Chapter 3: Chapter 2: The Big Store

The jingle of a door chime and the exotic, woodsy fragrance of incense greeted me when Wynn and I entered the shop called Crossroads.

Under normal circumstances, my arrival would’ve drawn attention. So, in lieu of being myself, I ventured out with a wavy brunette wig, thick-framed glasses, and an ensemble constructed from a baggy top, ripped denim jeans, and ankle boots.

Wynn meanwhile simply altered his hairstyle from slicked back to a fringe style, added a false goatee, and traded his suit for a black T-shirt and jeans. His forgettable face and quiet nature performed most of his disguise’s heavy lifting.

We strolled past tables filled with commodities – herbs, charms, plaques embossed with inspirational messages, “spell” candles, and the like – to a cashier’s station at which a stout, cinnamon-toned man in a standing collar tunic jacket presided.

“Hello and welcome!” said the husky voice man, who I knew went by Qiang. “Aaron is in a session, but if you’d be willing to wait, he should be with you soon.”

“Could you inform him that Arlene Locksley is here?” I asked.

Qiang’s thin lips flattened. “Understood.”

He led us into one of the private rooms and we settled on the plush, velvet-blue sofa which circled half of the glass round table which had been positioned in the center of the room.

About ten or so minutes into our wait, sniffling interrupted the ethereal chanting which piped throughout the shop.

“Thank you so much!” a wheezy, girlish voice said from beyond the doorway.

“You don’t need to thank me for a thing,” a honeyed voice said. “Helping and healing is what my powers are for. That’s why it’s called a gift.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose and wished I could’ve been somewhere else.

The doorway opened a couple of minutes later and a bald, espresso-brown skinned individual dressed in a snow-white, flower embroiled tunic suit entered.

If you simply observed them on the street in passing, you’d likely infer they were male. I did when we first met. Their rugged face, towering build, and given name, Aaron, provided evidence which supported such a conclusion. However, it was as much a front as the shop. The figure before us wasn’t Aaron, the psychic who bridged the material and spiritual realms. They were Lilah, a broker who bridged surface society and the criminal underworld.

“I had a feeling you’d stop by,” Lilah said.

I whirled my fingers in a lackluster manner. “Your power continues to awe.”

She sneered at me then turned her gaze towards Wynn. “Well, it’s good to see you at least, August.”

“Good to see you too, auntie,” Wynn said.

“As much as I’d like to provide you two time to catch up,” I said, “time is of the essence. May we proceed?”

She took the seat on the opposite side of the table. “You after Narcissa?”

“Why else would I be here?”

She clicked her tongue in rhythm with the shake of her head. “So predictable. You’d be better off staying out of this.”

“You’ve no inkling as to what I’ve in mind.”

“Some gigantic stunt, right? Going to steal the train itself so you can confront Narcissa?”

“The me of a couple of years ago might have attempted such a feat. The me of today has something much more entertaining in mind.”

She bent in closer. “Dish.”

“Assuming everything proceeds as designed, I’ll make The Maker’s Tear disappear from Narcissa’s possession without ever being seen entering or leaving her carriage.” I curled the corner of my lips. “Or, in other words, I’m designing a locked-room mystery.”

Her nose wrinkled. “Go on.”

“Based on what I’ve gathered, Narcissa is presently underground. She’ll likely remain underground until Ducidi. If I didn’t wish to be found, I’d steer clear of locales which I’d be expected. Such as my home.”

“You’re planning to rob it and ransom everything?”

I shook my head. “The only thing I wish to take are pictures of her home.”

“Pictures?”

“Pictures which, with your aid, can help me replicate a portion of her home.”

Lilah’s eyes jerked back and forth, connecting invisible threads together. “I don’t get it. Narcissa’s a social media darling. You can probably find pictures online. If you just need pictures of her home, why break-in?”

“I said that the only thing I wish to take is pictures. I never said I wouldn’t do anything else.”

“Then what are you leaving?” Lilah asked as she drummed the chair’s arm.

I clamped my lips together, to halt a laugh from escaping. Seeing her so vexed was always worth it. “My calling card, naturally. She needs to know I was there. What she doesn’t need to know is when.”

“For someone in a hurry, you’re taking your sweet time getting to the point.”

