Race of Thieves

by S. M. Reine

  She rose, and the Death Underpants unfurled at her side.

  “That bitch,” Vex hissed.

  Cage didn’t want to agree. He wanted to love Brigid the way he’d always loved her, from nose to toes curling inside her Wicked Witch of the West shoes. But right now, all he felt was hurt.

  She had asked Cage to take back his safe word, and she’d taken advantage of his trust to steal the Underpants while they were fucking.

  “Now wait just a moment,” Bastien Daladier began, stepping forward as if to interrupt them. He was intercepted by Ameria. She pushed him back, whispering urgently.

  Unbothered by Daladier and her assistant, Brigid offered the artifact to Lucifer. “I believe these are in your ownership now.”

  Lucifer dropped the fake version of the artifact. “Thank you, Miss…?”

  “Stalin,” Cage suggested. “Hitler. Bride of Satan.”

  “That’s right, you show her who’s boss!” Vex said. His voice had gotten so hot with emotion that Cage was surprised the Link didn’t turn into a brand searing the back of his neck.

  “Brigid Byrne,” she said. She shook hands with Lucifer. “I’m a white hat visiting from New York. Your reputation stretches far. I’m familiar with your work on the eastern seaboard.”

  He lifted her knuckles to kiss them. “I came from Bed-Stuy originally.”

  “Harlem,” she said.

  Cage could only watch in mute horror as Silverclaw joined their conversation. The three of them faced each other, forming a triad of “go the fuck away.” He was shut out completely. Even Gutterman, drifting behind Silverclaw, was ignored completely.

  “How’s your satisfaction with the deal, Luci?” Silverclaw asked.

  “As low as usual, but I have the real McCoy now, so the night’s getting better.” Lucifer lifted the Death Underpants to his nose and inhaled, sort of like the way old-man miners would bite gold coins to verify their authenticity. Except old-man miners weren’t smelling a dead guy’s crotch.

  “Then it seems I owe someone a job offer,” Silverclaw said.

  Cage felt cold all over, watching his Hero face Brigid.

  “Aren’t you going to do something about this?” Cage hissed at Daladier, who was no longer whispering with Ameria.

  The French thief gave Cage a pinched glare. When he shook his head, the curls on his powdered wig bounced. Dammit, but Cage would have hated Daladier less if his costuming hadn’t been so flawless.

  At Ameria’s nudge, Daladier strolled out of the room.

  Taking the northcoin keychain with him.

  “Miss Byrne, would you like to sign a contract?” Silverclaw asked, taking his pen out of his breast pocket. It was as gem-studded as his hat.

  The galaxies of Brigid’s eyes stilled when her eyes met Silverclaw’s. Cage had thought that she just wanted the job because she wanted a cut of the biggest Hero cult, but what he saw in her expression said something else entirely.

  She adored Silverclaw too.

  Which made it all the more shocking when she said, “Cage got the Death Underpants. He got them to Lucifer. I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

  “What?” Cage asked.

  The Link was dead silent. Vex had nothing to say for once.

  “I just watched you hand the Underpants over,” Silverclaw said. “You expect me to believe that you had nothing to do with the deal?”

  “That’s right,” she said, dead-voiced. “It was all Cage. You can ask Lucifer who met him here tonight, and you can ask Bastien Daladier who stole the artifact from him. Both will tell you it was Cage.”

  Mischief glimmered in Silverclaw’s toothy grin. “Interesting.”

  “None of this has shit to do with me,” Gutterman said. “I want my money. I didn’t get it.”

  He swarmed toward Cage.

  For a freezing instant, he wasn’t on the hilltop anymore. He was in his own grave. He could see the nameless tombstone rearing above him. He could see the last flashes of nighttime as someone dropped soil on him, one shovel at a time.

  Brigid snapped into focus. She’d stepped between Gutterman and Cage, holding another wallet keychain. This one was slim and transparent, with a fob on the end. “You’ll find all of Cage’s loan repayment there,” she said, dropping it into a gelatinous extrusion from Gutterman’s third chin. She patted the nightmare’s cheek. “Leave him alone.”

  She exited the club.

  Everyone gaped at her in silence.

