Race of Thieves

by S. M. Reine

  She had gotten the image from the security footage of last night’s robbery.

  She wasn’t from Gutterman, but Forfax.

  “Ah, poetic irony,” Cage said. “I definitely should have seen this coming.” He tried to run the other way, but she was ready for it this time. Electric heat clenched around his body like a fist. He yelped and kicked, but his feet had been lifted from the roof. “I didn’t do it! I’m innocent! Help! Rape!”

  “I’m not going to hurt you.” She stepped around to study his face, her uplifted fist foaming with magic. She looked more annoyed than murderous.

  “I’m innocent,” Cage said again. “It’s a frame up. I was performing a service to the community, just like Silverclaw. That picture is just someone who looks like me. It’s a doppelgänger. It’s—”

  “You’re the one who broke into a building protected by my security team last night.” She released the magic, and Cage collapsed at her feet. “My name’s Kleio. I’m a recruiter for Silverclaw Cult. We want to offer you a job interview.”

  Chapter Five

  The very first week Cage had moved into his movie theater, he’d discovered that he could see Vinglahof’s sinuous edge if he stood atop the marquee. Vinglahof was the headquarters of Silverclaw Cult, and it was a taller, psychedelic version of the old Taipei 101, so it had transfixed him on many a boring summer night. Its walls were so perfectly reflective that it looked like a stripe of ocean penetrating the sky.

  Cage had done the lobby tour a few times, since that was where they kept Silverclaw’s museum, and he’d always been a sucker for museums. This one included enchanted wax figurines perpetually acting out the battle for the Infernal Blade. The walls were plastered with promotional material for sports teams owned by Silverclaw. He’d bought a team in every sport, just about. Football, baseball, hockey. You name it, and the Razors were dominating it.

  Until Kleio Vincero swiped her badge to take him up the employee elevator, Cage had never been on a floor above the lobby.

  “So I’m not in trouble?” Cage asked again, just to be certain.

  “We’re offering you a job that’ll keep you working some good sixty hours a week,” said Kleio Vincero. “That sounds like the worst kind of trouble to me.” Before he could puzzle out what the flying squirrel she meant by that, Kleio punched the first button, which was labeled “The Lab.”

  “I’m getting hired for lab testing?”

  “No, I’m just supposed to give you a tour of the whole…thing.” Kleio flapped her hands at the buttons. “Lab’s lowest, so we’ll start there.” The lobby fell away as the glass elevator hurtled upward. It accelerated so smoothly that Cage barely felt the momentum. “How much do you know about how Hero cults work?”

  “I got an A+ in the second semester of junior year civics because I can cite the regulations.”

  Instead of being appropriately impressed, Kleio shot a disdainful side-eye at him. “Oh yeah?”

  “Hero cults have a lot of regulations, and a lot of privileges. Once you’ve been canonized by an Oracle, you as an individual turn into a super-corporation that can do anything! Anything! And it’s tax exempt because it’s religious!”

  “Yeah, they’re big ol’ tax shelters, all right. Super ethical.”

  “Ethics is a dirty word,” Cage said.

  “For dirtbags, it is,” Kleio said.

  He was beginning to suspect that his job interview wasn’t going well. “After the Hero dies, the cult benefits pass to his descendants. They’re set for life. A Hero’s kids will never have to work, never go hungry...”

  “Unless you’re one of Silverclaw’s descendants. He actually expects people to earn their inheritance. It’s so cruel.”

  Cage took another look at Kleio.

  She had the leggy look of a teenager, though her face was caked in so many glamours Cage couldn’t put an age on her. Her flesh had the diamond gleam of the sidhe, while she had the eyes of a well-fed vampire. Her hair fell in two long ponytails at either side, long enough that they dragged on the floor. She also grew feathers from her scalp.

  This was a girl who’d spent her entire adolescence under the mage’s wand getting cosmetic alterations. One of the many benefits of being a trust fund baby.

  She must have been a descendant of Silverclaw.

  The elevator stopped. Kleio elbowed Cage aside so that she could exit first, though he couldn’t imagine why she was in a hurry. There was only a long white hallway beyond. “This isn’t an easy place to get or maintain a job, Shat. Can I call you Shat?”

