Chapter 2

Dorothy Marlow had been missing for weeks. She was a woman that Blue had served many times over the years at his father's tailor shop. He sold her rolls upon rolls of deep blue yarn every few months, a detail that had lived in his mind since they had met. And now she was missing, suspected dead.

Blue had the honour of working with the suspected culprit. Dougall, the self-proclaimed charmer of the Ivory Rose, who used her boyish good looks to gain whatever it was she needed. Or so she said. Blue had yet to see it work, as they now sat outside a museum where they had been tossed after Dougall's failed attempt at seducing a guard.

Dougall kicked rocks along the pavement, scaring away the doves that pecked happily at scraps that had been thrown for them. She bristled against the wind in her deep blue knitted jumper, tugging its sleeves over her hands as she refused to look upon the newcomer to the team.

He was now a member of The Ivory Rose, an organised crime unit who famously stole the Crown jewels and had yet to be caught. A group made up of unidentified, disgruntled mages of varying Mabrisian origins, who had several bones to pick with the justice system and the monarchy. That Ivory Rose had also stolen Blue's memories in what he'd consider being an ever greater heist. That is whose home Blue had fucked his way into. That is who had him shot on sight and promptly recruited purely to spite Dougall.

He had never regretted a one-night stand more.

Dougall shot him one last glare before she set off down the street. He kept hot on her heels, eager to keep his mentor in his sights. She hadn't looked like much, in fact, she had barely looked as charming as she seemed to believe, and had the personality to match. A short black bedhead, gaunt greying features, and dark circles under her pale blue eyes. He watched as she sucked down one cigarette after another, barely slowing her movements. Not even his customer service smiles and demeanour had broken through to the woman.

His trial assignment had been to break into the Museum of Arts undetected and steal a painting by Rennyn Navarre. It was simple, according to the Ivory Rose ringleader who simply went by J. However, it seemed impossible. Dougall huffed yet again, tossing her stub to the ground and letting it fizzle out.

"Alright, your turn," she growled, "see if you can do any better."

He pointed at himself, scowling. "Aren't you supposed to be the expert? You know what happened back there."

Dougall grunted. He wasn't sure what he was expecting from the woman who had ordered his memories to be erased. Her brother was far nicer, despite him being the reason why he was in the situation in the first place. Blue fought back the urge to roll his eyes at the display.

"Alright," he sighed, annoyance seeping into his tone. "I'll try again when they swap shifts."

Dougall had actually rolled her eyes, much like a petulant child not getting her way. She couldn't have been much younger than him, at the ripe old age of twenty-four. Her attitude was one of a grouchy teen, and yet she looked far older in a way that her brother Ezra didn't, despite them being identical. Her brother held himself with his head high, energised by his sheer excitement for life. Dougall, not so much.

Blue sat on a park bench, overlooking the fountain at the centre of the square. He idly picked at his sandwich that he had bought from a vendor, overfilled and dripping shredded lettuce over his lap. Dougall sucked through her pack of cigarettes early on and had been drumming her fingers against the wooden seat for a lack of a better thing to do. Blue glanced at her now and again, watching how she did everything in her power to escape a conversation. He tore off half of his sandwich and handed it to her, gaining a suspicious glance.

It had relieved him when the hour had been up. Surely stealing a painting would be far easier than dealing with the young woman. His joints cracked as he stood, stretching and popping his back. He looked towards Dougall for guidance; any hints or tricks she found useful over her years as a thief. He wasn't sure what he had expected, but wasn't surprised when she stared back at him in silent loathing.

"What? Nothing?" he asked in a jeer, crossing his arms and staring at the mess of a woman before him. "You're supposed to help me, J said -"

"J says a lot of things," she mirrored his stance with a look of sheer apathy, "she's still the newest to the team, besides you. She needs to earn my respect."

"I'm sure your respect means a lot," he muttered, "whatever, let's get this done so we can go back, and I can keep my memory this time."

Dougall barked out a laugh. "You're still hung up on that?"

