The Thief (17 page)

My happy revelry was disrupted by a
noise.

I heard steps on the stone floor in the
entranceway and ducked to the side of the garden wall, out of sight
of the atrium. Could it be the owner? Would they be angry that I’d
found this place? Oh god...anyone who owned something like this –
who knew what they could do to me?

Please don’t come
outside
,
just grab
a book and go, please
, I silently begged,
even as I thought,
Mother?

But the steps on the stone didn’t turn to
the library. Instead they turned the opposite direction, and went
into the sanctuary. The echo became louder in the huge space.

But that room is
empty
, I wondered, my heart still pounding
in my chest. What could they want in there?

The footsteps had ceased and there was
silence for several moments. In the absence of sound, I could swear
I heard my own heartbeat. Who was it? Was it even a person? What
else could exist, if something like this Tower did?

Then, the faint tinkling of glass filled the
silence. I blinked. Glass. The lamps in the ceiling? What could be
going on in there? My curiosity overrode my fear and I crept along
the side of the wall further into the garden, aiming for one of the
stained glass windows that overlooked it. I could peek in without
being seen, surely...

There was a human-shaped figure beyond the
dark glass, standing perfectly still in the center of the sanctuary
with one hand outstretched, palm forward. The shadows of the lamps
overhead were swinging as if there was a mild breeze running
through the place. I squinted from my carefully angled vantage. The
glass was too dark...it was hard to make out what he was doing – it
looked like a man, I decided, with some disappointment. His head
was bowed, and while the rest of him remained still, his
outstretched arm swung to the far side of the sanctuary. The colors
in the glass there began to change, and the fragments themselves
took on new shapes, their edges twisting and elongating, the images
there making a new, active scene.

I watched with rapt attention. He didn’t
seem to be saying anything. He didn’t even seem to be looking at
what he was doing. His fingers twisted in a gesture and the shapes
of glass of the man at a brook ordered themselves into a horse and
rider, the beast impatiently pawing at the ground with its hooves.
He raised his right arm in front of him, towards the giant pane at
the front of the sanctuary, and the glass there shifted to take on
the scene of a castle on a hill, a stylized sun shining brightly at
the top of the large circular pane. He swung his left arm around
and the rider spurred the horse into action. Following the movement
of his hand, the horseman galloped across all the panes on the left
side of the room, disappearing when he hit the edge of a pane and
reappearing in the next. His hands came together and the rider
appeared at the base of the hill ready to charge towards the
castle.

He flicked up his left hand in a halting
gesture, and the window froze in place, just as the horse reared
back. It was a beautiful frame, stunning in its color, use of
motion, and the tangible sense of the rider’s determination. The
man’s methods struck me as familiar. It was...not exactly like
photography...more than that...it was almost like directing, or
composing – that was it – he was composing! But with something
other than sound...how did he do it? And he never looked up.

His right arm stretched out to the glass
before me and I flinched away, reflexively hiding behind the wall.
A glance told me the window I had been looking through was
morphing, just as the pane with the rider had originally. It was
becoming an indoor scene, the hue of the glass lightening. I
wondered if his head was still down, if I could see him more
clearly now. Chancing it, I crouched by the corner of the window
and peered over the sill as the colors were still setting. The
scene was a woman knitting at a window, and through the pale glass
that formed her white dress I studied the composer. He was tall,
but he didn’t look as old as I’d originally assumed. He wore faded
jeans and a white button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his
elbows, showing off lightly muscled forearms. His dark hair was
just long enough to obscure his down-turned face at this angle, and
I was embarrassed when my heart gave an awkward lurch. He was kind
of hot.

The woman in her pane held her needle and
cloth with a wistful expression, paying more attention to the sky
out her window than her knitting.

“
No,” he murmured, the first
sound I’d heard from him, and his head twisted in annoyance but
still didn’t rise, though I was ready to duck if he did. His
fingers flexed and the woman’s hair changed color from brown to a
vibrant red. It grew long and curly, and kept growing till it
pooled around her feet. His fingers flexed again, freezing her in
place like he’d done to the rider.