  “God, no. No. Why would you ever do that?”

  “You don’t like people calling you Shatter, do you?” she asked, eyebrow lifted.

  “I go by my family name. Cage. Just Cage.”

  “I’d go by Cage if my parents named me Shatter too,” Kleio said.

  “It’s an action hero name,” he said. “It’s a Hero name, as a matter of fact. Or it will be someday. People are going to venerate us together. Silverclaw and Shatter Cage. Heroes of the race of thieves.”

  “Ha, ha, yeah, I bet they will.” She didn’t crack the slightest smile. They’d reached the end of the glistening white hallway. She swiped her badge again. “Here’s The Lab. They test stuff for Silverclaw.”

  “Like cloaking devices?” Cage was still dying for someone to get magetech working to make him invisible. His job would become a thousand times easier.

  “Like lipstick, perfume, Silverclaw Sprinkles, and everything else we make.” Kleio had taken Cage to a room overlooking The Lab. From there, he could see people in cool white suits messing with dangerous chemicals. “Yeah, so that’s The Lab or whatever.” Kleio turned back to the elevator.

  She pushed the button for the barracks.

  “This is such a great tour,” Cage said. “I’ve never had a tour more thorough or enthusiastic in my life.”

  “If you want enthusiasm, hire a fucking puppy dog,” Kleio said.

  “What did you mean earlier about earning your inheritance from your dad?”

  She didn’t look at him. “I never said he’s my dad.”

  “You’re obviously in line to inherit, and salty about the fact your wealth is conditional,” Cage said. “I assumed you’re his daughter. Favorite niece? Really young sister? You’ve gotta be someone close enough to get everything when he dies.”

  “I don’t think he’s ever gonna die. He’s too stubborn to die.”

  “I sure hope so,” he said feverishly.

  “Uh huh.” She picked at her teeth with her extra-long pinky fingernail. “In order to be eligible for the inheritance, I have to stay employed by Silverclaw Cult. And Uncle Claw says it’s no longer good enough for me to just take naps in my ninety-seventh-story office—I have to show initiative. So by recruiting you, I’m showing initiative.”

  “You work for Silverclaw Cult, and you just…nap?”

  “Living the dream,” Kleio said. The elevator doors opened again. The barracks were a series of training rooms, quarters, and meeting spaces that Kleio passed with barely a glance. “Everyone you see here actually works for our security branch. Most of our business comes from the security, not from the sports teams or tributes. We protect some of the highest profile personalities in every plane. That’s how you caught our eye. Last night you stole from Forfax and got out alive.”

  “But I’m not in trouble, somehow,” he said.

  “You’re good. If I recruit you, I’m gonna look good too.”

  There was a different elevator at the end of the hall. This one had a button that hadn’t been on the first: “The Reliquary.”

  Cage sucked in a gasp as enthusiastic as any child seeing their Christmas tree first thing in the morning. “He has a reliquary?” Reliquaries were like religious museums. Cage had a museum. Silverclaw had several museums. They were already pretty much best friends for life.

  “That’s the department where all the white hats work. That is to say, our thieves. It’s called The Reliquary because we k
eep artifacts in there.”

  Cage was fighting so hard to contain his squeal that he felt like he might pass out. “I had no idea that Silverclaw hired thieves!”

  “White hats,” Kleio repeated. “Government contractors who secure dangerous artifacts. Silverclaw is the best at it.”

  “Of course he is,” Cage said breathlessly.

  The glass elevator ascended into the uppermost spires of Vinglahof. The dimming lights faded to gold. The walls turned opaque. Wards itched over Cage’s skin as they traveled faster.

  And then daylight broke through. The elevator stopped. They had reached an entryway made of glass, letting him have an open view of the sky and the Helios Tether that pierced it. “Wow,” he breathed. He’d never been this high in Phaethon Bay. No other building broke through the clouds and chased the Tether halfway to the stratosphere.

