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  Over the past three weeks she and Anithia had become friends. Ani was such a bright, charming young woman. Simta easily understood why Larson had fallen in love with her. How could a man not become besotted with such a comely, well-mannered girl?

  “Simta?” The shadow next to her moved closer. “Are you sure the roof will support you?”

  Simta sighed. “Yes, Selnac. For the hundredth time I will not fall through the roof. Please remember, we’ve burgled this place before.”

  Selnac slipped back into the shadows. “I’ve heard bad things about this place of late. I wish you wouldn’t go in.”

  Simta frowned. Now was not the time to get cold feet. “Look, you and I both need this hit. I’m only going back on my vow this once, and then I’m through with the life. I owe you, and I owe Ani.” And the gods only knew it was about time she did something good with her skills.

  “It’s not the same owner. There’ve been rumors.”

  Simta stood in preparation of throwing the hook and rope over the roof’s edge. “Stop worrying, mother hen. This street is normally quiet, and the hellborn have been thin lately. I’m going in. Be ready at the back door. Rap loudly if anyone comes around.”

  “But—”

  With a practiced heave, Simta threw her grapple to the rooftop and tugged at it carefully until the hook lodged itself on the roof’s edge. She jerked once to test its hold, jerked again, and then up she flew to the roof. Like a cat stalking its prey, Simta slinked along the rooftop to the chimney. Tying off her rope around its base, careful not to dislodge any of the bricks, she lowered herself in.

  As expected, the chimney was cold. Most business fireplaces were only ever used in the winter to warm the shop and sometimes to warm a midday meal and some tea. The merchant who owned this shop lived uptown in a large manor overlooking the port.

  Something stirred below her. It growled, and Simta smiled as she pulled several chunks of drugged arvid meat from her bag and let them fall. Large, dark, gangly heads snapped and tore at the meat, devouring it in moments. The beasts growled and barked at one another while trying to grab the last bite.

  Come on you stupid damn beasts, Simta silently cursed.Fall over. Sleep. Good gods and two— go hump each other for all I care, just get out of my way. Simta’s back and feet ached as she pressed against the chimney wall. She was out of shape for this sort of life. The drug should have taken effect almost immediately. What was taking so long?

  Eventually, soft snores and snuffles drifted up the flue. Simta let the rope drop the rest of the way to the bottom. It made a soft thud. As she wiggled and inched her way down the rope, she thought to herself more than once that she needed to lose some weight. Either the chimney had shrunk in the last year or her lard ass needed more exercise.

  Simta dropped the last few feet, scraping both her butt and her pride. She landed in a crouch, ready for anything. That isalmost anything.

  The dogs had fallen asleep on the hearth, not a foot away from her. Unbelieving, she stared at the massive mound of flesh. One stumble, one hiccup, and she would fall on them.

  Reaching into her bag, she pulled out her hand of glory and lit the hanged man’s waxy fingers with a striker. It was a rare magic item, one she hated to waste on dogs, but with her new life she would never have need of it again.

  Acrid, sleep inducing smoke soon filled the room, assuring her the animals would not rise. Since Simta had lit the fingers, she was immune.

  After setting the hand down, Simta placed her left foot carefully in the center of the pile, the only space big enough to do so. She waited, making sure she had her footing. Nothing stirred. Simta lifted her other foot from the hearth, swung it wide, and placed it in a space just big enough for her to stand on the ball of her foot. The next move would be the trickiest. Balancing on the ball of her foot, she lifted her left foot and placed it next to the outermost dog’s head, inches from its mouth. It was, she noticed, a really big mouth. Where the hell did the owner get such huge dogs? Simta closed her eyes a moment to get the image out of her head. She truly hated dogs when she worked.

  Simta’s legs were stretched wide, almost too wide. One slip, one wrong twist, and she would end up directly on top of the pile. Not the place she wanted to be. Drawing in a deep, silent breath, she released it slowly in an effort to calm her nerves. She could do this. She had to do this, for her sake as well as Ani’s. She wanted to keep Anithia in her household, to have a true confident she could trust, someone who really cared what she thought and how she felt. Besides, this was the only way she could be free of Charmaine. Calto had promised— sort of.

