Page 77 of The Thief

I soon realized why I’d continued corresponding with my mama—she had made an effort to stay in my life. It was my daddy that I couldn’t forgive. He was the one who set the rules and expectations. He was the one who punished and berated me. He was the one who made me steal more things to support his drinking habit. I used to hate her for not leaving him. Now, as an adult, I realized she’d been too afraid to upend her life. She only settled with a mate in her later years, deciding any man was better than no man at all. He hadn’t been her first, but I knew nothing about the previous men since she had never talked about her past lovers. My granddaddy used to say she was the prettiest girl but she never picked good men. Always the bottom of the barrel.

When I reached the last letters, it became obvious that I still hadn’t forgiven my father. Not one of the letters was written by him, nor was any message sent on his behalf. He had always been bitter about what life had dealt him, and I vividly remembered being afraid of him.

The postcards, on the other hand, were from people I didn’t know. I guessed they were from clients I’d swindled. If I did have friends, none of the messages were personal. And now they meant nothing to me.

I found a few greeting cards my mother had sent, which made me wonder. Did she really walk all the way from our ramshackle home to town just to buy me a card? I certainly never received one while living at home. Did she steal them? Where did she get the money? Based on the return address, they had never moved. And I got no indication that any of them had found new jobs or steady work, other than the usual odd jobs. Their small group took care of their basic needs.

Another detail that hadn’t escaped my attention was her salutations and closings. Never Dearest Mercy. And she never signed with Love. In fact, she only signed her first name.

Every few letters, she’d either ask for me to send them money or would talk about their hardships and how they struggled without me. Every request filled me with both anger and guilt. On the one hand, I had an obligation to care for my family. Didn’t I? But on the other, what had I ever received in return? Why couldn’t they love me without all the conditions?

Then I found a sealed envelope I was familiar with. In my handwriting, it said: Only open if you are in danger.

Part of me had always been afraid of the ominous label, and I’d never opened it. Now felt like the right time, especially since it might have money or whatever it was that Argento was searching for. I tore open the seal and unfolded a handwritten letter.

Mercy,

It’s old me writing to future you. If you’re reading this, that means we’re in trouble. Let me start by explaining who you were. I have done so many terrible things. In the beginning, it was about survival. A Mage named Argento took me under his wing and taught me how to secure my future, something my parents had never done. He gave me a life I never thought possible. He made me feel like I could be anyone, so we became a team. I managed his account, learned the ropes, then acquired a number of private clients.

I thought it was the beginning of a career. Then he convinced me these millionaires were underpaying me. Taking a little from those who had a lot didn’t seem to hurt anyone. If a person has so much money that they don’t even miss it, where’s the harm?

Over the years, those people became my friends. They trusted me. They gave me gifts during the holidays, invited me to dinner, and included me in their social circles. Once I had enough wealth of my own, I wanted to stop stealing. But Argento desired a certain amount of wealth before he would stop. I felt obligated to pay him back for reasons I won’t go into. None of those details matter anymore. In later years, he threatened to expose me if I quit.

I was afraid, but not anymore. One of my clients had a priceless raw diamond in their warehouse. It had paperwork. I told Argento that I found something that could be worth hundreds of millions, hoping that would free me from his hold. He delighted in the idea and revealed he wanted to fund a faction to overthrow the government and how money like that could speed up his plans. I knew he was corrupt, but I had no idea just how much.

Without telling him about the diamond, I bought time and said I needed to research more before jumping to conclusions. If he gets his way, he’ll throw our lives into chaos. I can’t let that happen. You can’t let that happen.

Let me make this clear: Argento doesn’t know what I stole. As I’m writing this, he has no idea if there’s even an item worth all that money. I lied and told him it turned out to be nothing. If he finds out, he’ll kill the owner and search through his things. I had no choice but to steal it.

The diamond belongs to a Mage named Novis. He’s an ancient who works for the Mageri in Cognito. If he ever discovers the stone is missing, he might put the pieces together. But I never listed the diamond on his inventory. He has so many artifacts from his life that maybe he’ll never notice. If you want to return it, I’ve included on the back of this paper the address where he stores his valuables, and the access code.

You’re probably wondering why I’m writing this letter. I’ve decided to do a memory wipe. I found a Vampire I trust to do the job. I want to forget my mistakes and start over. I can no longer live with what I’ve done.

Burn this letter after reading it. Memorize the names and addresses but tell no one. I hope you can somehow make this right, because I couldn’t. I take full accountability and did this alone. The Vampire will implant a suggestion for me to always keep the stone in case Argento comes for me one day. It might be better to have something to bargain with than nothing at all.

I know you must have a million questions about your life, but all I can say is let it go. What I’ve done has destroyed me and everything I worked hard to build. I never became a better person. Instead, I became a wealthier version of the little girl who stole from her neighbors. My bank account is full, but my soul is empty.

I want to leave you the choice to come back. Just know that if you reverse the memory wipe, you’ll never be the same. I’m including the Vampire’s name below.

Whatever happens, do not let Argento get his hands on that diamond. The fate of our society depends on it. He has connections, and now I know that’s what he’s been conspiring for all these years. He just lacked the funds.

I’ve done unforgivable things to people who trusted and loved me. I lied, deceived, and relished getting away with it. But I will cut off my own hand before I’m the reason behind an insurrection and possibly war against humans and all Breed.

I considered throwing the diamond into the ocean before wiping my memories, but if he finds me, he might go after the people I love unless I return it. The only way to guarantee no one gets hurt is to either end my life or keep the stone in case it comes to that. If you’re reading this, maybe it’s come to that.

I’m so sorry. This was never the life I imagined. That’s why I’m erasing seventy years of memories to exactly the night it all began. I hope you made a better life for yourself. I really do.

The Vampire’s name is Michael Thornberry. You can visit any Breed bar or club in New York City and the bartender will give you his contact information. He can reverse the memory wipe. If Argento has already found you, this letter contains all the information you need to know. I wish I could tell you the right thing to do, but if I knew that, I wouldn’t be writing this letter. But you deserve to know why you’re in danger.

Try not to hate yourself.

Mercy Breedlove

I read the letter three more times, memorizing every line and making sure I fully comprehended the message I had written to myself. I put names and addresses to memory. These pages were the source of my shame, and when I finished, I tucked them back in the envelope, took a lighter I used for my candles, and lit the envelope on fire.

The letter was damning on my name by my own admission, and I knew why I’d asked myself to burn it. The flames devoured it, tendrils of dark smoke billowing to the ceiling. We had smoke detectors in the hallways but not the bedrooms, only sprinklers, which were activated by heat. I dropped the burning envelope in an empty flowerpot and crawled onto my bed.

Gutted, I buried my face in my pillow and sobbed.

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