The Fox and The Hunter

Jonathan sagged in his three piece suit. The worst part of his job was how much clothes he had to wear. His sensory abilities reduced their radius the more layers he had on. Luckily he could still monitor most of the house from his spot on the wall. He watched the people leaving the main area, mostly in pairs to find some privacy John was fine to give them.

“What’s the news, cuz?” Dick, who despite more wrinkles wore a similar suit much better than John, offered him a drink. Technically the alcohol would just pass through his system, not even leaving him the slightest bit drunk. The result felt more like the entirety of a hangover over the course of five minutes, then he didn’t even get to be buzzed after.

John pushed the drink away, and Dick gladly took it, before staring at him. John wasn’t getting out of this without answering his question. No wonder Dick did so well in politics.

“Nothing, far as I can tell. Well, there’s definitely some poor decision-making for several people involved, but nothing dangerous.”

“Care to tell me the location of some of this poor decision making? I have a few rivals around, you know.”

“No, I will not help you blackmail fellow politicians.”

“Boring.”

“Thank you.”

The incoming guests had already been brought down to a trickle, a few of them looking at the corner. John didn’t need the attention of people realizing how similar he and Dick looked.

“I’d also thank you to leave. People are staring.”

“Ruining your image as difficult to approach, am I?”

“Absolutely, and more importantly, I look like you a few years ago without a haircut.”

“Only a few years, the treatments must be working!”

Dick grabbed another drink from a passing server and moved toward another victim.

Jonathan kept an eye on those coming in, while staying aware of those going out. He prided himself on being able to spot someone dangerous before they did something, as he should with so many years on the job. He was still at a ten percent fail rate, with those he didn’t clock and those incorrectly clocked combined, but for the latter he always checked up close before harassing them. Gareth also didn’t let him try to do anything harmful until they actually did something harmful, even if Jonathan had proof for a fact they were going to do something, like sneaking into the vault but not grabbing anything yet.

A man in his late sixties stepped in with a woman in her twenties on his arm, with a dress whose colors matched his suit. John chose not to wonder further about their relationship. After them, a woman in a bright orange dress, with curly hair almost the same hue stepped in. It didn’t look bad, but it would look better if she didn’t carry herself around so uncomfortably. She didn’t seem to feel safe.

Her nerves probably meant she wasn’t that much of a threat, but something in John’s heart told him to keep watching her. He noticed after a moment that she was on her way out of the room, having avoided talking to most people.

He stepped away from the wall and navigated the crowd to find himself in front of her. So in front of her, she walked directly into him. Then she nearly fell into the crowd. He grabbed her arm before too much damage could be caused. A few people were looking at them now.

“Are you okay, ma’am?” he hadn’t meant to scare her, at least not that much.

“Not really,” she let go of him, checking her skirt as she righted herself, “I’m not actually supposed to be here.” she seemed to be staring at him, a little slack-jawed. He’d enjoy the compliment if he didn’t still suspect her.

“Where are you supposed to be?” he asked.

“Back home, probably reading a book. This was a last minute thing for work, and I don’t even live in this state.”

He was disappointed her story didn’t hold much water. Even if he didn’t know the exact guest list, any businesses would have to let them know about a last minute change in representative, especially if they flew in from out of state.

“Where do you work?” sometimes the smaller businesses didn’t have someone to take care of the communication end. Gareth didn’t like to punish them for it.

She looked around for a moment, unconvincing.

“I genuinely forgot the name,” she gave a short but genuine laugh, “I’ve only been working there a few months, and I mostly just handle internal documents. A lot of people got sick for me to be here.”

That was finally believable. He’d seen disease riddle a group in close quarters. A whole workplace could quickly shut down with the right virus.

“Well I was going to offer to help you meet Mr. Shepherd, but if you’re not sure who you’re here for…”

“He might know! Just tell him Ms. Holmwood is here, and my company should have told him.”

That’s where the lie caught her. John gave a nod and sighed once she couldn’t see him. She wasn’t here from any company, but for the sake of due diligence, he grabbed Gareth’s arm.