  Simta closed her eyes, opened them again, and tensed her muscles. She would need to push off with the ball of her foot with enough force to end up balancing on her other foot but not so much it toppled her over onto the floor.

  Now or never.

  Simta pushed. Erect, she tipped. Swinging her airborne foot behind her, she hopped with the other, pitched forward and slightly sideways, and landed heavily on the floor. Sucking in a lungful of air, she strained to listen.

  Nothing.

  Simta released the air from her lungs in a soft whoosh and got up quickly. That had been too close for her liking. Her heart beat so hard she thought it was trying to escape her chest. Oh yes, this was definitely her last time.

  Frowning, she glided along the carpeted floor to the counter. The lockbox where the owner kept his diamonds was tucked securely behind a hidden wooden panel. She knew this because her cousin Jeral was a diamond trader. After catching a glimpse of the hidden panel, he had one just like it installed on his transport coach. The ruse had worked well until someone stole the coach.

  In a matter of moments she had the panel removed and the lockbox picked. The diamonds inside were large, so large it made Simta uneasy. They were distinctive and rare and so would be difficult to fence. Only the half-were, Mathew Changer, could handle this merchandise.

  Pocketing the diamonds, she replaced the lock and panel after setting the box back where it belonged. She would worry about fencing the diamonds later. Right now she needed to worry about covering her tracks.

  A shuffling sounded from the store’s back room. Simta heard footsteps and voices.

  “Oh sweet Ano,” she whispered as the voices grew clearer.

  “I don’t think they are the proper solution, Radno,” a woman’s muffled voice said. “We need someone who won’t betray you to Calto.”

  “But my cats are perfect spies,” a man’s whiny voice insisted. “Nobody suspects a cat, and mine can talk.”

  “Some of them can talk, and those that do would rather curse your name than follow your orders. Besides, Calto hates cats. He won’t allow them in his home. How about this? Can you make a couple of your cats large enough to eat him or big enough to kill him, at the least? Now that would be a proper use of your pets.”

  “I am so screwed.” Simta whispered, but she was too old a hand at this game to freeze at the first hint she might get caught. Moving like the shadows she was trying to imitate, Simta slipped back toward the flue only to discover using the chimney was no longer an option. One of the oversized dogs had rolled over. It lay half in, half out of the hearth. Worst, the beast had rolled over her hand of glory, extinguishing its flames.

  Shit. Shit. Shit.

  Fighting panic, Simta silently ghosted toward the front door only to find it fastened on the inside with a heavy chain and three heavy locks too large for her tools. Damn them! Who the hell would bother chaining a door that already bore six separate locks?

  “Did you hear something?” the whiny voice asked faintly.

  “You’re so jumpy you always hear things,” the woman answered. “Let’s get back to my—”

  “No, I swear I heard something, but not the dogs. I don’t hear them stirring.”

  Front door chained, windows barred, back exits covered by unexpected people, and the flue blocked by a snoring dog, she was running out of options. The best she could do was hide and hope
for the best. Thank the Seven and Two she had replaced the panel. The opening wouldn’t give her away.

  Turning, she slipped back into the main room as footsteps approached from the back. Earlier, she had spotted a small, dark opening under the counter, a perfect place to hide from notice. Simta squeezed into the tiny space, inhaling deeply to fit. Oh yes. There was definitely a diet in her future.

  The door leading to the back rooms opened. Dim candlelight spilled onto the floor but did not reach her hiding spot.

  “For Zorce’s sake, Radno. I told you no one else is here.”

  Two figures stood in the doorway, waiting, listening. The taller figure, a woman by her distinctive curves, took another step into the room.

  “Or maybe there is,” the woman added. “Something is amiss. Does the room seem a little smoky to you?”

  Simta’s stomach lurched, and her bowels gurgle.

  The woman walked deeper into the room, disappearing from Simta’s sight. The man, Radno, followed.

  Long minutes passed. Simta listened carefully as the two inspected their sleeping dogs. A chill ran up her spine, raising the hairs on the back of her neck and arms. Had they found the rope inside the flue or the hand of glory now half-buried beneath a dog?

