B Positive by Jewel Killian

Four

Tuckedbehind the secret hinged bookcase and doused in stinging nettle tincture laid the bag of tricks I’d snuck in earlier that day posing as part of the catering crew. That little bag was stocked with more tincture to cover my scent, explosives—should things go sideways—and the most advanced safecracking tools money could buy, and it was the biggest part of my ticket to freedom.

I’d compelled the county clerk for the original blueprints to the compound, and believe me, that was not easy. But once I’d broken into his mind, he was more than willing to tell me about all the secrets the blueprints hid. The passage this bookcase hid was the oldest secret the building held, and I had bet that being the oldest, it was probably the least known, making it the perfect spot to stash my gear.

After splashing myself in enough stinging nettle to make a German Shepherd nose blind, I shouldered my pack and blurred upstairs, ears and eyes trained on anything that might break my cover.

I’d made it to the second floor and was just about to speed across the level to the back staircase when a housekeeper ambled out of a bedroom.

I froze mid-stride.

Shit, fuck, goddamnit!!

I pried my muscles free and blurred to her.

Thank fuck she was human, and already under so much compulsion she didn’t have much fight left in her.

If she had been anyone else, my ass would have been toast.

“Forget you ever saw me,” I whispered against the woman’s ear and once more ran for the back stairs.

I knew before I went in that getting across the second floor would be the hardest part. No cover. So many doors for things to be lurking behind. But I had a feeling the housekeeper was the only one on the floor at the moment.

Vamps didn’t enjoy seeing work being done.

Oh, they sure as shit enjoyed having it done. Having their sprawling mansions clean and their gardens well-manicured. But generally, they didn’t want to see it happening.

I hadn’t been a vamp long enough to really know why.

But seeing the housekeeper was a good sign for the rest of the second floor.

Fortunately, I was right, and sped up the back stairs to the third floor without another incident.

The last stretch was hairy too, but I just had to be quick.

Ears pricked for movement, I blurred across the hall to the last door on the right.

I gripped the doorknob, hoping the king was the sort to leave his doors unlocked, and sighed with relief as the knob turned easily.

I snuck inside and eased the door shut without making a single noise.

And there it was.

I smiled to myself as I stared at the safe standing at the back of the room. Of course King Julian would choose that safe.

No pictures covered it. The king built no furniture around it.

He hadn’t seen fit to hide this safe.

And for good reason.

The six-by-six-foot monstrosity was considered uncrackable. Impenetrable. It was fireproof, bulletproof, and watertight.

“Well, don’t you look nice and proud standing there,” I whispered to the safe. “You’re no Lola, but I guess you’ll do.”

Yes.

I’d named my practice safe. I’d named them all. Since there was no way to know for sure which safe the king would use, I’d learned to crack every safe.

All of them.

I’d of course researched and tracked the king’s purchase orders and deliveries over the last ten years he’d been in power. And I knew which delivery companies had accounts with safe manufacturers. So, I had a pretty good idea of what I’d be walking into tonight.

But that didn’t discount the possibility that he might have brought his own safe. Something I couldn’t have tracked.

On silent, bare toes I padded to her, taking in the beauty of her design. The clean efficiency of her safeguards.

“Tell me your secrets, pretty lady,” I breathed as I set my bag down.

All the firewalls and redundancies in the world could still be hacked, given enough time and patience.

And that’s why the top-of-the-line, best-of-the-best safes didn’t rely on network connections or electronic passkeys or even electricity.

The best safes used mechanical locks only, reinforced with a layer of concrete, steel, and razor wire just to be safe.

A gazillionaire might think his family jewels were safe behind his own secure network, but someone could still tamper with many of those components without even setting foot on the property.

I wasn’t saying those safes weren’t good.

They were, they just weren’t the best-of-the-best, which is what I stood in front of.

I pressed my ear to the front panel.

“Hey sweets, we’re just gonna get to know each other, all right?”

I smoothed my hand down the front panel to the old-style combination lock and slowly clicked through the numbers, getting a feel for the sound of each click.

Snick, snick, snick.Each number clicked slowly by. Snick, snick.

Snuck.

I froze, hand stiffening on the dial. That was it.

The telltale, hardly perceptible even to vamp ears, sound of a number that was part of the combination.

I glanced at the dial.

Seven.

And moved to the next until I heard the duller snuck of the next digit in the sequence.

Eighteen.

A grin pulled at my lips as I continued on.

God, it was like taking candy from babies.