Blue didn't dignify her with a response.

The museum hid in the back alleys of the major city, overshadowed by tall homes of the rich, the manors that they buried themselves away in. It had been sponsored by Earl Henry Douglas of Greyhaven and had was used as a boast of his wealth. It was his collection on display, after all. Things he had imported from Shales and hid, or outright stolen. For that reason alone, Blue was happy that it was the Douglas Museum Of Arts that they had sent him to pilfer, not that he had a choice in the matter.

He wandered in through the large wooden doors, taking in the scenery as if he were just any other visitor. The inside was built like a cathedral, which shouldn't have phased him too much since it had been built in the hollowed-out carcass of the Temple of Omos. The Queen had refused the Temples their right to exist upon her coronation - an action that hadn't won her any favour. Its corpse was now the home of the Douglas family's stolen artefacts. A fitting end, he supposed.

The rows of art and sculpture lead all the way to the back of the building and branched off into what used to be the military barracks. Blue couldn't help but stand in awe, despite himself and his situation. The collection was impressive after all, despite their origins. Unfortunately, the large space had also been full of visitors gaping at the displays, and guards. Blue could count at least a dozen, and that had only been close to the entrance. Beside him, Dougall tensed yet again, seemingly uncomfortable with being in the museum despite her dubious occupation. Blue couldn't spend too much time thinking about her. His memories were on the line after all.

He meandered through the rows of paintings, just as any regular visitor would. Looking, before moving on with the crowd. He picked up a leaflet, flicking through as he went, looking for a glimpse of where the painting the Rose wanted could be. The portrait of Sheridan Sørensen, the last wolf of Bannaheimr. He wasn't into art, not truly, but even he knew the stories behind it. How she gave up everything to chase a woman across Kirus. He didn't like the story very much.

He had found the partner painting, that of the husband, Maxwell Haight, and yet the painting he needed was nowhere in sight. He huffed and turned to Dougall, who had been busy picking at her fingernails and avoiding eye contact with anyone and everyone.

"What now?" he asked, "it's not on display. Do they have storage? Restoration facilities?"

Dougall shrugged. "I heard they have a warehouse which is almost impossible to break into."

"Almost impossible?"

"There's a reason I'm here and not the entire team, and it's not just for punishment."

She left it at that, beckoning him to follow with no further explanation.

Dougall swiftly led him back outside, eyeing him curiously as she grabbed him by the arm and steered him away from the museum and down the street. He looked at her bewildered but decided against asking what the hell she was doing until she offered the information up herself. She kept walking, half dragging him down the street to Daver Lane.

Daver Lane was a quiet street, mostly populated by the elderly and not much else. Corner shops sold their necessary wares, the local newspaper set up their office for easy access to their larger client base, and the smell of grease and oil polluted the area from the abundance of takeaways. Daver Lane - a perfectly mediocre street. Dougall pulled Blue around the corner, bodies mostly hidden by the Farspeech Box.

"Are you going to help?" he asked in a low hiss. Not that the grand majority of the street could overhear, let alone care about what two young adults pressed into a corner could say. Quite the opposite, in fact. No matter how uncomfortable Blue was with the situation, they'd be safe from prying eyes. At the very least none would suspect anything other than two idiots in lust having a private moment, and not the two thieves' nefarious planning.

Dougall smiled sardonically, baring her teeth. Her left canine broken, levelling it out to the same height as the rest of her teeth. "You really want my help?"

"As much as I despise having to ask help from some fucking alleged murderer," he groaned. Dougall stopped smiling. Whatever act she had disappeared, replaced by a look of sheer hurt. "yes, I want your help. Where's this warehouse?"

An old woman toddled down the pavement, walking frame clicking against the ground before her with each movement. Dougall made a sour face and pressed herself into Blue. He let out a sigh and hid his face near her shoulder.

"Do you know where the warehouse is?" he whispered, hoping to sell the act that Dougall had unfortunately cast upon him.

