The lady, who I assumed was Vlad’s mom, pointed the shotgun at me. I considered sneaking across the room, but with her concentrating, she would likely hear me. If she thought the movement was a threat, the paramedics might have to scrape part of me off the wall.

  “The lady must be half blind. Why’d you give your position away?”

  “Who are you?” The lady demanded.

  “A friend of Vlad’s.”

  “A friend. Psst. Vlad doesn’t have friends.”

  “He has one.” I drew in a deep breath. “Would you shoot his only friend?”

  “I don’t want to plug anyone.” She said, “But start talking, or I’ll give you both barrels.”

  “Vlad’s in trouble. The police are looking for him. He asked me to grab some things from his room.”

  "That boy’s always wrapped up in a heap of trouble.” She sighed. “He hasn’t been here for a few weeks. I can’t imagine he kept anything of interest in his mess of a room.”

  “He hid a small stash of money. Which he’ll need until the heat dies down.”

  “And he told you to break in to get it?”

  I glanced at the front door. A peg board to the right had several names: Lisova, Grebenshchikov, Latasha, Jose, and Vlad. The first two must be the older couple, the others are the children. His dad’s spot was empty, making me think he may have passed, or they separated. The mom’s spot had two keys, and the other children’s spots were empty. The keys under Vlad’s name didn’t have a vehicle key fob, but had two keys. Likely one for the front doorknob and one for the deadbolt. “He said you took his keys, and you might not let me in since he still owes you money.”

  “Five hundred bucks.” She scoffed. “But it wasn’t the money. He wouldn’t clean up after himself. I don’t get around so well anymore.” She lowered the shotgun. “But he’s still my boy. She nodded her head up the stairs. “You have five minutes. No funny business, or I’ll use this thing.” She patted the side of the shotgun.

  I trudged to the base of the stairs.

  She turned and walked to the top landing, stepping to the side to allow me to pass by. “Last door on the right.” She followed as I approached the room.

  At first, I thought the door was locked. I pushed against it, and it barely budged. A harder push caused the door to creep open. Reaching my arm into the room, I switched on the light. I poked my head inside and surveyed the area. Clothing and garbage were scattered throughout the room. The door stopped because of a crumpled pile of clothing behind it. Shoving with the full weight of my shoulder, I nudged it open enough to step inside.

  Shelves lined two walls. Each had stacks of electronic devices, including laptops, speakers, stereo equipment, and computer monitors. A cardboard box on the ground was filled to the brim with cell phones. The back wall was lined with several large flat screens. They appeared to be heavily water damaged. I looked above them at the open window, which explained how they got wet. Likely they were defective, so he didn’t mind leaving them where they would get soaked.

  “Is he a fence or something?”

  “Half this crap looks outdated,” I said.

  “Vlad’s a bit of a pack rat.” His mother squeezed herself into the room behind me. She held the shotgun, barrel pointed at the ground. “Hurry and get what you came for.” She pinched her nose closed. “This room smells like the inside of a rat’s ass.”

  “He said he hid it near some electronic devices.” I pointed at the shelves. “He should have been more specific.” I opened the drawers of a small dresser in the back corner. Few clothes were inside. Instead, battery chargers and electronic cables filled the top drawer. The middle drawer was stuffed with cheap looking jewelry. After tugging on the bottom drawer for a moment, it popped open. Purses and wallets were crammed so tight that I couldn’t re-close the drawers.

  “Do you see anything?” I asked Junette.

  “I see little nowadays,” Vlad’s mom said.

  “Who can find anything in this mess?”

  “The better question is, what doesn’t look like a pile of junk?”

  I scanned the room. One laptop had a charger dangling from it. Other than that, only a TV and game console were plugged into the wall. My eye caught a section of the shelves. All four, from the bottom to the top, had a virtually empty one-foot section. As I inspected closer, I noticed a strange imprint on the bottom two. The pattern reminded me of sneaker tread. Most of the shelves had brackets every four feet, but the bottom two had them every foot in these spots. I glanced up at the drop ceiling and smiled. The corner of one tile was chipped out.

  Before climbing the shelf, I stepped on the bottom section and pressed as hard as I could. It didn’t budge. He must have it anchored well. I grabbed the top shelf and pulled myself up until I had one foot on the second and the other on the third. The tile pushed up easy enough but didn’t budge more than a few inches. I fished around in the dark space until my fingers brushed against something smooth. I pulled it out, then jumped down from the shelves.

  “A manila envelope?”

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  I bent back the metal clasp, flipped back the lip, and peeked inside.

  “What did you find?” Vlad’s mom asked.

  “The cash.” Closing the envelope, I folded it twice and tucked it into my pocket. Instead of cash, it contained a list of names and places. If he was a fence, these could be his buyers and drop locations. Perhaps Vlad noticed some item Claude had on his person, and he broke into the hotel to rob him of it. Things went badly, and he abducted him. Vlad may have reached out to one of these buyers to sell the item. If things went from bad to worse with Claude, he may want to unload the ill-gotten goods quickly and get out of town.

  “Not only did he not pay me back, but he had the money in his room this entire time?” His mother asked.

  “There is less than a hundred here.”

  “He had you break into my house for a hundred dollars?” She shook her head. “There must have been an easier way to get some cash.”

  “He wanted me to get his laptop, too.” I picked up a worn green backpack from the floor and shoved the charging laptop and the envelope into it, then slung it onto my back. I wore it as intended, with an arm through each strap. The desire to sling a backpack over a single shoulder confounded me. Why distribute the weight to one side?

