Steal the Light (Thieves #1)(37)

I took it from Christine and tossed it to Sarah. A disturbing sensation tingled against my palm for the single moment it was in my hand. Sarah caught it and immediately took inventory. While Sarah was studying the contents of the bag, I looked Christine over with renewed respect. She must have something if Dad trusted her enough to start to educate her in the arcane ways.

“He won’t come out of his room.” Christine looked toward his bedroom door. “He wouldn’t let me in. He said he was sick, but he won’t let me call a doctor or even unlock the door so I can take his temperature. The truth is, he sounds a little crazy. He keeps talking about demon kind and protecting his own. His own what?”

Sarah poked through the contents of the bag with her finger. “It’s standard stuff. I’m betting this is either his hair or more likely yours. Nope. It looks like both.”

“Mine?”

Spells tend to work best if you have something of the person you are working the spell on. The absolute best “possession” a witch can work with is DNA. There is nothing more personal than DNA, and we drop pieces of ourselves all the time. I would love to think that I would remember if someone had come up and yanked a chunk of hair out, but more than likely all the witch would need to do is follow me for a few hours to get what she needed. I’d gotten a haircut just the day before.

Sarah held it up to the light. “Well, this one is your color, and the length is right. I really think it’s yours. There’s also some gray hairs in here. Those would be your dad’s.”

The twitch in my hands was getting worse, and I felt tears starting to prick behind my eyes. I was close to losing control, and I didn’t like the feeling one bit. If I could just make sure the money was all right, then all of this would be over. I just had to find it. I had to protect it and make sure it was never stolen from me again.

“Are you all right?” Neil stood behind Sarah. He’d been quiet the whole time, as though he wasn’t sure exactly what to do.

“No, I’m not fine. He has my money,” I screamed, and I was surprised at that since I hadn’t really meant to say that, much less scream at Neil. The closer I got to my father, the worse I started to feel.

I needed to see the money, to feel it in my hands and then everything would be fine. A little voice was starting in my head. It was saying get the money or die. If I didn’t get that money, the people I loved would be in grave danger.

I turned from Neil and Sarah and Christine and headed straight for my father’s bedroom door. On my way, I managed to retrieve the gleaming Ruger from my shoulder holster. The weight of it in my hand felt like the caress of a security blanket.

Once my father understood that I was serious, he would give me the money and everything would be fine. If he chose to be unreasonable, I would just kill my father and then I would have the money. It was as simple as that. I didn’t stop and worry that I’d just decided to kill my father. It made sense in my increasingly chaotic mind.

I picked up speed halfway down the hall. Unlike many of the other doors in the house, I happened to know that my father’s bedroom door wasn’t reinforced with metal. It was a simple wooden door that had come with the house and he’d never quite gotten around to replacing it. In other words, it was vulnerable. The thing about doors that not many people realize is that a door is the equivalent of a board balanced on two cinderblocks. If you hit any wooden door in the right place with the right amount of force, then locks don’t mean a damn thing. You can have deadbolts, chains, whatever piece of metal makes you feel better, and it won’t matter because the person who really wants to get in has physics on their side.

And it was on my side this time because I really, really wanted to get through that door. I hit the door at a sprint, my shoulder leading the way, and threw my body at the dead center of that three-inch block of wood. I didn’t even think about the pain as the door cracked inward. Unfortunately, it isn’t like in the movies. The door doesn’t really explode unless someone puts supernatural strength behind it. It kind of cracks on the first go. It usually requires a couple of blows to make a hole the size of the human body. Unfortunately, I didn’t have the time for a second go because a bullet doesn’t need a hole. It tends to make one quite nicely without any help.

Dad had a gun of his own.

I felt the bullet whiz by my head at almost the same time I heard the gun go off. I suppose it was good fortune that I’d been thrown off by the force of hitting the door or the bullet might have landed squarely in my head. I didn’t have a lot of time to think since my impulse was to get my ass back up off the ground and get through that damn door and get my money. In spite of the crazy voices in my head, I had the good sense to at least provide myself with a little cover fire. I managed to get one shot through the broken door as a warning before I was tackled by 150 pounds of stronger-than-he-looked werewolf.

Neil pounced, throwing me to the ground and disarming me with startling ease. The Ruger shot across the floor and away from me. Before I could breathe, he wrapped his arms around me and was rolling away from the door. He held me tight and tried to cover my body with his.

I kicked, screamed, and to my eventual shame, pulled hair. I wasn’t thinking. I merely reacted. He stood between me and my money, and it didn’t matter that he was my friend. I needed to get to my money and then punish the man who had taken it from me. Anyone in my way was just collateral damage.