A Thief's Promise

Rory had the shop keys in hand, twirling them around her forefinger as she counted down the minutes. The door chime sounded, announcing the entrance of a customer eight minutes before closing. The middle-aged man who walked into Turner’s Antique Shop that chilly Tuesday at 4:52 PM hardly looked at her when she uttered her dreary reception. He glanced around the small shop before turning left down the closest aisle. Dark sunglasses were perched on his sharp nose, blocking out the faint light of the overcast afternoon. His wide shoulders, covered by a dark dress shirt, consumed the tight aisle space. He ran a thick finger absently over the glass cases of mismatched jewelry.  

Rory watched the man warily. She prided herself on her instincts—as every good thief should—if they told her to run from unseen trouble, she didn’t second guess them. When the back of her neck prickled with an incoming presence, she quickly found a hiding spot. And most importantly, when they told her no one was looking, she filled her pockets. 

Despite the man’s dark glasses covering his eyes, she could feel his gaze running over her. When he began to approach the counter, one of the grandfather clocks sounded the hour, seven minutes fast. Each step the man took was in unison with the clock’s five strikes. Her palms itched. Her shoulders tensed. Her eyes instinctively flickered to the front door, the closest exit. Before she could make her move, he stood before her, blocking her path. 

A good thief always knew someone’s next move before they even took a step. 

“Hello.” He smiled, his teeth, sharp and white, like a shark’s.

She swallowed and performed her best customer service smile. “Can I help you?” 

“You don’t recognize me, do you?” He replied.

She kept her mask in place even as he leaned over the counter. “I’m sorry, sir, you must be confusing me for someone else.”

He slid his sunglasses down his nose and looked at her with cool gray eyes. “I don’t think I am.”

For any good thief, the eyes were windows into the soul. For Rory that was especially true. People’s whims and fancies changed, but the base of those desires rarely did. That’s what she could see in people’s eyes. She could shape herself and the outside world to resemble the smallest or deepest of desires. 

Over a year ago this man had walked into a shop very similar to this one. Rory had produced an item according to the specifications in his eyes. She had simply changed a single number within an old book, changing it from a lousy fifth edition to a first. Then she had sold it for slightly higher than the actual price, pocketing the difference. When the magic she had poured into the object had eventually run out, reverting it back to its original state, she and her little brother had been long gone. She had never expected to see this man again. She recognized the desires in his eyes—the power he yearned for, the control, to never have to do someone else’s bidding ever again. The magic that ran through her showed her these things. It was up to her to turn the intangible into something real.

“You know who I am, Rory Morrith, just as I know you. Twenty-four years old. You have a little brother, Elliot. He’s in eighth grade at Hurver Middle School.” He pulled up the cuff of his dark gray shirt to glance at his watch. 4:54 PM. “He just got home from baseball practice. Dovetail Apartments. Unit 204. Do I need to go on?” 

“What do you want?” She gritted through clenched teeth. 

“Oh, that’s simple,” He waved a hand. “You. Or more particularly your cooperation. Your power.” 

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“That’s not cooperating, is it?” He tsked, “But yes, I forgot. That’s supposed to be a secret, isn’t it? But I’ve seen you change things, seen you change yourself to look like someone else. Quite fascinating I must say. I look forward to learning more about it throughout our association.”

“You need to leave.” Her eyes darted around the empty shop. She ran to escape this feeling, but it had still caught up to her. She had grown up like this, not knowing where the next meal was coming from, if the next attack was coming from the danger in front of her or behind. This feeling seemed to keep seeking her out against her wishes. 

“But you haven’t even heard my job offer.” He smiled and put his sunglasses back into place. “The heist of a lifetime. Riches beyond your wildest dreams. And afterward we’ll go our separate ways.”

She stood firm, even as his words piqued her attention. “I’ve heard enough. Whatever you think you know about me, you’re wrong.”

He straightened and ran a hand down the front of his shirt, flattening the nonexistent wrinkles. “I see. Well, when you change your mind, don’t hesitate to call.” A business card appeared in his fingers which he held out to her before finally setting it on the counter when she didn’t reach out. He turned and walked back through the store. Before the door could smack him on his way out, he turned back. 

“I hope this goes without saying, but please don’t run. I’d rather not chase you.”

The bell jingled as the door closed. Rory tentatively picked up the business card. 

Heath Bellinor, it said, Antiquarian.  

…

Before the apartment door had even fully opened, Rory was yelling for Elliot to pack his things. 

“Hurry up! Only the essentials!” She called out; Elliot knew the drill. 