I’d be outta here with the loot and off living the dream before I knew it.

Snick, snick, snick.

Clunk.

The lock settled in place as the pins of the internal tumbler lined up.

I glanced at the number, and an icy chill coiled up my spine.

Double zero.

Seven, eighteen, double zero.

Or, July 18th, 2000.

I stared at the combination.

My fucking birthdate.

Why was my birthday King fucking Julian’s combination?

My muscles froze as panic seized me.

Was this a goddamn setup?

How could he have known?

Get it the fuck together, Eden. Stay on mission and stop freaking the fuck out.

It had to be a coincidence. There are only so many three-digit combinations. Granted, the chances weren’t great that he’d randomly choose my birthday, but it was just as likely that was his mother’s birthday.

July 18th, 1900.

Or 1800, even.

I prized my arms free of the icy grip of adrenaline, tried to shake the willies out of my spine, and eased open the safe door.

“Motherfucker,” I hissed under my breath.

Sitting at the bottom of the Lola wannabe was another, smaller safe, like a fucking nesting doll.

Fortunately, I’d planned for that.

But that didn’t mean I was happy about it.

I mean, what kind of psycho puts a safe in his fucking safe?

I snatched an infrared pad reader from my bag and scanned the PIN pad on the front of the second safe. It, too, was the top of its line, with redundancies built into the pad and a pressure plate at the bottom of the safe.

I called this practice safe Billy because he was stubborn as a fucking goat.

Billy had to have his PIN entered exactly the first time or he would lock himself down and send a fucking wireless message to the safe company, which was contractually obligated to follow up with a phone call to the owner.

Billy was a fucking asshole.

But, with the right black market tech, he’d open for me just like Lola had.

I scanned the pad, willing the digital display to spit out the combination faster. Seconds ticked by, red numerals spinning on the display until finally it read.

00-14-7

My stomach hollowed out, and I broke out in a cold sweat.

What the fuck was going on?

Once I could have chalked up to a weird twist of fate. Twice?

Twice meant this number was significant.

It also meant I needed to get the fuck out of here. Just stash my shit and wander back to the party like nothing ever happened.

Yup.

I shoved my infrared reader back in the bag, zipped it up, and slung it over my shoulder.

My palm grazed Lola wannabe’s enormous door, about to close it.

Oooooh, but I was sooooo close.

Months of planning all down the drain.

For what?

Because a couple of numbers scared me off?

What if it was just his mother’s birthday? Was I really going to let the biggest payday of my life slip through my fingers?

“Happy fucking birthday,” I whispered to myself and punched in the code. The gears whirred inside and the spring-loaded door popped open.

I half expected to find another, smaller safe.

Infinite safes. Why not?

I almost couldn’t believe what I was looking at.

A small velvet pouch.

Before I could talk myself out of it, I unzipped my bag, reaching in for an identical velvet pouch. The only difference was mine had a garden rock in it. King Julian had a priceless diamond in his.

I didn’t know or care how much it was really worth.

But I had a fence who’d take it off my hands for 2.3 mil, putting me just over my goal.

My nest egg, insurance policy, my safety net, would be all taken care of.

I slowed my breath, and holding my velvet bag from the very edge of the drawstring, I hovered it right next to my loot.

See, Billy was stubborn, and his pressure plate was extremely sensitive.

But I’d learned it was only sensitive by human standards.

I’d lifted my loot out and had the decoy in before the plate had detected the initial movement.

Over the last few months of learning how to crack safes, I’d often thought that I should start a business making vamp-proof safes.

Ones that couldn’t be finessed open using our superior senses.

I’d even drawn up a business plan and taken it to Carisa—in secret, of course. But she’d quickly informed me that kings don’t truly care if their safes are “safe.” Rather, it was the illusion of safety. Like a deadbolt on a front door.

No one fucked with the king’s stuff because…well, it was the king’s stuff.

So, no vamp safe business for me.

I’d just take my spoils and live my life in peace, thank you very much.

I put the safes back the way I’d found them and did a quick spray of nettle tincture over everything I’d touched. Then I sprayed myself once more for good measure. I tucked everything back in my bag, except for the velvet pouch. That, I tucked in the garter riding so high on my thigh, it was nearly in my cooch. But it couldn’t be seen through the dress’s slits, so I dealt with it.

All I had to do now was sneak back downstairs, re-hide my goodie bag, retrieve my shoes from behind the toilet, and make my way back to the courtyard.

Easy.