The Dance of a Thief

In the city, the lights were bright, but the shadows were longer. Ingrid wrapped her scarf around her throat and pulled her coat tighter as she sidestepped yet another couple so wrapped around each other that the rest of the world apparently disappeared. The woman caught her eye as she slipped her hand into her lover's pocket. Brown curls spilling from a beret, she was younger than Ingrid had expected, considering the silver hair on the man. Ingrid's lips twitched into a grim smile but the woman made no acknowledgment and seemed to look right through her.

Ingrid reminded herself that it was better for her that way. Oftentimes, pedestrians in the rich end of the city eyed each other, as if assessing who had more wealth and how much it showed. Granted, it wasn't a good sign that the silk scarf or the beaded red mules she was wearing hadn't even invited a blink. Marya had assured her that she would pass as a respectable Isi-towner. But then again, Marya was Marya: a desperate student of fashion design eager to gain recognition, but more eager to make money.

It didn't matter. She was already here, and Ingrid never pulled the plug on a job when it had already been set into motion.

She made the bend past the chocolate shop. There wasn't much traffic on Wrent Vaya Street. Just the shoppers streaming in and out of the high-end stores, bags hanging from their arms. Ingrid walked past a store advertising the season's boots in its window and tried to look vaguely interested; as if she could definitely afford to make a purchase from its wares.

Halfway down the street, she took in a silent breath and pulled open the door to Fieff's, a small jewelry store. The air inside smelt faintly like a mixture of glass and perfume. The lights were dimmed, except for the tiny spotlights illuminating each row of jeweled accessories. At the front, there was a single man at the counter, polishing what looked like a ruby.

Good. No other distractions. She hoped it would stay that way.

The man looked up as soon as the bell by the door announced her entrance, but she took her time getting to the front, deliberately browsing through the aisles of arranged displays.

She stopped at a pair of opal earrings for a moment, then kept on. There was a necklace that was designed as a waterfall of turquoise and she wondered how someone would be comfortable wearing so much wealth so openly. Then there were the diamonds of varying shapes and sizes, but consistent dazzle. One of the pieces caught her eye. It was a simple necklace: a plain band of silver with a small diamond attached just off its center.

"Simple, but still so beautiful, yes?"

She nearly jumped at the sound of the store attendant's voice behind her. She hadn't heard him come up behind her. This bothered her but she tried not to let it show. She fought off the image of her fingers wrapping around the pocketknife in her inner pocket.

"Yes," she said with a slight smile, "it is."

"There is a story here," he said, still gazing at the necklace from behind her.

"I need help," she cleared her throat and announced abruptly, turning from the display and heading towards the counter.

"Of course, of course." He hurried past her and returned to his place at the front.

She pulled off the jade ring on her middle finger and dropped it on the glass table.

"I need to return this."

The man picked the ring and turned it in his fingers.

"Another beautiful piece."

"Yes, but the man who gave it to me? Not so much." Ingrid imitated the casually careless manners of a prissy city socialite. "Well, at least not his heart. His face, yes. He was very handsome." She sighed and stroked her scarf. "But none of that matters anymore."

"Of course madam." He had pulled the ring under the magnifying glass on the counter and was now studying it.

Ingrid waited, tapping her fingers on the glass. She feigned checking her nails. It was a deep red that Marya had painted just an hour ago. Any earlier and her waitressing job would have ensured a chip on the polish.

The man cleared his throat. "I am so sorry for…the terrible feelings this ring is causing you, madam. But we cannot take this back." He pushed the ring back across the surface.

"I don't understand." She dipped her head. "Is there a problem?"

"No. It's just that the store does not take returns."

"But you sold it to me." She let her words slowly.

"Yes, there is no doubt this one of our pieces." He folded his arms. "But that is the store policy."

Right on cue, the bell by the door rang again. Ingrid persuaded herself not to turn. She had to trust that things were going according to plan.

She let out an exaggerated breath. "Alright. I suppose I'll just sell it off to one of the auction houses or something."

"Excuse me, I need some assistance." The gentlemen who had entered the store interrupted them. He ignored Ingrid completely.

"I'll be going then. Thank you for your help and have an evening full of blessings." Ingrid slipped the ring back on and turned to go.

"Auction house, did you say?" the store attendant called out after her.

Ingrid smiled to herself. He had taken the bait. She turned back.

"Yes. You know, one of the Hautes or museums will from time to time take jewelry donations."

"Yes, I know."

"Excuse me, I need—"

"Sir, I will be with you shortly, if you would just let me finish assisting this customer," the store attendant said to the man, pushing the edge of polite.

The customer grunted then started to browse the store, moving slowly.

"Anway, I'll just offer it to one of them," Ingrid continued. "They can sell it off as 'the ring of broken promise' or something like that." She tapped her chin as if suddenly thinking about it. "You would be willing to verify the value, wouldn't you? Yes?"

The store attendant blinked and Ingrid knew she had him.