  Cage pressed his hands to the window, feeling the cold creep of wards over his fingers. The sky was a darker blue up here. There was no mist. There was no pollution. He had perfect visibility to make out the Tether—a cable as thick as a house, laced with magecraft. It connected to an angel city on the edge of space, locked in geostationary orbit.

  When Cage put his face close to the window he could look up far enough to see the disk of CYCNUS’s underbelly.

  The Tether was the only access to the angels’ station. It was the whole reason Tacoma had turned into Phaethon Bay, the last big metropolis on the West Coast that hadn’t been devoured by the Badlands. It was the umbilical cord feeding money into Phaethon Bay’s economy.

  Kleio yawned, muffling it in her sleeve. “Come on. You can ogle later on your own time.”

  To enter The Reliquary, she needed to supply her key card, an eye scan, a fingerprint scan, and a blood sample. The latter was taken by inserting her forefinger into a questionable looking hole in the wall. Cage wouldn’t have known what happened if Kleio hadn’t shaken her hand off as it came out, flicking a drop of blood onto the floor.

  His squirrel senses panicked at the scent of blood. It was a thrill of adrenaline that got his heart rate going a thousand kilometers an hour. That was probably the only reason he noticed several cameras hidden in the ceiling bars—he was twitching so fast that he caught a glint against lens. They were being watched as Kleio checked in.

  Silverclaw was brilliant. He’d stolen from the best security teams, becoming the best thief in the world. And now he’d one-upped everyone else on theft prevention too.

  The doors irised open. A walkway appeared beyond.

  Cage stepped into Silverclaw’s Reliquary.

  The echoing chamber was lit by desk lamps scattered around the stacks. It was staffed by a handful of people dressed casually, rather than in uniforms as he’d seen elsewhere.

  He had to bite down on his fist when he saw that Silverclaw had a sword on display right in the middle of the room. “Tell me that’s not the Infernal Blade.”

  Kleio looked at him like he was crazy. “It’s Mastiphal, obviously.”

  That must have been a different magical sword. Cage had never heard of it. Mastiphal’s hilt was trapped within the basket of a gemstone cage. The light seemed to slide off of its blade, like oil oozing across the surface of water. Its line was sinuous yet strong—a scimitar on steroids.

  Cage managed not to drool on his way to the offices at the back of the museum. “Are you seeing this?” he muttered under his breath.

  Vex would’ve heard his voice clearly over the Link. “It almost makes me regret turning down that interview. Their research and development team tried to recruit me last year.”

  Cage hadn’t heard anything about it, but he wasn’t surprised. Vex got a lot of job offers, since he had powers that could make a person’s soul dance or their heart shatter.

  And he didn’t want a damn thing to do with those powers. He never entertained job offers—not once since he’d joined Cage.

  Kleio took Cage to an office in the back corner of The Reliquary. “If you get hired, this will be your office.” The room smelled like ozone after all the spells that had been cast there. The desk was a big wooden slab with ornate legs. The endless shelves looked to be begging for books, weapons, and all the fiddly little things that Cage could steal to protect the nation.

  “We also have special benefits for employees by species,” Kleio went on. “For vampires, we offer blood pods. For witches, endless ritual supplies. Since you’re a shifter, you’d get rights to monthly hunts on the Silverclaw reserve outside town. Big game. No legal restrictions. Just you and your prey. What do phoenixes hunt?”

  Cage had to clench his teeth in order to keep from saying, The biggest acorns I can find. Most shifters were overwhelmed by predatory instincts when they shapeshifted, but Cage was one of the few prey shifters around. The idea of trying to hunt big game as a squirrel was so funny that he kind of wanted to try it.

  Could he take down a woolly mammoth as a squirrel?

  “Phoenixes eat woolly mammoths,” Cage said.

  Kleio’s brow dropped low over her eyes. “I don’t even know how far you have to get promoted to earn one of our woolly mammoths.”

  “Wait, you really have mammoths?”

  “Not for the first ninety days of employment,” Kleio said.

  “So, what do I do to get this job?” Cage asked. “What do I need to sign? Which lung do you prefer? Or maybe a kidney?”