“There’s a Ms. Holmwood here to see you.”

“Who?”

“Thought so.”

He’d been keeping track of her in the back of his mind, so he knew she was on the way to the vault.

He left the room, taking a different route so he wouldn’t meet up with her, and entered a broom closet. He pushed the back of it, and entered through the secret door. From there he headed up the staircase, two stories because Gareth’s house was ridiculous, and waited just outside the secret entrance to Gareth’s closet for her to come in. It was dark in the passageway, which made it easier to expand his perception.

Her posture was more confident than before. She looked at the dresses on the wall, understandably, John felt a little weird seeing them there too. She came to the very obvious vault door that John had asked about covering many times before, and after standing there a few moments twisted the knob just the right way, opening it. Who gave her that information?

He finally opened his own door. He saw her tap a spot between her shoulder blades, which changed her out of her dress and into a pair of pants with a leather cuirass.

She was a mage.

After she stepped in, he removed his jacket to give himself more wiggle room, and took a spot in the vault door.

She didn’t hesitate with searching for her target, coming right up to Gareth’s pendant from his mother. It didn’t cost much, but it meant the world to Gareth. This was an attention grab, but whose? He doubted she wanted Gareth’s attention all things considered. She stared at it for awhile, moving her fingers like she was calculating something in their movements.

He was tempted to tell her there wasn’t an alarm on there so they could get this over with.

Finally, she grabbed it, and he could get her attention.

“I’m not that big of a fan when it comes to parties either, but I would have mingled more if I were you.”

She looked him up and down, and smiled.

“I promise, I wasn’t rejecting you when I left. I just had places to be.”

“Are you going to put it back?” this was either going to go fast, or once she finally tried to hit him, would be actually fun. People didn’t move that casually if they thought they’d be attacked.

“Sorry, no. You see, I have a client to get this to, and he wants it tonight.”

A party-goer. He needed that name.

“I don’t suppose there’s any way you’ll let me do my job in peace,” she said in a charming tone.

“Sorry, job description: Don’t let thieves do their job in peace.” at least not when they actually take something.

She came a little closer, fluttering her eyelashes.

“Then why did you let me take the thing?”

“Because if I didn’t, Mr. Shepherd would have me let you go, and I need to know who hired you.”

She pouted a moment.

“Have you considered a different line of work, because your boss doesn’t seem to appreciate what you do.”

Gareth appreciated him fine. Gareth was just weird.

She tried to get past his arm, but he tripped her, and pulled her back inside, still close though.

“I would have expected better balance from someone in your line of work, but that trip in the hall was intentional, wasn’t it?”

One minute he was fighting the intruder, the next he was laying down on Gareth’s bed. He’d probably stained the sheets considering the size of the wound she gave him.

No, he hadn’t exactly been fighting, he’d been holding the thief down. When he let go of one of her arms to grab the pendant, she pulled him into a kiss. Well, calling it a kiss felt like exaggeration; it seemed more like she was just trying to catch him off guard, apparently enough to knock him out and lay him down on the bed. He was surprised she could lift him that well.

He finally felt for his wound, which wasn’t there. He must have lost about half an hour. He grabbed his vest from the floor and put it back on. Then he went to the closet and put his jacket back on, so the blood stains were hidden. In the time it took him to wake up, she had probably left, so he might as well avoid making a scene.

He slammed the wall in just the right spot to open the door and slid down the stairs as well as he could. He still wanted to make good time even if he failed.

“One failure in many successes doesn’t blemish my record,” he reminded himself of Gareth’s reassurances. Most of those failures weren’t Gareth’s last memento of his mother though.

He pushed his hair back and put on a more pleasant game face as he rejoined the party, where Gareth was talking to a woman in an orange dress with matching hair.

“Sometimes I forget how smart you are, Gareth.”

They made eye-contact, and Gareth calmly grabbed the woman’s arm. Jonathan navigated through the crowd and grabbed the other arm as Gareth let go.

“It’s time to talk.”

“I suppose it is.”

“Would you come with me?” he asked.

“Do I have a choice?”

