Sickened by what I was overhearing, I slipped past the two windows, moving beyond the room. Everyone had settled down to sleep; even the night birds were muted as I crept down the ledge to a darkened window. Wards had been etched into the glass, but they were the wrong type of ward to keep me out. That gave my spirits a short-lived boost—evidently no one had seen me long enough to guess my origins, which made it all that much easier for me to simply ignore the arcane magical traps Dr. Kostich had laid around the window.

The study was dark except for a dim light set high in the case I’d broken into earlier. I kept myself shadowed as I moved carefully around the furniture, which I could dimly make out, heading for the corner where I remembered seeing the surveillance camera. I stopped underneath it, listening intently.

From the room next to me, I could hear the low rumble of masculine voices. Damn that Gabriel, he was probably telling Dr. Kostich just what he wanted for his benefaction. I thinned my lips and thought of what I’d like to say to him at that moment, reluctantly setting that aside to deal with the problem before me. From the inner pocket of the bodice, I pulled out a small, flattened disk of silver-backed utility tape, using it to cover the camera’s lens before heading for the case. I also withdrew the quintessence, my fingers caressing the invisible edges of its case, a strange yearning suddenly possessing me. I wanted to feel its glory again, to revel in its beauty, to absorb all that it had to give me. Why should I give it back to Dr. Kostich when the man clearly didn’t know its true value?

I’m ashamed to say that for five seconds, I considered the possibility of keeping the quintessence for myself. It was tempting . . . but I sighed as I carefully opened the case, placing the unseen box onto the shelf where I had originally found it.

‘‘I may be a thief,’’ I said softly as I closed the case, watching with mild amusement as the arcane symbols of protection drawn across the front resealed themselves as if they’d never been disturbed. ‘‘But I don’t have to be a dishonest thief.’’

Righteousness filling my heart, I turned to leave, but was unable to move.

‘‘What the . . .’’ My feet appeared to be rooted to the ground, stuck to the rug as if by some industrial-strength glue. I peered down at my feet, horror crawling up my arms as I realized there was a pattern woven into the rug upon which I stood . . . a pattern that was not arcana based, as was all the other magic the mage had used. This was something older than that, something with an elemental basis that held me in place just as firmly as if I’d been bolted to the ground.