"It's at Lakeside," she whispered back, "Y'know, close to the Douglas Lakehouse in Greyhaven."

She spat out the name as if it were poison on her tongue. There must have been an old grudge there somewhere, but Blue didn't want to ask aloud. Not when he seemed so close to getting this errand accomplished.

"Then… we'll drive over?" he asked, "do you guys even have a car?"

Cars had still been a new commodity to Mabristan. They had been all over Shales for decades, but the old Queen had refused such frivolities, but laws had changed under the new Queen and Regent Princen allowing imports to expand.

Dougall shook her head. "Do you?"

"Well," Blue tilted his head to one side in hesitation, "yes. It's my father's. He needs it for work."

"Then we steal it for the night, it's fine."

"Oh, it's not fine."

Created with Sketch.

Blue drove into Lakeside in the car that he had borrowed from his father. His father, who had voluntarily handed him the keys to their "Carlisle & Son" branded van for him to 'show his girlfriend a good time'. He had fought back the urge to gag and gladly took the keys before fleeing the establishment. It had been bad enough that the man he had met up with, so to speak, was Dougall's identical twin brother. He would prefer it if he would never be involved with both siblings. Makes for an awkward family reunion.

He pulled into an alleyway, just wide enough for them both to open their doors a crack to slink out, and thin enough to obscure his name that was blatantly painted on the sides.

"So, Jake," said Dougall with a grin. He regretted letting her inside his house, letting her meet his father even more so, "what do you want to do now?"

"Don't call me that," he said sternly. Little Jake Carlisle may as well have been dead for years. The name of the father who'd never understand, was never there. "It's Blue. Now, where's this warehouse?"

"You're a shit boyfriend," she joked. It had been the most he'd seen her smile since meeting her this time around. "you're lucky you're pretty."

Blue massaged at his temples. "Please, just answer the question."

"It's close to here."

Blue nodded, ushering her to lead the way.

The founders had built the town around a lake, much like the name suggested. The buildings followed the curvature of the water, overlooking the boats that bobbed along its surface. Nice buildings, unlike the outskirts of Kingshill. Tall, white and gleaming leading into the more rustic cabin-style houses. Night had begun to fall, the twin moons reflecting in broken semi circles over the ripples in the lake.

It was peaceful. The perfect night for a break-in.

The warehouse sat barely hidden in the residential area. A wide building compared to its counterparts and teeming with guards. Blue swallowed hard and looked to Dougall for advice.

"So you said there were other reasons for you to be here-"

Dougall sighed. "I'm what most would call a dark mage, my magic is siphon based."

"Which means?"

"I can copy or steal other's magic. I'm basically a jack of all trades."

"Good to know."

The two crouched in the shadows of a cabin-house, watching the guards do their patrol like hawks. Blue tensed, Dougall grabbed his arm to keep him steady. He nodded a thanks, hoping that she knew what he meant by the gesture. She grunted and gave him a thumbs up.

"So, dark mage, you got anything up your sleeve?" he asked in a hushed whisper.

Dougall threw her hands up in an overdramatic shrug. "I… can mess with their memories a bit? Got that off of Remy."

"Will it hurt them?"

"Has it hurt you?"

He tilted his head in a half shrugging gesture, "no, I guess not. Can it buy us a few minutes to get a better look at the place?"

"Thinking like a true thief, perhaps you're one of us after all."

"Can you get on with it?"

Dougall let out a low chuckle and flashed a grin. This was her element, and she made sure to show it. With one last glance, she moved, going as fast as she could while sticking close to the ground. Blue deflated, watching her go, debating his next move. The guards looked heavily armed, and he was not looking forward to another gun in his face that day. One had been too many.