  “Shall I?” the man asked.

  “Do it,” the woman ordered, and the room filled with Radno’s soft chant.

  Despite herself, Simta had no choice but to listen. Somehow, the words mesmerized her. They seemed to fill her in a way she had never before been filled. Her body curled in upon itself as they took hold.

  Feeling trapped, Simta clamped a fur covered hand over her mouth and meowed.

  Meowed?

  Holy Fucking Omitan!

  Screeching, she flew from a no longer too small hiding place and fell into a caterwauling heap of pain. Bones slid, compressed. More fur sprouted across her shrinking body. She wriggled, flopped, and crawled within clothes that no longer fit.

  “Damn you, Radno!” the woman yelled. “You took the change too far! Catch him so we can discover for whom he spies.”

  Scampering from her clothes on four furred feet, Simta raced for the back rooms the two had just come from. Fear, pain, confusion, all warred within her compact body. She had to get out— had to escape— now— right now. Streaking down a short hallway, Simta entered one of the rooms and leapt on a large table covered in vials of multi-colored liquids, knocking several over. She skidded in something slimy and green, coming to a halt after sending a large candelabra crashing to the floor. Candles flew from their holder to ignite liquids she had spilled.

  “My work! My work! You stupid cat!” Radno screeched at Simta from the doorway.

  She saw him clearly in the growing light. He did appear to be the shopkeeper, Radno Hornblaster, but he wasn’t the Radno she had studied. That Radno had been a tiny and prim man, one with too much money and no magic. This Radno was dressed in a long, blood red robe, tied at the waist with a silver cord. His long, pale, gaunt face was twisted into a mask of rage. Behind him, equally pissed, stood Sulya Ibarra, Calto’s partner and rumored paramour. One of Sulya’s hands rested on her hip, the other gripped her sword hilt.

  What was Calto’s partner doing here?

  Seeing Simta, Radno lunged. Simta hissed when he drew near, raking his face with long, sharp claws. Blood spouted from four nasty scratches. Cursing, Radno covered his face with a long, stick-fingered hand. “I’ll feed you to the hounds!”

  Simta leapt from the table, dodging the angry man’s booted foot as it kicked out at her. Sulya dived, missing Simta by a tail. The knight cursed as she kicked out, grazing Simta’s side, knocking her through the open door. Simta raced down the hallway, into the main room and toward the chimney only to slam into the head of a sleeping dog. Yelping surprise, the beast shook its gigantic skull and stood up. Simta yowled when it turned its boulder-sized head to her.

  This was no mere dog. It was too large, and its face bore protruding horns. The creature glowered at her with eyes of hellfire. Below those eyes was a mouth filled with long, serrated teeth. When a glob of drool hit the floor, it sizzled.

  Simta’s bladder released its contents, quickly forming a puddle. Frozen, she watched as the other two hellhounds woke, shook their heads, and stood.

  Please Anothosia, Trelsar— help me.

  No, fuck that. If ever there was a lost cause in want of hope, this was it. She needed Nedross’s intervention even if he was a made-up god created by that idiot Ludwig’s former servant.

  A loud bang brought Simta to her senses. She turned and ran back toward the room still holding Radno and Sulya. The hounds followed. Sulya and Radno flew from the room as Simta entered. She leapt between Radno’s legs, entangling his long robes about his feet. The hounds dived under Radno, sending him squawking into the air like a wingless bird. Sulya was quicker than the little man. She leapt to the side, barely preventing a hellhound’s massive maw from taking off her front leg.

  “Get the cat, you stupid mutts!” Sulya screamed at the beasts, kicking the one who had nearly taken her leg. It reared up, mouth baying open.

  Simta gave a small and pathetic mewl as the beasts stopped to crouch, treating her like a mouse with which they wanted to play. The sound of one hound’s growl ripped through her body like tiny knives. Her fur stood on end as she backed toward another chained door.

  The hounds lowered their huge, horned heads toward Simta. They knew they had her cornered. Raw evil danced within their eyes. Simta jumped, yowled, and clawed against the door. She had nowhere left to go.