  “You have to prove yourself. Uncle Claw is all about the meritocracy.” She flung herself into the office chair behind the desk. “There’s an artifact in Shadowhold. It has been seen with Arawn, heir to the Pit of Souls. In order to win a job with Silverclaw Cult, you’ll need to get the Death Underpants and bring them back here before anyone else.”

  “Death...Underpants?”

  “They’re Norse or whatever. I can’t pronounce their actual name. It translates to Death Underpants. Grow the fuck up and steal them.” She offered him a bead. He accepted the transfer, and he instantly had a file rich with details about the Death Underpants and their owner, Arawn.

  Normally, it would’ve taken Cage weeks to collect as much intelligence. He felt giddy with the abundance of information.

  But this still wouldn’t be an easy grab.

  Shadowhold was in Barcelona. Cage couldn’t afford to hire a planeswalker, and his annual pass for the hyperloop couldn’t get him overseas. “Look,” Cage said carefully, “I want to do this, but the terms gotta be right for me. If you don’t—”

  “We’ve transferred five thousand northcoins to your wallet,” Kleio said. “It’s a down payment for any expenses you’ll incur on the grab. We’ll extend a contract once you bring the Underpants back.” She picked at her teeth again, and this time managed to pull a bit of leafy green out from between her teeth. She flicked it to the carpet. “Verify the transfer.”

  Cage did. He literally drooled at the sight of five thousand northcoins in his wallet. “Contract?”

  She gave him another bead, and Cage downloaded it onto his phone. Vision crept out from inside Cage’s jacket. He blinked vertically to capture the entire contract and transmit it back to Vex.

  “Ooh,” Kleio said, spotting the eyeball. Her feet slid off the desk and she sat up, finally showing a spark of interest. “What is that?”

  “It’s like a pet rock,” Cage said.

  “The contract looks good,” Vex murmured over the Link, “but you’re still not getting paid until your first check.”

  Smoothly, as though he hadn’t just been listening to his expert, Cage lifted his eyes to Kleio. “I need more than five thousand northcoins in advance.”

  “And I need like thirty-six hours of sleep to get my energy back after Coachella, but I’m still in this office recruiting you,” Kleio said. “Five thousand is firm.”

  “Then you’re trying to hire a dead body. I have to pay off my debts if I’m going to work for anyone.”

  Kleio looked so put out. She tapped her ear and the little metal piece tucked within its conch lit up. “H
e wants more money.” She waited for a moment, listening to someone on her own brand of Link. It only took a minute for her to turn back to Cage. “We can give you another bonus when you finish our test mission.”

  Now that was more like it. “I want…” Cage began to say.

  “Fifty thousand firm,” Kleio said.

  Cage froze. That was exactly how much money he needed. He had been planning to shoot a little bit lower, thinking that he could steal a few other things to close the gap. But fifty thousand northcoins in the clear…

  “Just tell me where to sign,” Cage said.

  They left the office a few minutes later, Cage sucking on his aching forefinger. It took a silver needle to draw blood for giving his first sample. Because he was an Alpha-level shifter, he would heal the prick really fast, but it still smarted.

  He’d have spilled a lot more blood than that if it meant getting to work in The Reliquary. All those boxes on the shelves were filled with things that Silverclaw had stolen. Cage couldn’t have been happier walking through the Baseball Hall of Fame to shake hands with the zombie version of every single player from centuries past.

  “Then I guess I’m gonna get started working on the job,” Cage said, clenching his teeth extra hard so that he wouldn’t smile like a giant dingus. He had to play it cool. This was his brand now—being cool.

  “You better hurry if you wanna get a head start on the competition,” Kleio said.

  It hadn’t even occurred to him that they might be hiring others. “Who else are you guys trying to recruit?”

  The office door down the wall opened. A man stepped out beside a woman wearing a trench coat, even though the day was warm enough that most locals would wear shorts.

  She was no longer wearing the sunglasses and the electric blue wig from Silverclaw’s shrine. And as soon as she took off those huge sunglasses, Cage could see her face. Really see it for the first time.

  Bright eyes that glowed like the cosmos. Red blond hair tumbling in aromatic waves around her shoulders. A secretive expression and a pointed chin that he used to bite when they were making love in the forest outside Northgate.