She entered the drab living room that doubled as her bedroom. But there, sitting on the lumpy couch with questionable stains, was someone she had not expected. 

“Tess, I didn’t know you were here.” 

Her girlfriend, arms crossed, raised a shaped eyebrow. “Just like I didn’t know you were leaving?”

“Look, I was going to—”

“Please don’t lie to me, Rory.” Tess stood up to face her. “I know you have your secrets, but I stupidly thought you were better than this. I thought you would at least have the decency to tell me you were leaving.” 

Tess was always so put together, even now. Rory could see the hurt in Tess’s hazel eyes and the desire for Rory to stay, to finally be honest, but still, Tess wouldn’t push. Tess didn’t push for more than Rory could give her, instead, she waited, she watched. She was the river rock that Rory rippled against. Rory was forever clawing at the water, fighting to stay at its surface, afraid that if she stopped moving, she would sink. Tess knew that if she held her hand long enough, Rory would eventually grab on. That had been one of the things that Rory loved about her, that patience, but now she wished her girlfriend would fight, grab onto her, and force her to stay. Rory needed a fighter to keep her from running. Yet Tess couldn’t see that in her eyes, it was a power that only Rory possessed. 

Tess placed a hand on her girlfriend’s cheek while the other tucked some of Rory’s dull brown hair behind her ear. Rory was a few inches taller than her counterpart, but Tess had always appeared so much larger than her small stature. 

“I hope you know that you can be honest with me, that I would never judge you.”

Rory had stopped overthinking Tess’s words long ago; there was never anything but sincerity in her eyes. Unlike many, her desires were not filled with ulterior motives. She said exactly what she meant, leaving Rory comforted by the fact that she didn’t have to constantly probe for answers. 

Slowly, little by little, Rory had disclosed parts of her past to Tess. She knew Rory and Elliot moved around a lot, that Rory was worried about her past catching up to her. Tess knew that Rory had done unsavory things, but Rory kept most of that information hidden away. Rory told herself that those exploits didn’t matter, because she wouldn’t do those things anymore— the petty thefts, the forgeries, seducing men just to rob them. She had tried to stop those urges when Tess came into their lives, but it seemed that it was all catching up to her. 

Tess waited for Rory to speak, to say anything, before sighing. 

“Take care of yourself, Ro. Take care of that boy.” She jerked her head towards the single bedroom. “He’s devastated.”

She pressed a single kiss to Rory’s forehead then picked up her purse and made her way to the door. 

“There’s dinner on the stove. El’s favorite.” The door softly clicked shut behind her. 

Elliot rushed out of his room a few moments later, a half-filled duffel bag in his hand. 

“Where’s Tess?” he asked, looking around the small space with frantic eyes. “Did she leave?”

“She’s gone.”

“I didn’t get to say bye.” 

She could hear the tremble in his voice, and knew tears were pooling in his eyes. But she refused to look, didn’t want to see the longings that were welling inside him. She remembered when they had simply consisted of having a pet stegosaurus or building Lego Star Wars sets. Now his eyes were constantly filled with this emptiness, images of the friends he had abandoned at each turn. Still, he preferred to be alone than have Rory for company. But Rory wasn’t supposed to know these things, so she had to hide her own hurt. 

“I’m sorry,” she told him.

“You’re not. You never are. What trouble did you get into? Who’d you piss off this time?”

She didn’t bother to answer. Answers were complicated; they meant telling the truth. 

She turned her back on him and approached the stove where Tess had left her famous cheesy pasta and chicken with little bits of spinach disguised within. Rory and Elliot only ate veggies when Tess reminded them of their existence. They’d lived in this dingy apartment for two months before Tess had entered their lives. Five months of her brightening the space with her floral tapestries and kindness and cooking, and now they were leaving it all behind. It was the longest Rory had allowed them to stay in one place. 

“I’m not leaving,” Elliot grunted, dropping his duffle. For the second time that day, Rory froze. “Did you hear me? I said I’m not going with you.”

A strangled laugh escaped her throat. “Is that right? And how will you manage that?”

“I’ll go live with Tess. Or I’ll live on my own. You were only two years older than me when we left mom.”

Does he not know how hard that was? How much they had struggled? They would never have made it if not for her powers, faking school papers, changing trash into dollar bills.

“Fine, go ahead. I don’t care.” 

A slight sniffle came from behind her before the door to Elliot’s bedroom slammed closed. Heavy bass music began to shake the apartment walls as he blared Linkin Park from his speaker. Rory struggled to take a deep breath. 

She remembered when it was just her and Elliot against the world. It was so much simpler when all his problems could be solved with a hug or one of her various tricks. She didn’t know exactly when it all changed, when she became the enemy, when he grew taller than her and started looking less and less like the little boy she had bottle fed and burped. 