Dougall stood once she had crossed the road, waving a hand in greeting. The guards shifted, pointing their drawn weapons at the young woman. Blue moved to follow, to get her out of trouble, or do anything, but Dougall held up a finger in a stopping motion. Whatever she had planned, she seemed confident that she would not fail. Her hands seeped a glittering grey mist that slowly thickened to dense fog. Her skin seemed to crystalise, turning to glass with her movements until Blue could see all the nerves and veins and bone. He almost recoiled, but felt drawn to the sight at the same moment. He had never seen magic so close, only in tricks, and even then the mages used staffs to protect themselves - to funnel away any damage that they could do to flesh.

In a quick burst, she threw her arms forward, the fog that she had accumulated shooting forward in two quick shots. One guard fired, but if it had hit, Dougall showed no reaction.

"You're on a break," she yelled at the guards, "go on, get."

The guards looked at each other in confusion, then back at Dougall. She shook her head.

"You know who I am, don't make me tell you again." she held herself tall and proud, staring down the two guards. They hesitantly nodded and left the door clear for the two to run in. Blue stared up at her, curious how much had been the magic and how much had relied on her reputation.

"Impressive," he said, standing and making his way to her side, "did they hit you?"

Dougall looked at him, confused, then patted herself down. Once satisfied, she gave him a thumbs up and a forced smile, which he returned.

Time to get the job done.

Regardless of having to deal with two fewer guards, the two made their way over as silently as possible, cracking open the large wooden doors of the warehouse.

Blue held back a cough as he entered. The interior was brimming with dust and the smell of oil and rust. Boxes and crates stacked high to the ceiling, likely having never disturbed or seen in years. The sight alone made his blood boil. Earl Douglas was a wealthy old bastard who kept culture in boxes to fade away to nothing. People had fought and died to keep their rights to their own history, and yet here it was. Collecting dust, mingling with other stolen artefacts, to be forgotten by the gentry that cared not for its own people, let alone foreign rights.

"We're never going to be able to shift through all of this," he groaned, "Creator, I hope it's not boxed up."

"It's disgusting," agreed Dougall, a sneer pulling at her rough features. "come on, best crack on. We don't have long and I'd rather make the most of my time, don't you?"

Blue nodded and rolled his shoulders. He dreaded what had come of his weekend. Dougall blew on her transparent fingers, rubbing heat into them and shoving them into the pockets of her dark leather jacket, setting off towards the back of the warehouse, her form disappearing into the darkness. Blue sighed and closed the door behind them, hoping to look as inconspicuous as possible, and hopefully buying the budding thieves more time to search for their needle in a haystack.

He climbed on top of one box, ripping off the lid of a taller crate with a pop. The motion caused him to sway backwards, but he caught himself before he could topple onto the ground and cause harm to himself or draw attention. Placing the lid to lean against the taller crate, he rifled through what he could see. Pots, mainly, hidden haphazardly in loose hay. There were onto jewels that cost more than his entire worth, but not what they had asked him to acquire. The night was still young, he figured, and he had plenty more crates to keep him occupied for weeks.

He cracked open a few more crates to no avail. More pots and vases, and some shiny jewels he pocketed so at the least he wouldn't return empty-handed. Dougall had yet to return from the blackened void that was the back of the warehouse. He had heard nothing at all from the woman since she sauntered off and feared the worse. They couldn't have had much time left, surely. He hopped off of the crate with a grunt, knees popping.

He wandered the darkening maze, hoping to at least find his mentor and partner in crime. He pulled a lighter from his trouser pocket, flicking it once, twice, three times for the spark to catch. The soft glow illuminated next to nothing, but Blue pressed on, hoping to find his partner safe. He wasn't sure how he'd ever explain that she got hurt or worse on his watch.

Running his fingers across wood and metal, subconsciously counting how many boxes deep he had gone. He counted eighteen long, and the warehouse's end was nowhere in sight. He had gone too far in, the light from the entrance no longer guiding him. A soft breeze threatened his tiny flame, he quickly cupped his spare hand around it to keep it alight, to the loss of counting each crate. He'd just have to rely on his footsteps now.

Two voices muttered words that Blue couldn't pick up. A tangled mess of hushed words and garbled tongues. He walked softer now, hoping to get a glimpse before he scared them off, or worse, startled an attack. He took his thumb off his lighter, extinguishing the flame. He plunged into darkness, hobbling along the best he could.