You are reading story The Confessions of Cassidy Cain (Grandmaster of Theft #1) at novel35.com

I fought back the explosion of laughter building in my chest. “I’m going to confront her as myself when she surfaces. First, I’ll irritate her—”

“Won’t be hard for you,” Lilah interrupted.

I rolled my eyes. “I shall irritate her, ensuring she doesn’t notice my challenge coming.”

“And what is this challenge?”

I smirked. “I’m going to wager ten thousand crowns on The Grandmaster of Theft stealing The Maker’s Tear from her.”

Lilah frowned. “That’s nice, but what does that have to do with everything? Get. To. The. Point.”

I wagged my finger. “Never thought I’d have to lecture another con artist about the merits of patience.”

“She’s running The Big Store,” Wynn said, his voice as sharp as a hook.

I shot him a glare.

“We’ve no clue if she’s going to have her phone on her,” Wynn continued, “so we got a Plan A and Plan B. Plan A, we clone her phone and call her. Plan B, Cass uses the bet as an excuse to check Narcissa’s carriage to make sure she isn’t cheating and plants a phone in the room. Either way, we head over to the replica of Cissy’s home, call her, make her think her home is in danger, and extort The Maker’s Tear. I’m sure you can piece together how everything else works.”

I crossed my arms and chomped down on my inner cheek.

“We’re all on the same team,” Wynn said. “No reason to beat around the bush.”

I took a deep breath and recalled the mantra my mother taught me: I cannot control others if I cannot control myself.

“I’m not part of your team.” Lilah shifted her gaze to Wynn. “I’ll do whatever I can for you, but you…” She pointed at me. “You’re just a client.”

“You wound me,” I said, my voice flat.

“Whatever. If I got everything straight, you want me to be your set producer?”

“Indeed. Since we have no inkling as to the price of everything yet, we can discuss payment later.”

“If we’re going to talk about it later, why are you taking up my time now?”

“There’s two tasks I must address,” I said. “Do you still possess your contact within the police?”

“I do. But it’s going to cost extra, due to the rushed nature of this.”

“How much extra?”

“Seven hundred crowns and you give me one of your calling cards with a signature on it.”

I arched a brow. “What do you intend to do with the signed calling card?”

“Make one of your fans happy.”

I cupped my chin and studied her. She had to have an angle. Lilah always had an angle. But what? What could she do with one of my calling cards?

The few who dared copy it did so to either frame me for their crimes or to try their hand at ensnaring me. Neither scenario struck me as likely when it came to Lilah. If she wished to frame me, she could’ve simply forged the calling card. If she wished to betray me, she could employ less convoluted methods which covered her tracks better.

She could simply be telling the truth, I realized. Of course, that raised questions. “Who is this fan?”

“Either take the deal or don’t,” Lilah said, her voice sharper.

I frowned, wondered why she wouldn’t answer, and decided that it made no difference. Lilah wouldn’t endanger me. Endangering me meant endangering Wynn, which she would steer clear of if possible. Besides, I was a comrade; she’d treat me like she would any other person within her Mutual Aid Society. If not for me, then for herself. “If that’s what it’ll take.”

“Stellar. So, what’s the second thing?”

“I’m going to need a body double. The standard arrangement.”

Body doubles were a precaution I decided upon long ago. Lilah arranged it so one of the sex workers within her network were paid to visit a gambling den while dressed in the same disguise I’d leave Cain Manor in. They’d gamble for as long as I required, keep whatever winnings they gained, and record the activity.

Once they left, they’d deliver the recording to Lilah and exit the job none the wiser as to the true meaning behind their employment. Finally, I’d receive the recording from Lilah and memorize the details as best I could, in case of an investigation. I didn’t believe such precautions were necessary most of the time, but as my grandfather taught me, hope for the best, prepare for the worst.

Lilah agreed with little fuss. She added the end amount to the total, I “paid for the psychic consoling session,” and Wynn and I exited the establishment.

I mentally checked off contracting Lilah from my “To Do” list and shifted my mind to the roles two of my friends would play. First, I wished to ensure my combat skills were as sufficient as ever. There was always the possibility we might be attacked during the job and Wynn would be unable to defend me. Thus, one of the texts I sent was to my friend Rae Crawford, a martial artist and fellow elite.