Elliot had only been five months old when Rory first used her power. She remembered being locked in the back room while their mother got high on the couch with her boyfriend. Elliot’s baby formula had run out the night before while her mother had been sniffing her own never-ending powder. Elliot had been so quiet, too tired and dehydrated to keep up his starving cries. Rory would never forget the feel of his body wasting away in her arms, the look of his sunken eyes and puckered mouth. Never had she felt someone’s desperation so clearly, not even her own. She looked into his dull blue eyes, saw the hunger, and wished she could do anything—turn water into milk like Jesus turned it into wine. But she had stopped praying years ago; she knew miracles didn’t happen to kids like her. 

She looked into her baby brother’s eyes and saw an emptiness wishing to be filled. She imagined what it would take to quell that hunger. Her hands tingled and her stomach twinged. Then the water in Rory’s cup transformed into warm milk. Rory could feel its heat through the plastic as she poured it into his baby bottle. Elliot reached his chubby arms out and desperately gulped down the concoction. Slowly his clenched hands relaxed. Her energy plummeted as soon as he became full. Rory closed her heavy-lidded eyes.

For a couple hours the two of them slept, until the leftover milk turned back into water and Elliot became even hungrier than before. Her new power hadn’t been a miracle; it had just pushed back the inevitable.

At nine years old, Rory Morrith became a thief. She picked the lock on the door, snuck out of the house, and gave the cashier some scraps of paper disguised as dollar bills in exchange for some baby formula. It was the first time she had stolen, and Rory already knew that it wouldn’t be the last. 

Rory knew that some things were unavoidable no matter how hard you tried. 

She left the cooling dinner on the stove and climbed out onto the rickety fire escape that overlooked the street below. She imagined what it would take for them to live a normal life, for them to stay here, to keep others from going after her, and to keep Tess in their lives. Because no matter what she said, Rory wasn’t leaving without her kid brother. She took the card out of her pocket, the one she should’ve ripped to pieces and thrown away. 

The heist of a lifetime. Riches beyond your wildest dreams.

A good thief had to take chances. She took out her phone and dialed. 

. . .

The next day Rory watched as Heath Bellinor dumped a fifth packet of sugar into his cup of coffee. She raised an eyebrow before she sipped from her mug of perfectly bitter black coffee. The café was bustling around them, baristas calling out names, students clacking their laptop keys, and people talking loudly into their phones. No one was paying any mind to the two of them in the corner. 

Rory’s voice was nearly drowned out by the surrounding noise. “I do this and you never bother me again. I take my cut and you leave me and my brother the hell alone.” 

“That’s the plan.”

“What’s keeping you from going after me again?” 

Heath smiled while stirring his mug of sugar. “Let’s just say that once I get my hands on this artifact, I’ll have everything I could ever want.”

Rory knew from experience that the world didn’t work that way. As soon as she got her hands on one stolen object, she was already looking towards the next thrill. There was always more out there to covet, but she wasn’t one to dispute his delusions. If they managed to pull this off, then she’d be five million dollars richer. They could find a place to settle. Elliot would have the time to be a normal kid with friends and even a pet if he wanted. They’d never had a pet before. Rory could finally forget about this power of hers. She could do that for Elliot and Tess. She could be normal for once. With five million in her pocket, she could be anything. 

Her fingers were already tingling in anticipation. “Fine. What do you need from me?”

“I assume you can replicate an object exactly?”

“Under the right parameters.”

It was odd to talk about this so openly. She told him about needing to see that object in a person’s eyes, whether it was a desire that could be fulfilled through such an item or if it was because the person wanted to possess the said object. She could create a near perfect match if the desire was clear enough. Rory would never consider herself an artist, but she did have a knack for replicas. 

“And it’s not permanent.” She made sure to mention, nothing ever was. 

“It doesn’t need to be. It just needs to be there long enough to keep us from being suspects.” 

“And just what are we going after?”

He smiled. “An obsidian mirror.” Then he laid out the plan which involved an extravagant party, oysters, and a compact mirror. 

“What happens if we’re caught?”

Heath narrowed his eyes. “I’ve been working towards this for a year now. If the plan fails, it will not be due to my planning. So perhaps if you’re worried, you should practice your part.”

Rory sat back in her chair to keep his spit from hitting her chin. The greed in his pointed glare seemed to devour her. She recognized his hunger for more, the pit in his stomach that was never quite filled. Heath looked away from her before she could see anything else. He leaned back and steepled his hands. 