He sighed, and his hands dropped, going to
smooth his hair back as he looked up finally. I dropped silently,
my hand over my mouth, kneeling below the sill with my heart
pounding, but I was sure he hadn’t seen me. He had been looking at
the giant pane of the castle and the rider. No, my face was scarlet
because I had recognized him in that brief moment before I hid. It
was Rhys, Kei’s handsome, taciturn friend.

I heard the sound of his
probably overpriced loafers pacing around the sanctuary and I
pressed myself tighter against the wall, as if that would somehow
help. My mind raced. Rhys? What the hell? Did he own this
place?
Did he...
a
new thought crossed my mind, in light of what he’d just
done,
did he build it?
I’d never expected to find someone I actually knew in the
Tower. But I had just seen Rhys reassemble a stained glass window
with a thought and a gesture.

On the other hand, if he could do all that,
why hadn’t he sensed my presence, or whatever? If he was made of
magic – if the Tower was made of his own magic, wouldn’t he have
like some kind of intruder detection system? My brows knitted. I
didn’t know how these things worked, exactly, but if I could...do
that...I would.

I heard the crash of glass from somewhere in
the sanctuary. Rhys made a noise of frustration that echoed in the
huge, empty space. I risked it and peered stealthily over the ledge
again.

“
Every time,” he grumbled,
seemingly to no one, running his hands through his hair as he
paced. “Every time it falls apart.”

The panes of forests and fields that the
rider had passed through on the left side of the room had crumbled,
littering the stone floor with shards of glass. Rhys inspected his
hand. I thought I saw electricity spark between his fingertips.

“
What’s the point?” he
yelled, and the pane with the castle burst outward, as if from a
shockwave.

I cringed, pressing myself against the wall
like I could melt into it. What exactly did I sit next to in
science class?

“
Master Ryan,” I heard
another voice say, echoing in the room now. “You’re in high spirits
today, sir.” Where was it coming from? I didn’t see anyone else in
the room.

“
Spare me,” Rhys said.
“Every effort I make is wasted. This place is too
unstable.”

“
Perhaps with more
practice,” the voice said.

I craned my neck, trying to get a better
angle and still stay out of sight. Rhys was looking towards the
door when he spoke, but that side of the room was out of my field
of vision. Had someone else come in with him? There was a
high-pitched sound that made my ears ring. I assumed it was
residual from the panes bursting.

“
I
have
practiced, Porter, you know
that. You’ve seen me here almost every day for a year and have I
improved at all?”

“
You have, sir,” the voice
said.

“
Yeah, well, it falls apart
anyway,” he snapped. “Going through all those records by myself is
taking way too much time.”

“
I’m afraid I - ”

“
Cannot help me, I know,”
Rhys cut the voice off.

The faint high-pitched sound was getting
louder. I blinked, feeling it all the way in my optical nerves. It
was distracting me from the conversation inside, and I had to learn
more. I needed to understand what this place was. Rhys had answers,
but I wasn’t sure he’d be very happy to see me...

A shrill crack. I looked up. A fracture ran
the length of the window above me, threatening to snap the glass
woman in half. It cracked again, branching like lightning across
her face. I curled up just in time. The window shattered, raining
glass all around me. I yelped as I felt some of the sharp pieces
graze my fingers.

“
What was that?” Rhys
demanded.

“
Perhaps I should have
mentioned sooner,” the voice said placidly, “we have a
visitor.”

Reflexively, I bolted through the garden,
into the foyer. Rhys was already blocking the exit to the
stairwell, and tendrils of glass were creeping across the door to
the library. Panicked, I ducked into the sanctuary. I immediately
regretted it, but where else would I have gone?

“
Porter!” Rhys called. “Stop
her!”