The voices grew louder, more heated as he got closer. Blue hesitated, waiting around a corner to not be caught by the flickering light that hovered in between two people. One was definitely a guard, clean suit and armed to the teeth, her hair tugged back tightly out of her face. Yet he couldn't catch a glimpse of the other, but it was definitely a woman speaking.

"You can't keep doing this," said the guardswoman, an exasperated tone that one might use on a younger family member trying to break into the snack cupboard.

"He doesn't own me," hissed the other woman, the voice he could now recognise as Dougall. "He never has. I don't owe him anything."

"This isn't a matter of owing, Dot. He's your-"

"I know who he is," Dougall snarled, the air seemingly growing colder as the seconds ticked by, "now let me go. I have my own business to attend to. That's an order."

Dougall brushed past where he hid, storming down the aisle of crates. Blue let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He could hear a door squeak open and closed, presumably from the guard exiting the building.

He stood slowly, careful not to knock over any of the boxes as he went, flicking his lighter yet again. The soft yellow light barely lighting his way, but it was enough to make his way back the way he came. To pretend not to have heard whatever had transpired. He wasn't a true member of The Ivory Rose, not yet. As much as the situation had been against his will, he refused to mess up his chance at a life of adventure just yet. It was in his blood after all. If he could not follow his mother, to travel across the seas, this was the next best thing.

He reached the end with little trouble, standing before the double doors of the warehouse. Returning to his crates, rifling through them again in case Dougall found him. He'd at least have plausible deniability in case questioned.

Dougall sauntered over from the left of the warehouse, letting out a single sharp whistle to get his attention. He looked over, almost dropping the vase he had found. There, in her hands, was the large framed painting of the one and only Sheridan Sørensen. The professional thief grinned, carefree and proud. Blue looked at the painting then slowly back at her in distrust. If she caught any of his doubt, she didn't waver.

"Time to go," she grinned, tossing him the painting - which he barely caught - and running out the door. He huffed and chased after her, feet pounding against the dense earth floor. Blue couldn't be sure why they were running, what with the sudden lack of guards. Dougall's order seemed to have worked, for whatever reason.

Blue parked the car in front of the Den, after an underwhelming drive back to the capital. He unbelted the painting from where it lay in the back of the van, following Dougall back inside. Dougall, who yelled at the top of her lungs the very second she entered despite the late hour.

"We're back!" she whooped, sauntering into the living room, where the gaggle of women sat around; exhausted from waiting.

J, the team leader, rolled her eyes."What do you want, a medal?"

Blue stepped in cautiously, painting held in front of him as if it could shield him from the many pairs of judging eyes.

"Ey, he did it!" grinned Remy from where she sat cross-legged in front of the fire.

"Took longer than it should have - but yes, I suppose he did. Congratulations, Mr Blue."

"You really can just call me Blue," he said sheepishly, carefully setting the painting up against the wall. Sheridan Sørensen's piercing gaze glared over the room as if her ghost lived on within the oil paint.

With a pop of a bottle and a thump on the door, the group froze. They stared warily towards the front door, looking amongst themselves as if daring someone to move. Blue braced himself, opting to take initiative, hoping that it would gain favour with the women.

He crept to the passageway, peaking out through the frosted glass panes that bordered the door, no matter how unhelpful they proved to be. A blur of black and silver stood swaying, moving forward to rap at the knocker again. Blue bit his lip, taking in a deep breath, and opened the door. Two of the Kingshill guards, pistols drawn, pushed past him into the house, no matter Blue's yelps of discouragement.

They filed into the living room where the crew sat like statues, the froth from the popped alcohol dripping languidly down the side of the glass untouched.

"Dorothy Douglas," boomed the male guard, pistol pointing towards Dougall's face. Dougall hardly looked surprised, much less interested. "You're under arrest for the murder of Dorothy Marlow."