  A muffled voice emanated from the older woman’s pocket. It was so faint, I thought I was imagining it until I noticed light peeking through her jeans. The voice clamored again. The woman must have heard it too. She took one hand from the shotgun and reached for the phone.

  “I think I left my podcast on.” She grinned. Her eyes darted to me, then looked away.

  “Time to go, Lud. Push that old bag outtha’ way and run.”

  “I really should get going.” I slinked toward her. “My Uber is waiting outside with the meter running.”

  She fumbled with the device, then held it near her eyes. “Can never figure how to turn this thing off.” After shaking the phone, she held it closer and squinted.

  She blocked the doorway as she tapped her screen. “Well, that doesn’t look right either.” She pointed the phone toward me.

  The podcast on her screen was paused, but the small red phone icon caught my eye. “Would you like me to help you?”

  “No. I’ll get it.”

  I tapped the phone symbol before she could pull away. The call opened. Vlad.

  Vlad’s mom threw the phone at my face. It bounced off my forehead. She reached to steady the shotgun as she lifted it. I kicked the barrel, sending it to the center of the room. Not wanting to hurt the older woman, I spun and darted for the open window.

  “I know you ain’t jumping.”

  Ignoring Junette, I poked my head out of the window. The roof of the porch was a foot below. As I hopped out, the shotgun sounded off behind me. Wood splintered from the frame and showered the surrounding area. I shielded my eyes and crawled across the shingles. Tires screeched to a stop in front of the house.

  Car doors opened as I climbed onto the main roof and shimmied across, careful to keep my body low enough that the new arrivals wouldn’t see me from below. As I reached the rear of the house, I peered off the side. Two stories down.

  “What’re you thinking, Lud?” Junette asked. “You gonna to leap to your death?”

  “The fall won’t be fatal.” I scanned the ground around the perimeter of the house, then focused on the flattest area. “Not if you know how to land.” My knees scraped against the asphalt as I crawled to the edge. After sitting back, I pushed against the rain spout with my foot. It shifted slightly as I applied force. It wasn’t one of the cheap gutters picked up at the local box store. Fasteners affixed the durable aluminum frame every six inches. While unlikely to carry my weight indefinitely, it should hold me for a few minutes.

  Men’s voices emerged from the front of the house, an unfamiliar male and Vlad’s unmistakable accent. The words were loud but not understandable.

  I flipped onto my stomach and shimmied to the edge feet first. My legs dropped over the side as I lowered myself, gripping the gutter tightly as I dangled below. The aluminum bent from my weight, and a few of the fasteners popped free, but it held.

  Bending my knees slightly before dropping would ensure I didn’t break them during the impact. While releasing, I strained my abs to straighten my body. Immediately following the collision, I extended my legs briefly before squatting and rolling forward, tucking my head.

  “Where did you learn that?”

  “You hear that noise?” Vlad asked from the side of the house. “This way.”

  “Don’t let him get away,” Vlad’s mom shouted. “I don’t want the police crawling around here tonight.”

  My first step caused a jolt of paint to pinball through my body. I lifted my pant leg and glanced down at my softball-size ankle. Ignoring the footsteps, I focused on my injury. The swelling subsided. I trudged forward, confirming the pain had diminished.

  “There he is,” a man yelled from behind me.

  A young woman’s voice followed. “Catch his ass.”

  I broke into a sprint, fluttering toward the alley. Once there, I cut right and amplified my speed, concentrating on my lungs and legs to heal them, allowing me to continue running. Despite my efforts, my lungs ached as I reached a crossroad. I turned left.

  Engines rumbled to life far behind me, interrupting the silence of the surrounding night. Ahead of me, a man exited his house and mounted a motorcycle. I scrambled toward him. As he burned out, I climbed the four-foot chain-link fence and stumbled into his yard. A small shed with peeling blue paint sat in the back corner. A padlock clasped the door shut. I pulled a pick set from my pocket and went to work. Soon, the satisfying click of the tumblers announced my victory. I jerked the door open, stepped inside, and shut it.

  “Will they find you here?” Junette asked.

  “With any luck, they thought I escaped on the motorcycle. The driver had a lead foot. Might be awhile before they catch up to him and realize their mistake.”

  “You bumbled through the last two investigations. Suddenly you turn into James Bond?”

  “How so?”

  “Breaking into houses, leaping from roofs, and now picking a lock.” She paused. “Honestly, you’re better at burglary than detective work.”

  “You know the wizards hunt down those using magic they prohibited.”

  “Yes.”

  “How do you presume we confirmed our suspicions?”

  “You broke into houses?”

  “Among other methods.”

  “Why didn’t they teach you how to interrogate instead?”

  “They would have if I didn’t quit. That training includes an enormous time commitment.”

  “To ask a suspect questions?”

  “Those fully trained with my ability bring suspects into their mind when they interrogate them. I’m not yet able to absorb a soul without killing the host. But if I continued training, I’d eventually be able to keep contact with the target while containing their life force.”

  “Why interrogate them inside your head?”

  “The best home-field advantage.” I cracked open the door and peeked out. No movement. “Tungee could conjure any environment he wanted them to perceive. Hell, he could make them believe they were sitting at their kitchen table with a friend or family member who knew about their abilities. They would confess without realizing who they were talking to.”

  “Creepy old Tungee.”

  “That’s harsh. You never met the man.”

  “You’ve talked about him enough. He once fought beside Kublai Khan. How old does that make him?”

  “He fought for the good guys.”

  “Yet your wizard friends decided to cut him loose. And we know wizards don’t just let a man retire.”

  “He made some mistakes.” I slid the door open. “We really don’t have time to talk about this. We need to get back to Nina.”

  “You gonna call another cab?”