Page 90 of Heart of Thieves

“Hang on,” Arden grumbles. With a scrape, a yellow glow sputters to life on the end of a match. He grins, and the light illuminates his face from below, casting shadows over his eyes. “Ha. Just as I thought.” He crosses to the wall and pulls down two lanterns, sniffing them before dipping the match inside each. When they ignite, the light spreads, staining the deep mahogany walls an orangey crimson.

“Come on, Liver. Let’s look around,” Enzo says as Arden hands him one. “The rest of you, split up. Check the changing rooms, the restrooms, and the box office.”

All three of them avoid looking my way and shoot distrustful looks at Enzo’s hand grasping mine as they slink into the dark.

I venture with Enzo down the hall. The Tentacles’ obvious suspicion is a wrench in my plans I didn’t anticipate, but once Enzo’s, Nic’s, and Laurel’s magic is safe inside the moonshard and the curse is broken, I’ll be able to tell them everything. Hopefully they’ll forgive me.

I shove those thoughts away as we shuffle along heavy, motheaten curtains and peer beneath gilded, plush chairs coated in a heavy layer of dust.

The hour approaches midnight. More players join us, and their echoing footsteps do little to soothe my conviction that a phantom might jump out around every corner. But I make sure to subtly direct Enzo back to the spot where I placed the voratium through which I’ll set off the boundary walls of illusion. This time, I slipped it between a crack in the boards over one of the windows.

When midnight hits, I pretend I’m inspecting behind the curtains, then press my fingertips to the icy metal, unleashing the illusions. They spill forth, snaking out to the other voratium chips I planted in regular intervals all around the theater exactly the way I did with the library.

“Oh, the walls are coming up,” I whisper to Enzo, peeking between the slats as illusory shadows steal over the building.

Enzo nudges me aside to look. “Damn. It’s even darker out there than before.”

“Didn’t Mother teach you not to cuss?” Nic’s voice makes us both jump and whirl.

He stands with his arms crossed, his glowing scar crinkling into a self-satisfied smile.

“What are you doing here?” Enzo snaps.

“You know how I feel about winning games.”

“You’re not going to win,” Enzo retorts. “Because Lola and I are going to win.”

I stifle a snort. “No need to turn this into a Sinclair feud,” I say. “Come on, Enzo. The sooner we find the way out, the sooner we can get away from him.”

“Why not work together?” Nic asks silkily. “You know, like the old days.”

Enzo laughs. “Nah.” He pulls me toward where plush seats lurk like bowed heads in the shadows.

But Nic follows, his glimmering shoes thunking along the dusty carpet.

Even if I couldn’t feel Enzo’s emotions through our heart, I’d be able to sense his irritation in his rigid movements, the grinding of his teeth, the clenching of his fingers around my arm. Finally, he whirls. “Why are you still here?”

Nic shrugs. “You are aware everyone here is looking for clues, same as you, right?”

Enzo scoffs. “Well. Don’t look so close to me.”

“Suit yourself.” Nic’s laugh is soft and hypnotic, like a distant bass thrum. He moves past several rows of seats and crosses to the next aisle.

“Something is off about him,” Enzo whispers to me.

“You noticed, too?” I ask.

“He seems especially . . . cold. I can’t put my finger on what it is, though.”

I chew on my lip. “Has your magic felt . . . different at all lately?”

“Different how?”

“I don’t know. Just different?”

He thinks for a moment, raising his fingers to stroke Septavia until she uncurls from my wrist and returns to her place on his. “I don’t think so.”

“Do you think the curse could be affecting him?” I ask as Nic plops into a chair and crosses his ankles on top of the one in front of him.