“Forgive me, that was uncalled for. You see, I’ve always been fascinated by history, by art.” His eyes roved over her form. “By the idea of magic. There’s something enchanting about holding an object that’s been around for hundreds of years. Then I found you and I realized that maybe there’s more to the world than we realized. If you can have magic, who else can? What else can?” 

“Are you trying to tell me that we’re going after a magic mirror?”

He smiled. “I promised it would be the heist of a lifetime.”

. . .

Rory’s palms were damp as she rapped her knuckles against the door. Footsteps sounded on the other side before it was pulled open. Tess looked Rory over, her expression blank, but Rory could see the way Tess wanted to pull her in. She was holding Rory at arm’s length, afraid of what inviting her in would mean.  

“I wanted to let you know that we’re staying.”

Tess frowned. “For now.”

“For as long as possible.”

“What changed?”

Rory took a deep breath and for once in her life she told the truth. “You. It’s always just been Elliot and me. Running is easy when you’re taking everything you love with you. But now is not just Elliot and me. It’s you too. And I can’t leave without at least trying to stay.”

Tess’s frown didn’t have time to melt away before she pulled Rory into her arms. “Thank you for being honest. Thank you for trying.”

Rory had never allowed people to get close, yet somehow Tess had slipped past her defenses and nuzzled in like she’d always been there. Tess had been putting up flyers for someone’s lost dog on Rory’s street when they had bumped into one another. Tess had still been wearing her scrubs after getting off from a twelve-hour shift, and still, there was nothing but kindness in her eyes. She had looked at Rory and didn’t envision bigger boobs or a smaller waist. Tess was herself and she expected everyone else to be too. And, God, how Rory had tried. Rory had spent so long dressing up as someone else that she wasn’t even sure who she was. Tess was willing to wait around to find out. And then Tess had met Elliot and he fell in love too. It was impossible not to. 

Tess pulled back. “If you ever try to leave without saying goodbye, I’ll chase you down.” It wasn’t a threat when she said it, but a promise, a declaration. Goodbyes weren’t Rory’s strong suit, they never had been, but for Tess she wanted to be different.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t waste our time by apologizing, just make it up to me.” 

Tess opened the door wider and pulled her in. Rory knew that she would leave a part of herself behind if she ever left. 

. . .

Rory had been to plenty of parties in her life, but none quite like this. Her parties usually consisted of hunting for her strung-out mother amongst the other drunks and drug users. She used to hold her nose, until she got used to the smell of beer and sweat and vomit that always permeated the air at those gatherings. 

In their two weeks of planning, Rory had never imagined anything quite like this. 

Gold and red streamers were hung from the tall ceilings of the mansion’s large foyer. Classical music flitted about the open rooms of the house, adding to the ever-present hum of voices. The marble flooring was pristine under her uncomfortable high heels. Servers holding silver platters were wearing tuxedos worth more than half a year’s rent. Ladies were wearing floor length gowns the color of stolen gems. There were intricate tapestries and golden framed oil portraits lining the walls of the entrance hall and the various sitting rooms. Rory itched to smuggle the silver candelabras out in her purse.  

Any second now, one of the various partygoers would see that Rory didn’t belong in a place like this. They’d realize soon enough that she had no concept of their vacations to Dubai or their various business ventures. They would see beyond the mask that she had put on for tonight, the one with luscious blonde hair and plump lips, a full hourglass figure—Heath’s type if his eyes were any indication. She was meant to be a distraction for others, not her associate, who couldn’t keep his eyes on the prize. 

She held a flute of champagne, the glass chill against her sticky fingers. They were standing at the bottom of the grand staircase as they looked out across the full hall. 

“Where’d he go?” She asked.

Heath’s eyes lifted to her face before he scanned the crowd. “There, 10 o’clock, by the bar.”

Harold Ricard, one of Heath’s oldest clients and the host whose success they were all celebrating, had consumed two drinks since the two thieves arrived and appeared to be ordering another from the makeshift bar. For over an hour he had been flouncing from one group of guests to another being a gracious host. He seemed to have finally paused in his activity, meaning that it was time for Rory and Heath to swoop in. 

Heath led her over to the man of the hour. His eyes met hers as she walked towards him. She subtly deepened her hair to a shade of strawberry blonde and added more roundness to her cheeks. The top of her dress became tighter. If anyone noticed, it could simply be chalked up as a trick of the light. 

“Heath, I’m so glad you could make it!” Mr. Ricard greeted as they approached, “And who is this lovely lady on your arm?” The older man raked his eyes down her figure. She smiled sultrily even as she wanted to gag. She hadn’t played this game in a while and had nearly forgotten the uncomfortable sensation of men’s gazes on her and their revolting desires lingering in their eyes.