  “It is all there,” Gutterman said in surprise. He must have had some kind of keychain reader inside of him. He looked disappointed by the result.

  “Sad you don’t get to pick your teeth with a shifter’s bones as toothpicks?” Cage asked.

  “Not this time,” the nightmare said ominously.

  He didn’t float away so much as lurch, oozing and bulging, through the air.

  A hand clapped on Cage’s shoulder, and he nearly fainted. Silverclaw was giving him a gentle squeeze. “Well then, seems like everything’s gotten fixed up nice,” Silverclaw said, beaming at Kleio. “You did a good job this time, Kleio. This young Shatter Cage here is gonna make a great first employee for you!”

  Her gum fell out of her mouth. “Employee?”

  “I’m giving you The Reliquary,” Silverclaw said. “Don’t thank me. You did good work here—you deserve it.”

  Kleio’s lips were colorless.

  The Hero slapped a contract on the booth’s table. He handed his pen to Cage.

  “One signature, and you’re part of the family,” Silverclaw said.

  Cage glanced up at the door leading outside. Brigid was in the hallway, right behind the hostess stand with Ameria. He couldn’t read her expression at that distance. Was she waiting to see what he’d do? Hoping he’d prove himself loyal to her by declining?

  “Are you gonna sign or what?” Kleio asked.

  * * *

  Cage managed to catch Brigid outside, on the bridge overlooking the lower strata’s freeway system. Imaji Nation was a good fifty stories above the neighborhood where Cage had grown up. Old Tacoma didn’t look as dirty from up here, but when he was standing amongst this much gloss and shine, even a turd on the sidewalk would’ve looked pretty great.

  Brigid was the most beautiful part of the city. Standing against the warded railing, her reddish hair tossed around her shoulders by wind that smelled like ocean, she cast her gaze over the city like a vulture searching for carrion. There was beauty in the hunger of her eyes, the sharpness of her clenched jaw. Her fingers curved over the railing like it was her perch. That dress he’d pulled down earlier tonight hadn’t been zipped up all the way and he could see hints of scar tissue in the gap.

  He leaned on the railing beside her, grinning. “Hey, Brigid.”

  She gave him bedroom eyes that somehow looked as murderous as they did alluring. “Hello, Shatter. Did you sign the contract?”

  “Hell yeah,” he said. “I’m a thief. Did you expect me to be noble and decline just because you were nice to me?”

  Her smile was so empty. “I’m happy for you.”

  “Why’d you steal the Death Underpants if you were just going to credit the theft to me anyway?”

  “I needed to give them to Daladier so that I could buy them from him,” Brigid said. “I also got the entirety of your debt from Daladier.” Her words were slow and sloggy from her old jaw injury. It seemed to get worse when she was tired, much the way that she fiddled a lot worse when she was tired. She was currently twisting an earring so hard the lobe had turned red.

  “What did you have to give him for that?”

  “I’ve given you everything you want. The only thing you need to worry about is thanking me.” She lifted an eyebrow at him, thumb still pinching her ear. “You asked how, but not why.”

  “I know why you saved me.” He couldn’t stop grinning so much that it hurt. “You like me.”

  A delicate snort. “Is that the impression you got when I left you hogtied in the worst motel
room in the city?”

  “It’s this time they you let me have my dream job, even though you wanted it too.”

  “I would think that it would be embarrassing to be as wrong as you are so often,” Brigid said, “but I don’t think that you possess the self-awareness to be embarrassed.”

  “Oh, I’ve got self-awareness for days. I’ve also got Brigid awareness. My Brigid awareness tells me that you like me.”

  “What do I like most in this world?” she asked.

  It didn’t sound like a rhetorical question, so Cage ventured a guess. “It’s not me, so maybe…money? That’s why you said you wanted to work for Silverclaw. Because of money.”

  She nodded slowly. It took visible effort to take her hand off of her ear, and she began flicking at her purse’s clasp instead. “Think of tonight like this: Would I save you because I’m nice, or because I think it’s worth more money to walk away from Silverclaw?”

  “Byrne! Over here!”