  Simta screamed inside.I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die, I’m gonna die!

  The hounds charged, their jaws slathering drool. Simta leapt straight into the air, claws extended. She landed on top of one horrid beast’s head, hooking her claws deep into its scalp.

  Rising to two legs, the hound yowled. Its momentum carried it into the door with a resounding crash, splitting the door in two.

  Simta might now be a cat, but she was no fool. When safety beckoned, she grabbed it. Leaping to the ground, she fell into a tumbling roll of fur and feet. Dazed, she regained her footing and took off through the split door and into the dark with the hounds on her heels.

  Simta twisted and turned through the dark streets of Yylse with the hounds baying behind her. She rounded a corner onto a main street, and the hounds still followed. Her legs felt like jelly. Her head ached, throbbed, feeling like it would explode if any more blood was pumped through it. She couldn’t last much longer. Soon she would be a hound’s next snack. They were closer. She could smell their breath, the stench of sulfur and rotting meat. She heard their panting just behind her back.

  Slam

  Something crashed behind her. Simta whimpered. Ahead, she saw Trelsar’s white marble temple looming large against the darkened sky.

  Come to me, Simta. Come to me if you wish to live.

  Simta howled at the suddenness of a voice inside her head. Who called? Radno? Did he have the power to call to those he changed?

  Slam, Slam!

  Something else struck the ground behind her. A hellhound howled pain. Before her, the door to Trelsar’s temple opened wide, a soft light shining from within.

  Simta didn’t hesitate. She sprinted the last hundred feet, sliding and rolling into the temple’s open door, landing in a pathetic heap of furry feline. Behind her, she heard a click, and felt someone stroke her head and body. She wanted to hiss, wanted to bite the hand touching her, but she was too weary, too exhausted to even open her eyes. She couldn’t have defended herself if she had too. Her strength was gone, her paws swollen, and the way her back leg felt, something might be broken.

  Giving up, Simta opened her eyes to view her fate.

  Standing above her, smiling sadly down, was the old man she had met in the Downs, the one with the kind, blue eyes. Only this time he was dressed in a simple, white robe.

  “Oh, Simta. My sweet, sweet Simta. I know you meant well.”

  Simta mewled
, wanting to stand, wanting to tell him she was sorry for her lapse, but it was too much. She closed her eyes and began drifting off to sleep with the kind man’s hand still gently stroking her fur. She had wanted to be carefree and independent. Part of her supposed those words described the life of a cat. Maybe so, but it wasn’t the life she sought. She was ruined, but she might still be of some use to her family. When she woke, she would find Calto and warn him about Sulya. Or maybe when she woke she would be back in her own bed, the entire night nothing but a bad dream.

  Or maybe she should just get used to being furry.

  * * * *

  Sulya watched from the mouth of a dark alley as her fellow knights murdered her pets. Silent, angry tears slid down her face. Those hounds had been gifts from Zorce. She had earned them with her hate. Inside her, Zorce’s poison roiled like an angry beast, wanting to rise up from the depths and destroy Anothosia’s knights. It wanted to send its fire burning through their bodies and watch them die in agony. Sulya agreed with the poison, but she did not have enough strength to handle its aftermath, not when she hadn’t slept in two days. Angered by her refusal, the poison nibbled at the edge of Sulya’s soul and worried at her organs.

  It hurt. Always, it hurt. Waves of dull pain shivered through her body. Sulya knew she would have to soon give the poison back to Zorce. No one but a dark god or his genetic minion could hold such true evil in their bodies for long. Not even similians, creatures bred and born of magic, could contain such fell energies. Only if Sulya allowed a powerful devil of Hell to partially transform her into a created hellborn could she continue to control the poison.

  She found the thought of having scales upon her body and having her beauty defiled disgusting. Her allure over humans was one of her greatest weapons. She would not throw that weapon away. No, she had lived three hundred years in this body, two hundred of those spent battling her way up Hell’s hierarchy, lying, stealing, betraying, and killing to gain Zorce’s attention. She would not betray her body for a doubtful promise. More often than not Hell’s gifts were a double-edged sword, cutting a person on both sides, cleaving the unwary in half if they could.