“Hello, Harold,” Heath began, “Congratulations on your new business acquisition. I’d like to introduce you to my associate, Rachel Adams. She’s heard much about your vast collection.”

“Ahh, so not here for the party then!” He turned to Rory. “I swear, Heath only ever has antiquities on his mind. I’m sure he’d steal them out from under me if he could.” He slapped Heath on his arm while Rory tried not to pale. 

“Heath has talked so extensively about your collection that I was hoping you might be able to show me a bit of it.” Rory touched Mr. Ricard’s arm lightly. “If you aren’t too busy, that is.”

Mr. Ricard looked around the room at the other guests then leaned in, “For you, I’m always available.” He winked. 

Mr. Ricard’s hand pressed against the skin of her exposed back as he led Rory and Heath across the room to a branching hall. Entrance to other parts of the house was blocked either by closed doors or by security personnel, but Mr. Ricard simply waved them away as they approached, comfortable in his million-dollar mansion. 

 “I have a fascination with Mesoamerica, you see,” Mr. Ricard said as he led them further away from the chatter of the party. “There’s just something so magical about those ancient civilizations—the architecture, their linguistics, the culture. And Heath here, well, he just enables my obsession.” 

As they made their way through various areas of the house, Mr. Ricard continued to ramble, citing facts about the innovative irrigation systems of the Mayans. Rory smiled and nodded along even while she wanted to grit her teeth at the feel of his five fingers on her skin. As they were led deeper into Ricard’s private residence, the hallways became darker. No more marble flooring and white trim, instead Persian rugs lined the halls and dark wood panels covered the walls. The deep colors of the rooms allowed the carved bone figurines on the shelves and the tusks of ivory to stand out. 

There was something in each room that Mr. Ricard preened over, telling the thieves of its history or the way he acquired it. Heath glanced at his wristwatch to make sure they were still on time. He subtly nodded. Ricard kept talking until they finally arrived at a large room towards the back of the house. When they entered through its double doors, Rory was immediately taken aback by the walls of leather-bound books and the dozens of artifacts displayed on top of pedestals.

She was reminded of the museum trips she and Elliot used to take to escape their mother’s house. She would check out the free museum passes from the library so she could take Elliot to see the art, history, and culture. There, he was just like one of the other kids, pressing his nose right up against the glass. With each artifact they saw, with each dinosaur skeleton Elliot pointed out, her brother smiled just a bit more. She hated telling him when it was time to go back home, back to that house.

Then there were people like Harold Ricard, who had whole history museums in their houses, whole libraries, for their own personal viewing. Rory tried not to let her contempt show on her face as Mr. Ricard led her about the room. There were sculptures made of wood, stone, and jade. Various types of weaponry, vessels, and jewelry were on display. Mr. Ricard’s hand dropped lower on her back. He was talking about a wooden vessel when Rory spotted the object of their desires. 

As soon as she laid her eyes on it, the round obsidian mirror seemed to pulse at her from its place across the room, begging to be touched and held. Its ten-inch surface was polished to an aged sheen. Parts of its circular edge had been chipped away over time, but even in its less-than-perfect condition, it was a beauty to behold. Every time she tried to move her gaze elsewhere, it snagged back on the obsidian mirror. Yet, the two men beside her hardly seemed to be affected by the mirror’s presence. Mr. Ricard noticed where her attention was just as Heath nudged her arm to get her to look anywhere else. 

“Ah, you are taken by the mirror. This is a more recent acquisition of mine, only recently uncovered in Mexico. It’s of Aztec origin.” Mr. Ricard gestured Rory closer. “The Aztecs used obsidian mirrors for divination. They believed sorcerers could conjure visions and prophecies through them. They are even seen as doorways to other worlds.” 

Rory itched to reach out and to find out what exactly this mirror was capable of. It felt so similar to her power, the way it pulsed in her fingertips and fluttered in her stomach, but it was so much stronger—those sensations tenfold. Its power left a strange tang on her tongue; it was a taste that she could quickly become addicted to. It was no wonder why Heath was willing to risk anything to take this object. 

“Excuse me, Mr. Ricard?” said a voice from the doorway. 

“What is it?” the man snapped at the security guard.

“I’m sorry, but your attention is urgently needed elsewhere.” 

It seemed that the oyster hors d’oeuvres had kicked in. Rory and Heath had made sure to not eat the appetizers that would have some guests hovering over golden toilets as they emptied their stomachs. The catering staff must have made a dreadful mistake; it was a good thing that Mr. Ricard hated oysters.  