“You always have a choice, but here it’s more about the scene you’re willing to cause.”

As they tried to move around the crowd, Dick bumped into them, spilling alcohol on the woman’s dress. She took the opportunity to run further into the house.

John groaned, struggling through the crowd after her.

Once he got out of the hall, he spotted her running for a window. John elbowed the wall in the right spot to get into the passages again. Running wasn’t recommended in such a tight space, but he couldn’t risk her getting away, so he let his sense keep him from running into walls, and lived with the spider-webs and bug corpses covering him and his suit.

Just in time, he slid in front of her before she could reach the window.

She screamed, grabbed composure, then ran the other way.

John came up at a brisk pace and grabbed her arm.

“Do I have to knock you out?”

“Maybe,” she challenged.

He gripped tighter.

“Oww. Fine I won’t run this time.”

“I don’t trust that.”

Nonetheless, he loosened his grip on her arm slightly. They pulled away from the window.

“John!” Dick panted, running up them, “I was looking for you so I could tell you I saw her pass a package to one of the guests.”

“As you can see,” the thief said, “He already caught me again.”

“Do you remember who?” John asked.

“No, they were pretty forgettable, but they were wearing a gold suit.”

That wasn’t a small number—it even included Dick—but it was a lead.

“Thanks, Dick. I’ll let the front door know to stop anyone in a gold suit.”

“Including me?”

“Of course including you. Do you think we trust family not to steal?”

“I’m not Shepherd’s family.”

“All the more reason not to trust you, Dick. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

He pulled away, with the thief in tow, scanning for a room without occupants or windows.

“Why do you call Senator Walters ‘Dick’?” the thief asked.

“Because his first name’s Richard, and we’re family.”

“I caught that. How are you related?”

He ignored her, continuing his search.

“What are you looking for?” she asked.

“That.”

He tossed her into a study that fit the bill and locked the door.

“You’ll be staying here until we have time to talk to you.”

“I don’t have the item anymore!”

“That’s not what we’re after.”

“Oh good, there’s napkins.”

She seemed to be ignoring her position.

Everyone was out, and none of the guests had the pendant. John and Gareth sat in the room across from the study, waiting for Camille to answer the phone.

“Hello, Uncle Gareth, how have you been stolen from?” a British voice answered. Camille must be in the middle of a job.

“Happy New Year to you too,” John said, “Are there any ex-members of the Court of Thieves?”

She’d implied it wasn’t her job, so she had to have left somehow. She had to be from the Court.

“Many have died, but a few have retired, not that we ever fully retire. They just set their hiring conditions to be convoluted and go through several active members before it gets to them. It helps the younger members get work.”

That had to be it.

“If we give you a description, can you give us a name?”

“Not their given name,” Camille said, “But I can give a moniker, and a title if they have one. How hot are they on a scale of one to ten?”

“Seven,” Gareth answered quickly, shrugging when John looked at him.

“That’s a very subjective question,” John said.

“It’s Foxy.”

“How?”

“I heard a rumor she was going to take something cheap from Gareth Shepherd through the rumor mill. I mostly asked to hear you squirm. Would you genuinely place her as a seven, Uncle Gareth?”

“It was the first number that came to mind.”

“Where would you rank her, John?”

John shook his head.

“Your silence means she either ranks very high, or very low, and having met her I think it’s the former.”

“Shouldn’t you avoid talking if you’re on a job, which you probably are, given the accent?”

“Oh, he’s a sound sleeper, I drugged him myself.”

He walked into that one.

“What did she take anyways?” Camille asked.

“An old pendant of my mother’s,” Gareth answered.

“If it’s that old, it should be valuable.”

“It’s made of twigs.”

“I see.” Camille took a moment to focus on her job, “Here’s the thing. Foxy meant it when she retired. Even when an offer has actually made it to her, she’s rejected it. Whoever hired her for this must have had a greater incentive than money.”

“Thanks, we’ll leave you to your work.” John hung up before Camille could make the conversation awkward again.

“We could have gotten more useful information,” Gareth said.