  Brigid left him, answering the summons without a moment’s thought or a whisper of goodbye. She was striding toward an Edison that was the same cherry red as a maraschino atop a sundae. Bastien Daladier and Ameria stood on the opposite side of the car. Impatience was etched in every line of the thief’s body.

  Brigid’s scarf trailed behind her, licking the starlight as Cage stared in silent shock.

  She slid into the Edison beside Ameria. Daladier tossed one last, furious look at Cage before joining them. They slid away into the night. The rain and fog consumed them. They were gone, and Cage was alone.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “I just don’t get it,” Cage said. “If she’s with Daladier, then she must be with Daladier.” He couldn’t bring himself to get more explicit about Brigid and Bastien’s relationship. His thoughts bounced off of the idea of Brigid making love to someone else. “Why would she do that?”

  “He’s a tall, wealthy, well-dressed Frenchman who can give Brigid everything she wants?” suggested Vex.

  “The only thing that I don’t have out of that is the French part.” Cage ran his hands down his Henley, which was in a forest green today, and had no visible stains from bacon. His ugly yellow cat, Banana Bread, had licked the grease off before it could set.

  They were currently packing up a few things to take to the Museum of Oddities and Hellspawn—mostly cleaning supplies. Cage had been away for over a week. He wanted to give it a thorough scrubbing for its grand reopening.

  Vex had also set aside a few things that he wanted to donate to the museum. Those boxes were stacked by the door, labeled “MUSEUM STUFF” in black marker. He’d drawn a bad-scribble version of the museum’s logo underneath.

  Cage pulled his raincoat on, flicking the hood up. “Was she working with Daladier all long?”

  “I don’t think so.” Vex had drawn his knees up inside his sweater as he typed. He must have been thinking really hard; his enchanted D12 was rolling automatically across his knuckles and between his fingers. “It looks like they started working together after their first contact three days ago. I pulled some messages from Daladier’s server—”

  “You can get into his messages now?”

  “I wasn’t going to waste my opportunity to plant bugs in his office during the interview,” Vex said. “Anyway, their first-ever correspondence is three days ago. It sounds like they crossed paths in an upscale Barcelona hotel. He found her trapped there? Something about ropes?”

  Cold washed over Cage. “I did that. I tied her up to get away.” He’d left her angry, naked, and horny, and Bastien Daladier had been the one to find her. Now Brigid was eating Daladier’s baguette and it was all Cage’s fault.

  “Well, they started talking after that,” he said. “She messaged him last night to make a trade for the Underpants. The job must have been a last-minute negotiation.”

  “Job?” Cage asked.

  “She’s working with him now,” Vex said. “The new registration for the business lists her as a full partner.” A role that was worth a lot more money up-front than as a white hat thief-for-hire in Silverclaw’s Reliquary.

  “That still doesn’t sound right. Brigid’s independent—I can’t imagine her wanting to partner.”

  Her husky words came back to him. What do I like most in this world?

  Money.

  “She’s with Daladier for a reason,” Cage said. “There must be a mark that only Daladier can access, or…”

  Vex bobbed his head. “I’ll find it and let you know ASAP.” Vision was still recharging from the exciting night, so they’d have to communicate over messaging. Cage made sure he had his phone before hefting the net of cargo over his shoulder.

  “See you after work!” Cage called.

  He jumped out of the theater’s window, scaling the marquee to reach the next city level. The boxes bumped against the back of his leg as he walked down Third at Thirteen. The sun was warm on his shoulders, the sky was blue, and Cage was determined to have a great day. The thought of Brigid and Daladier wouldn’t ruin the fantastic things waiting for him.

  The first fantastic thing was the Museum of Oddities and Hellspawn, its doors already open, Emil waiting outside. “I heard you’re in the clear,” said the elder Vex brother, embracing Cage. “Sounds like you got lucky.”

  Cage laughed. “Right.” He’d have felt luckier if he could burn away the memory of Brigid climbing into Daladier’s Edison. “Come in for a minute—I gotta drop off the cleaning supplies.” He tossed everything but Vex’s boxes into the front closet. The lobby didn’t look like it needed very much cleaning. Emil had kept the glass cases around the check-in booth dust-free. The floor even looked freshly swept. “Did you polish the brass on the ticket booth?” Cage could see himself in the knob.