“
I cannot,” said the placid,
hollow voice, echoing through the sanctuary. I spun, looking for
the source. A small mirror, on the wall by the door, showed a
bleary, ghostly face.

“
What do you mean, you
can’t?” Rhys demanded, entering the doorway.

“
I cannot,” the mirror
repeated.

With a low growl of frustration, Rhys made a
grasping gesture with one hand. I shrieked as I nearly lost my
balance - tendrils of glass had snaked up from the floor, trying to
curl around my legs to root me to floor. I danced out of the way
and made a break for the door, pushing past Rhys.

“
Hold it!” he shouted
angrily, but I wasn’t staying for more. I flew down the stairs, and
leapt out of the mirror at the base. I slammed the bark hatch shut,
catching my breath for the barest moment, leaned against the tree.
I patted my jacket, and froze.

I’d dropped my mother’s journal. It must
have fallen out somewhere in the Tower. But if I went back inside,
Rhys would...

Chest tight, I ran back to the house. It was
still raining, and I was soaked by the time I got to the back door.
I couldn’t believe I’d lost it.

I took a hot shower, to
chase away the chill of the rain, and to hide the puffiness of my
eyes. What could I do? How was I supposed to get the journal back?
Rhys clearly had control of the Tower, and I saw no way that I
could best him.
Oh god,
I thought, almost dropping my bottle of shampoo. I
had to see him at school. On Monday. He was clearly some kind
of...magic person...I didn’t know! It was all so weird. Was I
supposed to pretend I’d never seen the Tower? Pretend I hadn’t seen
him break apart a window with a thought and a gesture? I wasn’t
sure if I could. When did life get so thoroughly complicated? All I
wanted was a connection to my mother. A way to go home. With every
effort I made, it seemed to get further and further
away.

When I came downstairs, Bea had already come
home and finished dinner. Silently, I sat down at the table,
anticipating another awkward meal.

Bea set a plate in front of me that held
green beans, carrots, roasted potatoes, and a roll. It was notably
absent of the porkchop or cubesteak or fried chicken that usually
accompanied every meal, and I looked up at her. The question must
have been plain on my face.

“
Tell the truth,” she said.
“You’re one of those vegetable people, aren’t you.”

I colored. “Well, yes.”

She sighed. “You could have said. I’m not in
the habit of wasting food. I won’t get upset if you tell me
honestly you don’t like something. I’d rather make food that gets
eaten. Alright?”

I blinked. She was...I think she was
actually trying to be nice. My heart warmed. “Yes, ma’am,” I said,
earnestly, “thank you, this looks really good.”

“
It’s just vegetables,” she
said, mollified.

“
Covered in butter,” I said,
smiling.

“
That’s called compromise,
Juliet,” she said, and I thought I saw a hint of a
smirk.

Maybe I had her all wrong. Maybe I had home
all wrong. I ate my plate of vegetables covered in butter, and at
least for tonight, I was happy.

Chapter 10

Camille

At school Monday morning, Camille found
herself the recipient of more than her usual allotment of
attention.

She slid into her desk at the front of
Tailor’s classroom and was immediately approached by someone who’d
never addressed her directly before.

“
Where’s Graham?” Rhys Ryan
demanded. He stood over her, pale eyes narrowed, arms folded. He
could have been handsome, she supposed, if it weren’t for his
permanent look of superiority. And his clothes were too clean and
pressed, like he’d stepped out of a magazine. Probably hadn’t
climbed a tree or a fence in his life.

Camille shrugged. What made him assume she
knew Jul’s whereabouts?

“
She called in sick,”
Sakamoto said, coming in from the hall. He twirled an apple deftly
with the fingers of one hand.

“
How do you know that?” Ryan
asked, then shook his head in annoyance. “Never mind.”

“
Oooh, are you worried about
her?” Sakamoto asked, following him to their usual seats in the
back of the room. “Is it true love? We could double date. People
would talk.”