“No, we couldn’t.”

Gareth just treated Camille like a favorite niece, including the part where he liked talking to her.

“I’m going to talk to the prisoner. You can call Camille back if you want to.”

He paused at the door to the study, opting to knock before checking in.

“Come in?”

He opened the door and closed it behind him before seeing how Dick’s drink had stained her dress, and the mostly dry napkins in the trash can.

“You didn’t change?”

Her posture straightened as she noticed him in the room. She dropped the current napkin.

“Well, even stained, this is more comfortable to sit in than armor. You did change, and took a shower.” she gestured at her hair.

He had to wash the spiders out somehow, and he certainly wasn’t putting a suit back on. He’d stay with a black-button up and more comfortable pants.

“I needed less layers in case you ran again.”

She chuckled.

“Are you going to search me for the item?”

“No, Foxy, I already searched you.”

She snorted.

“What?”

“The only person who calls me Foxy is her Royal Highness. My moniker is The Fox.”

Now that was a name he’d heard before. The one who could crack a safe in one go, and was generally hard to catch.

“You must be out of practice then,” he probed, “If I managed to catch you.”

“Technically, your boss caught me first, and I would have gotten out if you hadn’t scared me. What was that by the way about already searching me?”

“Let’s just call it my particular superpower.”

She suddenly protected her chest.

“A. That wouldn’t actually work; and B. I’m not using it on you right now. I just checked for the pendant.”

“So you’re claiming to be a gentleman.”

John shook his head.

“I don’t trust gentlemen, personally. Dick’s supposedly one, and look what he did to your dress.”

“Richard Walters is no gentleman.”

“How would you know?”

Her smirk dropped.

“That’s not the subject at hand, is it?”

She finally sat down in front of the desk, gesturing for him to take the other, grander side.

“So, Jonathan Hunter,” she asked once he sat down, “Why are you keeping me in this room if it isn’t because of the item I stole?”

“It’s because of whoever hired you for it. That’s an item of far more personal value than monetary. Whoever had it stolen wanted to send a message.”

She looked around for a moment.

“I don’t actually remember.”

“Were they forgettable?” Maybe it was some kind of superhuman interference. The room was hardly absent of powers.

“I don’t forget things most of the time. Either that spell I cast on you took a major toll, or something weird is happening.”

He glanced at her lips when she mentioned the spell. They were thin and straight.

“Why would the spell make you lose your memory?”

“Because it can. Not often, but as an occasional side-effect if I use too much Magek close together.”

“How much is too much?”

“Magek is very opposed to being a science.”

This was why he wasn’t a fan of it. No wonder Gareth rarely used his.

“Is that why you retired?”

“I retired because I don’t really like stealing things, and I’d rather be paid less for doing something I actually enjoy.”

“What do you do now?” he asked.

“The exact opposite of stealing.”

Probably some kind of charity work as a personal penance.

“Why did you accept the job if you don’t like stealing things?”

If Camille was right, Gareth’s resources could probably make a decent counter-offer.

“They threatened something I cared about, but I gave them the item, so they should let it be.”

She clearly didn’t believe that last part; neither did John.

“Who?”

“I said I don’t remember.”

“Not your client, the person they threatened. I can keep them safe.”

Fox shook her head.

“I’m not stupid enough to trust that.”

There wasn’t much he could do to earn her trust, and he was tired of stalemates. He stood up and grabbed one of the cards on the desk, writing his own number on the back of it.

“Once they contact you again, call that number and let me know.”

“Are you keeping me in here?” she asked, staring at the number with some confusion.

“Quite the opposite,” he explained, “I’m letting you out.”

“Why?”

“Because you don’t have any useful information, and Gareth would have me send you out anyways.”

At least this way it was on his own terms.

“That’s it?”

“Would you like there to be more?”

She leaned back in her chair, eyeing him up and down.

“You’re going to keep an eye on me, aren’t you?”

He was going to hire Val to investigate her.

“Maybe I’m just choosing to trust you.”

“People in your line of work don’t trust people in mine, but thanks for the lie. It means a lot.”