  “I got bored,” Emil said.

  “Man, this makes me feel really bad for asking you another favor right away, but I need you to go to the pawnbroker on Ruston and Eighth at Ten.” He slipped a fistful of cash to Emil. “Vex pawned all his goods to help pay off my debts, but he’s too shy to buy them back himself. I figure if you do it…”

  “Consider it done,” Emil said. “Where did this money come from?”

  Cage had found it in an envelope on the movie theater’s marquee. It had been sealed with a drop of blood-red wax, stamped with a cursive L, which was so overblown that Cage could only assume it came from Lucifer. He’d used Nábrók and donated to Cage.

  At least, he hoped it was a donation. They hadn’t made an agreement, so it couldn’t be a loan.

  Right?

  Whatever the reason, it was the fastest way to get Vex’s belongings back before they were scattered to the auction sites.

  “I scraped together some pennies,” Cage said. And a vampire might also want to be my sugar daddy.

  He opened the boxes Vex had sent along. The unidentified red coat stolen from Forfax rested on the top of the first box, folded nicely. Cage lifted it by the shoulders and shook it out. The jacket looked like it should have fit him perfectly, but when he tried to put it on again, he found his fingertips still didn’t reach the wrist cuff.

  “New artifact for the museum?” Emil asked.

  “I think so,” Cage said. “Would you mind hauling the mannequin out of the quire? The one with both arms still attached.”

  Emil climbed the wall easily, his black fingernails pressing lightly into the wood. It was like watching a four-legged arachnid move. He hopped into the quire and lifted a mannequin. “This one?”

  “Yeah, toss it down!”

  Cage caught the mannequin and dressed it in the coat, which fit perfectly, even though the wooden figure was smaller than his body.

  “What power does that artifact have?” Emil asked.

  “As far as I can tell, it changes sizes randomly to annoy me.” He opened an empty case near the old confessionals and propped the mannequin inside. “It never fits me, but it fits Vex great.”

  Emil nodded. “Oh, yeah. It’s the Red Coat of Padarn Redcoat.”


  “Seriously? Are you sure?”

  “Yep,” he said. “That’s an infernal artifact. It was commissioned by Lord McMurphy and cursed by a really petty demon named Beisrudd, who made sure it would only ever fit honorable men. So Lord McMurphy could never wear it. Tony didn’t know about it?” Emil grinned toothily. “He shouldn’t have dropped out of college. I learned about it in my graduate-level Infernal Devices class.”

  Vex had dropped out of college because he couldn’t manage the workload through crippling panic attacks. But hey, the Red Coat of Whatever Redness knew that Vex was honorable and great, even if Emil didn’t.

  “You wanna try it on before I lock the case?” Cage asked. “Find out if you’re honorable?”

  “I don’t need to. I know myself.” Emil reached up to twist the latch himself.

  They wandered to the front doors together, leaving the artifacts quietly beaming among the shadows of the Presbyterian church. It was hard for Cage to walk away from his exhibits.

  “You going to spend the day here?” Emil asked, opening the front door to let the wet morning breeze inside.

  “No, I’m closed,” Cage said. “I’ve got my first day at Silverclaw’s Reliquary coming up. Once I’m in a rhythm there, I’ll open the museum at night.”

  “I had fun sitting around in this place,” Emil said. “I got a lot of reading done. Some cleaning too, as you can see. If you want someone to keep the lights on during the days, I’ll keep coming back, starting tomorrow. Gotta go get Tony’s stuff first.” He patted the bulge of cash in his pocket.

  “Sounds good to me, if you don’t mind getting paid nothing.” Cage laughed.

  Surprisingly, Emil laughed too. “We’ll talk profit percentage later.” He flashed jagged demon teeth when he grinned. Honestly, it was pretty adorable. Almost as adorable as fluffy armadillo-demons. “I’ve got a good feeling about your museum.”

  Cage’s throat got thick as he drank in the displays and cobwebby ceiling beams. He still had room for so many new exhibits. Maybe he didn’t have Brigid by his side, but with the Vex brothers, a reluctant Kleio, and Silverclaw, the future was looking bright.