Ricard’s hand swept across Rory’s skin as he approached the guard. They quickly conferred before Ricard turned back to Rory and Heath with a frown. “It seems the party and our time must be cut short. Some guests appear to be having a bad reaction to the food. Are both of you feeling alright?” 

Rory and Heath both nodded their heads. 

Mr. Ricard let out a relieved sigh. “Well, at least let me show you out, before I go deal with the catering.”

Before Mr. Ricard could herd them out the door, Rory made sure to voice an alternative option. “Ah, well just because the party is ending, doesn’t mean our time has to.” She reached out her hand to smooth his lapel. “Perhaps you could deal with the situation and hurry back?”

“I can do that.” Harold Ricard smiled.

Rory grinned back, even when his desires assaulted her eyes. She rarely ever met someone who did not crave more money or power, but Ricard did not require either, not when he had so much of both. He longed to possess—one-off artifacts, properties, and people.

“I’ll be back soon then. Don’t go anywhere.” Mr. Ricard hurriedly left the room with his guard, muttering about the awful catering company that had come highly recommended. 

The instant he was out of earshot, they got to work. There was no need to use a hacker or any additional crew for this mission. It was just the two of them and it was all they needed for their plan. Fewer people meant less potential for mistakes. 

Rory took her compact mirror from her purse and then looked Heath in the eye. His greed reflected her own. Her fingers tingled and her power swooped in her stomach, feeling like a tiny drop of magic compared to the object before her. It was easy to turn her cheap plastic mirror into obsidian when it was so clear in his eyes. She quickly swapped the real one out with its fake. 

When the true obsidian mirror touched her hand, it felt like all her nerves were on fire in the most pleasant of ways. It felt like the times that Elliot used to smile at her after she returned from a long day at work. It felt like Elliot’s eyes lighting up every time he beat her at a video game. It felt like Tess encompassing her in a hug. It felt like having a place to come home to. 

The mirror compelled her to look into its reflection, like the Aztec sorcerers who had come before her. If she just took what it was offering, she could conjure visions, bring them to life, make them her reality. She was limited by her power’s impermanence, but this mirror promised the limitless. 

“Hurry,” Heath urged. 

Somehow, she turned her gaze away from the mirror. “You didn’t tell me about its power.” 

“I was wondering if you’d be able to tell.” Heath’s hurried expression did not change. “It was not necessary information. It does not change our task.”

She disagreed. What was a measly five million dollars when this mirror could give her anything she could ever envision. 

Mr. Ricard’s voice drifted towards them from the hallway.

Heath’s desire not to get caught allowed her to transform the circle of obsidian into a compact mirror that fit easily into the palm of her hand. Heath gestured for her to hand it over. Rory’s fingers instinctively curled over the top of the object. Just as Heath reached out to snatch it from Rory’s hand, Mr. Ricard walked back through the door. Rory slipped the compact into her purse, but Mr. Ricard still saw the hurried movement. He frowned. 

“It seems that all of this is to be blamed on some pesky oysters.” He chuckled, but he was still eyeing the two of them warily. “What were the two of you up to while I was gone?”

“Oh, Heath was just telling me about some of the jewelry pieces.” She walked closer to Ricard. “They’re quite beautiful.” 

“Yes, just like you.” Mr. Ricard’s smile was back. “I hope you didn’t smuggle any into your purse.” 

She laughed. The pleasure of her nearing success made her brave enough to pass her purse to him. “Check if you need to.” 

He jokingly sorted through it, pulling out her various cosmetics. She held her breath when he touched the compact. 

“You’ve been cleared.” He handed over the purse, making sure to brush her fingers. “Why don’t we all have another drink and see where the night takes us?” 

“One more drink couldn’t hurt,” Heath replied.

“I’d love to, I just need to use the ladies’ room first.”

“Of course. Let me show you the way.”

Mr. Ricard left the room first with Rory and Heath trailing behind him. Ricard was only a few steps ahead when Heath gripped Rory’s upper arm. She fought hard not to lean away from his touch just in case Ricard glanced back. 

“Give it to me. Now.” He hissed.

Rory rummaged around in her small purse, fingers brushing over her lipstick, before producing the compact mirror that he desired. He carefully placed it into his jacket pocket but did not release his grip on her. His fingers dug into her flesh.

“It should revert back in a few hours or so.” She whispered to him as they made their way down the hallway.

They were nearing an open door when Rory loudly said, “I’m not feeling so good.” 

