no luck on the curse-breaking front.
When Cage had asked for an extension on the loan, Gutterman had replied with goons wielding silver-laced knuckle bars. They’d given him two good blows to the face and seven more days to pull together more money than Cage had seen at any other time in his life.
A miracle hadn’t materialized.
So now he was here, preparing to jump across the emergent layer, and probably going to pancake on pavement with disappointingly non-fatal results.
“This never would’ve happened if people just came to my museum,” Cage muttered under his breath.
“What did you say?” Vex asked.
“Nothing.” Cage fired a sticky charm at Forfax’s window, making an anchor for his grappling hook. The tracker was a dim green rune that Cage could barely see through the fog. It should have been brighter. The magic hadn’t adhered securely enough.
“Prepare to deploy the cable,” Vex said. “A silver BMW is leaving the parking garage.”
Crap. Cage didn’t have time to shoot another charm. His grappling hook would fall while he was still zipping through midair.
He latched the hook to the charm. The rope stretched tight above the glowing freeway. Several hundred meters of cable connected to Cage by little more than an enchanted carabiner.
“Yes, that’s Forfax’s car,” Vex said. “Go! Now!”
The tracking charm was already flickering.
But Forfax was going to his dinner appointment, and they had ten minutes until building security visited his condo on eleven o’clock rounds.
Cage leaped into space.
For a terrifying instant, Cage felt as though he were flying.
Then the carabiner caught, magic pulsed, and he soared feet first toward Forfax’s window.
By the time he could see the tracking charge in the foggy night, its flickering had intensified.
It cut out a heartbeat before his feet slammed into the window.
“Whoa!”
The grappling hook tumbled into misty night, thrashed by wind all the way down.
Cage’s fingertips scrabbled at the centimeter-wide ridge of the window frame. His entire weight hung on three fingernails for the two longest seconds of his life—until he brought up a diamond-tipped glass punch, slamming it into the window.
The glass turned into glittering shards.
He didn’t register the scrapes until he’d already somersaulted across the carpet and onto his feet. “Hellfire,” Cage swore, shaking glass off of his sleeves with a grimace. He’d been scratched a good dozen times on the shoulders and thighs. He burned with the healing fever as his body knitted itself back together.
Cage wasn’t often grateful to be a shapeshifter, but he never loved it more than when he pulled stupid stunts and survived.
He took inventory of the condomi
nium while healing.
Air hushed from the vents. Wet wind whistled over the broken window. Glass crunched under the soles of his boots. His shifter ears were sensitive enough to tell that there were voices on the floors above and below him, but it was normal conversation from other tenants, not incoming security.
Vision bobbed through open air, breezing past the glass shards untouched. “Bad news, Cage. Silent alarms are going off. I swear to the gods that I cut those!”
“I’m sure you did. Security probably just repaired them.” That was okay—it just meant they were tighter on time.
Cage had memorized the floor plan and electrical layout of Forfax’s unit. He knew what to expect before he landed. But schematics had failed to convey the impressiveness of his decor.
As an archangel, Forfax was basically required to have a weird hobby; his poison of choice was antique wardrobe pieces. Half of his living room was filled with display cases underlit by hazy amber lights, giving them the moody look of a rock band music video.
“I like a man who really appreciates what he has, but...” Cage peered closely at a full set of SWAT gear from pre-Genesis New York. It was brutal yet quaint, utilitarian and mundane. It would have been a great entry into his Museum of Oddities and Hellspawn. “This is kind of weird, isn’t it? Just collecting fancy clothes?”
“You like baseball,” Vex said.
“What’s that got to do with anything?”
“Four minutes and thirty seconds left,” Vex replied.
It took five minutes for the security team to completely lock down after an alarm. The building would be quarantined from the surrounding city first. Other condos would become magical Fort Knoxes to isolate the site of the alarm—in this case, Forfax’s condo.
