Page 33 of Thief of Night
He grinned, clearly liking the idea of a contest. “What do I get when I win?”
“What do you want?” Charlie leaned back in her chair. Flirting with him on a job was exhilarating—probably because it was such a terrible idea. All her favorite ideas were bad ones.
“You,” he said, grinning.
She raised an eyebrow. He was certainly bold, and at least a little drunk, but flattering nonetheless. “And if I win?”
He leaned in and whispered against her ear, as though telling her a secret. “You’re not going to.”
She shrugged, keeping a little smile on her face, then whispered back. “What kind of con artist warns their mark?”
“Everyone has always said I was a cocky fucker, but I guess the fun is in the game.” He took another sip of his beer. “What doyouwant?”
“To know who hired you,” she said, although she had a sneaking suspicion. “And what they offered to pay.”
“Done,” he said, putting out his hand. “Shake on it?”
“Or,” Charlie said, making no move to touch him, “we could do the job together and split the money.”
“Why would I agree to that when—” he began.
“When you already stole the book?” Charlie finished for him.
She had the satisfaction of seeing the shock on his face. And then thescramble for his bag, his horror at finding it empty. “You—” He cut himself off, flashing her a look full of actual malice. “You’ll regret this.”
Charlie saw the red flag, signaling danger, but she liked danger. “Oh, come on,” she said. “Let’s be partners. I bet she was going to pay you more than me.”
“You were working for Edith?” he demanded, his anger finding a new target.
“It looks like we were partners already,” Charlie said. “We just didn’t know it.”
“I’m Mark,” he told her with a sigh. “Let’s work out a deal. I can be a gentleman when I’ve got to be.”
Charlie didn’t hear the warning in that. She’d gotten every bit as cocky as Mark, every bit as sure that she couldn’t lose. She’d been killing it for the last couple of years, socking away cash. And she had a plan. Once she had the money for a down payment, she’d have a house of her own. Then she’d hook up college for her sister. Once they were sorted, she’d invest in a safe with a military-grade door and some real cover-your-ass ID that allowed for traveling to the really tricky jobs overseas. She was the Charlatan after all. She could steal the stars from the fucking sky and leave a forgery so good no one would ever even know they were gone.
Once they’d worked out their deal, she and Mark went to Edith together. Embarrassed at being caught hiring two thieves and expecting them to compete, she paid them both. Charlie and Mark spent some of that money on a hotel room, room service, French fries, and champagne—which they had in bed. When she’d asked him what he planned on doing after that night, he just laughed.
Mark believed you worked when you didn’t have money, then spent until it ran out. Only then did you take another job. Mark had no interest in building a reputation. He had no interest in mundane work that gave you cover. He was a good con artist, but not an ambitious one. And he didn’t believe in long-term plans, full stop.
Also, he was in a band.
“That guy, Rand,” Mark would say, when she talked about some aspect of the business. “He was embarrassed to be a thief so he tried to dress it up, make it nice. You’re the same way. What’s the point of being a criminal if you have to live like the suckers?”
For a while, despite their differences, things went great. Charlie got part-time work at Top Hat and plenty of under-the-table jobs through Balthazar and a few other contacts. Even though Mark occasionally gave her a hard time, he appreciated that she did the legwork on jobs and he liked the money they made.
He reserved the weekends for playing music. His band was forever reforming itself with new members and a new name. Sometimes, there was an overlap with people Charlie knew from bartending or through friends who worked in kitchens. She watched him onstage, his face shining with joy, and loved him so much that it hurt.
Not everything was great, though. He’d disappear from time to time and be unwilling to tell her where he went. A bender? A job he didn’t want her on? Visiting a lover? He’d get mad when she pressed, accusing her of not trusting him.
And she, thinking of her mother digging through boyfriends’ trash, driving past places they said they would be to see if their car was there, relented and stopped asking. There were good times, times when they would lie in bed together and he would whisper in her ear:I love you to the moon and back.She tried to focus on the good times.
In the end, though, none of it mattered.
“Hey, come in here,” Mark called to her one afternoon when they were at his brother Brian’s place. Brian was ex-military and had been talking about becoming a cop. Mark thought this was a great idea. Charlie wasn’t so sure.
When she came in, she found them watching a video of a gloamist with shadow wings, explaining how a shadow quickened after a bar fight.
“What do you think?” Mark asked.