Mr. Ricard looked back in time to see her bend double and begin to gag. Heath had no choice but to release his grip. This was part of the plan after all. It was the only part she had forced Heath to change; there was no way that she was following Ricard to his bedroom. It wasn’t hard to fake the nausea with that thought in mind. It made her think about all the other things that she had done to keep her and Elliot from starving. All the things she kept buried deep inside. 

“You must have eaten the oysters,” cried Mr. Ricard. He quickly led Rory to the open door and into the empty bathroom, shutting her up inside so he couldn’t hear her retching. Rory hurriedly latched the door before running the tap and stopping her fake gagging.  

The powder room was just as ornate as the rest of the house, including the paned window that looked out into the gardens. Rory was meant to stay in the bathroom for a short time before Heath took her home due to her illness. Instead, Rory transformed back into her smaller self, her dress now comfortably loose. The small window would be an easier fit this way. Then she made her escape. The real obsidian mirror was still tucked into her purse; Heath’s would soon turn back into red lipstick. 

. . .

Elliot sat in the passenger seat, refusing to look at her, as Rory raced out of the city. All he cared about was that she had lied yet again. Rory had told him, told Tess, that they were staying. But that promise had quickly been broken. They were running yet again. 

It seemed that thieves even lied to themselves.

Her phone began to ring. It was usually the very first thing that she got rid of, tossed it and all evidence of their previous life away. But she held tight to this one with all the pictures of the three of them. Most were taken by Tess because Rory didn’t try to capture moments. Now she wished she had captured more, locked them away in her memories. Instead, she threw them and her phone out the car window. Maybe one day she could come back for them. 

Another ringtone went off. She looked over to see Elliot with his phone cradled in his palms. Tess’s name flashed across the screen. 

“Don’t answer that,” Rory said flatly. 

The screen went dark only to start ringing again. Before Rory could grab it from his hands, he answered. 

“Tess?” He croaked. He listened before putting it on speaker. “Who is this?”

“I sure hope your sister isn’t running away, because she might want to rethink her actions,” said a familiar voice. “It seems that she forgot someone behind. Isn’t that right Tess?” Then a muffled screaming. 

Rory slammed on the brakes. 

“Where are you?”

Heath chuckled then gave her a familiar address. “Bring the mirror. You have an hour.” The line disconnected. 

She thought for an instant about not turning back—she never had before—but there had never been another life on the line. The mirror, Rory’s chance for a better life, was in the backseat with the rest of their meager belongings. If she didn’t hand it over to Heath, Tess would die, Elliot would despise her. Rory would despise herself. 

She did a U-turn to head back into the city, back towards Tess. Rory should’ve known better than to get too close. Now Tess was paying for her mistake. Elliot began to rapidly fire questions at her as she pressed her foot to the gas. 

“Who was that? Is Tess in danger? What did you do? Rory? Tell me what’s going on!”

Rory tried to clear her blurry vision; this was no time for tears. “I pissed off the wrong person, Elliot. I put you both in danger, but I’ll make it right. I promise.”

“Your promises don’t mean much, Rory. The only one you ever kept was getting us away from mom. After that you told me that we would finally live a normal life.” 

She remembered when she used to think that getting away from that woman would make all their problems disappear—no more drugs in the house, no more CPS visits, no more running out of food. Now it was just a different list of problems and running from them just meant that they chased after. 

When they finally made it to their destination, Rory slowed the car to a crawl before shifting it into park at the front of the building. The two of them looked up at their dingy apartment complex, the only place that had ever resembled a home.  

“Stay in the car,” she commanded Elliot. She met his eyes and saw how much he wished to defy her, to help Tess. She wished she could procure handcuffs to keep him here. “Do you hear me? No matter what, you have to stay here. And lock the doors.” 

He reluctantly nodded. 

She didn’t even need to look for the mirror in the backseat. Her powers seemed to know where it was just by feeling the large amounts of energy pulsing from it. She dug under Elliot’s baseball equipment before shoving it in the pocket of her jeans. She walked up the flight of stairs before slotting her key into the door of apartment 204. She cautiously opened the door, the floorboards creaking underfoot. She took in the dim space. A single lamp was lit in the middle of the living room and beside it sat Tess, tied to a chair. Heath stood over her sitting form with a knife at her throat. The mirror was a heavy weight in Rory’s pocket. 

“Ah Rory, I’m so glad you could join us.” 

Rory couldn’t take her eyes off Tess. Her girlfriend’s wrists were chaffed from the rope, a bruise was forming on one of her cheeks and her eyes were rimmed in red. There was fear in her eyes, not just fear for herself, but for Rory and Elliot too. Even after all Rory had done, she was still worried about her.

“Now put the mirror on the floor and back up five steps. No sudden movements.”

