“No fair!” The group heads to the tiny apparel department in the back corner of the shop, and Neil’s eyes glow like the gold coins he’ll soon be getting. Skirts are way more expensive than boas. See? Neil’s lucky to have me. I’m making him money!
I inch my way back toward the table and pick up a crystal hairpin lying next to my clip. I turn it over a couple of times and gaze at it like I’m considering buying it. The girls are still talking about that silly birthday party. I wonder what it would be like to have nothing to worry about other than what filling to pick for my birthday cake.
My hand dangles over the clip.
“Are these made with ostrich feathers?” the tall girl asks Neil.
Closer, closer…
“Ostrich feathers are totally in right now!” Blondie chimes in.
I cover the clip with my hand. It’s warm beneath my fingers.
Almost there…
I slide it into the sleeve of my brown jacket with one quick motion.
Success!
I head to the door, making sure to reach up and hold the bell on top so it doesn’t jingle when I exit. Then I’m out and heading down the alley next to the shop before anyone even notices I’m gone.
Told you it was easy. Like taking lunch from a sleeping ogre.
CHAPTER 2
The Great Escape
After a mega score like that dragon’s tooth comb, I always head home.
No gloating to fellow thieves about my take. No stopping for bread at Gnome-olia Bakery (even if it smells heavenly). And this is definitely not the time to go to the Arabian Nights Pawn Shop to cash in. That is a classic rookie mistake.
Now is the time to blend in, stay out of sight. Disappear.
Never, ever run.
Running is like asking to be followed by the dwarf squad and their henchmen. That’s Enchantasia’s police. Snow White’s dwarves got sick of the mines but love their pickaxes, so Snow found them a job where they could still use weapons—law enforcement.
The squad was a joke at first—not many people are afraid of dwarves—but then Princess Ella got wise and hired a bunch of guys who are rumored to be half ogre to be the squad’s muscle. Those guys are scary. They could break you in half with their pudgy pinkie fingers. Now crime has gone way down…but it hasn’t disappeared. To stay ahead of the ogres, I’ve had to be smarter about my marks. Royals are still easy targets, but I can’t be sloppy.
My eyes scan the village laid out in front of me like a map. I watch as shopkeepers call out end-of-the-day deals (half-price bread, free shoe shining with any repair, a sale on scarves for the coming winter). I ignore them all, even if my family could use the scarves. Our boot is always cold. I hurry down the cobblestone streets, switching my route home from the way I came this morning. You never want to be seen in the same spot twice when you’re in the middle of a caper.
I hurry past the pricier shops and restaurants I wouldn’t dare enter because I’m not of royal blood. I pull up the collar of my coat when I walk past the marketplace where commoners are buying their nightly fish or fresh vegetables from farmers. I skip the row where magical goods are being illegally traded. The dwarf squad is undercover in that row all the time.
When I enter the busy town square, I exhale slightly. With so many people and carriages around, it’s easy to blend in. Schoolchildren from the Royal Academy are carelessly throwing their coins in the fountain. (Thief tip: Never steal from those waters. They’re always being watched.) Someone from Happily Ever After Scrolls is trying to sell mini magical scrolls (their latest invention) and is drawing a crowd. A carriage driver is offering rides home for two pence, and royal carriages are lined up in the valet area waiting to take the royals’ loot home. One look at the dimming skyline and you remember where your place is in Enchantasia. We commoners live down in the village, while high on the hill, the silver turrets of Royal Manor gleam bright as if to say, “You’ll never climb your way up here.”
I hear a neigh and then a “whoa,” and I turn back toward the fountain, quickly pulling my hood over my head.
“You there!” I freeze. “Have you seen anyone running through the square with a green satchel?” says Pete, the chief of the dwarf squad, in a deep voice that makes him sound much more menacing than he looks. “The baker has lost his shipment for Royal Manor, which was waiting on his steps to be taken to the castle.”
I picture Pete high on his horse, looking tough although he isn’t even three feet tall on the ground. With his pudgy midsection (he likes cinnamon rolls) and long black beard, he resembles a troll. But his wide, red nose and oversized ears remind me he’s a dwarf. The two of us have a love-hate relationship. I’ve gotten out of a few jams by feeding him info about other thieves, but when I catch a big haul, he comes after me hard.
“Nah,” says the small boy standing right next to me. “Haven’t seen nuthin’.”