He held the knife steady as Rory reached into her pocket to retrieve the mirror. Once she held up the compact mirror, Heath tsked. 

“No, no. I’m not falling for that again. Turn it back.” 

Rory focused on the object. Usually her magic just ran out, returning the item to its original state, but she could also do that on her own. Her magic was like a curtain over the original object, obscuring it from view until over time it fell apart. All she had to do was push the curtain back, letting the obsidian mirror shine through once again. She heard a muffled gasp come from Tess. 

For the first time, Rory dared to meet her own gaze in the mirror’s reflection. The mirror promised her a life she had only ever conceptualized in her dreams. Money. Power. A house all her own. A happy Elliot. An adoring Tess that forgot this had ever happened. A Rory that had nothing to hide. She wondered how it could all come true. The mirror urged her to make it come true, to reach out and take it. It could all be hers. It was her presence that powered the mirror. 

A cold blade pressed into her throat. Heath stood in front of her with his knife pricking her skin. 

“I’ve worked far too hard for some street rat to steal what’s mine. Now hand it over.”  His frenzied eyes caught hers, allowing her to see what had been hiding within them. Heath hadn’t ever meant for her to get away. It was only with her that Heath could get his desires. 

“You need me. You can’t kill me.” She said, keeping his focus on her instead of behind him.

Heath sneered. “But I can kill her.” 

Before he pointed his knife back at Tess, Elliot, who had snuck up behind him, brought down his baseball bat on his head. The knife flew from Heath’s hand as he crashed to the ground. Rory scrambled for the weapon. One of Rory’s hands now handled a knife while the other cradled the mirror to her chest. Heath groaned. She saw blood dripping down his temple when he finally turned over. 

Rory quickly glanced at Elliot to make sure he was unharmed. “I thought I told you to stay in the car.” 

Elliot shrugged, baseball bat still in hand. “I listen as well as my sister.”

She huffed, secretly relieved by his entrance. She turned her attention back to Heath and told Elliot to go untie Tess. The man on the floor was glaring at her. She had never killed anyone before. The knife trembled in her hand. She saw that Heath never had any intention of letting her go. If she ran, he would hunt her down and kill everyone she loved. There was no escaping from a man like that, even with a magic mirror. Rory had lived all her life looking over her shoulder as any good thief did. She was getting tired of it, getting tired of this power that was nothing but a burden. It had brought Heath into her life; it forced her to keep running. 

There had been another reflection in the obsidian mirror, obscured behind the first. A life that resembled the one she lived now, a moody Elliot, a kindhearted Tess, a Rory that still had her secrets, but in this version, she allowed two people to help carry them. The biggest difference though was that this Rory could not see desires in people’s eyes. She lived a normal life, one where there was no Heath to track them down, no obsidian mirror to kill over. 

Rory dropped the knife to the ground, heard it clatter to the concrete floor, and lifted the hefty mirror to her face with two hands. She reached into its depths and plucked out that life of normalcy, nothing more. 

Heath scrambled for the knife on all fours. 

Rory felt her palms tingle with magic for the last time. Her power rushed out of her, but there was no feeling of emptiness, just life. 

Heath rose to his feet, knife gripped in his fist. 

The mirror dropped from Rory’s hands, shattering before it even hit the floor.

Rory looked up to find blood pouring out of Heath’s throat. His eyes were wide in surprise as he dropped the knife that the mirror had forced him to use. He tried to stem the blood flow, but he had cut too deep. The look he gave her was filled with bewilderment and rage before his eyes glazed over. He dropped to the ground next to the shattered mirror. 

She tried to find it in her somewhere to feel guilty, but all she felt was relief, especially when she saw Elliot and Tess walking towards her. She was enveloped in their arms. Her hands, no longer holding the obsidian mirror, gripped their shoulders tightly. 

“You are never going to hear the end of this,” said Tess with conviction, all while refusing to let Elliot and Rory go.

“Magic,” Elliot whispered in awe. 

“I’ll explain it all. I promise.” 

Two sets of eyes met hers and all she saw was herself reflected back. Thieves didn’t keep their word, but Rory Morrith was no longer a thief. 

About the Author

Sydney Howse (she/her) is graduating in 2024 as an English major with a concentration in Creative Writing and a minor in History. She loves the fantasy genre (especially anything with dragons in it), but can also be found writing and reading some other stuff. She also enjoys art such as drawing, painting, crocheting and felt animal making (please ask). She grew up in Houston, Texas, but does not consider herself a Texan by any means. Back in Texas, she has two dogs and a turtle and is willing to show pictures to anyone who asks.