Rae's POV

"Shasta, no! Go back and stay with Bo, you can't come with me," I hissed.

The dog whined and looked up at me with deep, sad eyes. I tried to break their spell, but how could I just send him back when he was wearing that look? Relenting, I sighed. "Stay outside and be on guard. If anyone's coming, signal. Can I hear the signal?" He barked once, quietly.

And so we set off.

We stopped in what was clearly a rich neighborhood. I'd somehow known which streets to take, and ended up here. In front of me was a huge house, but I couldn't tell exactly where I was because of the nameplate was bathed in darkness. But who cared?

Deciding that this house was as good as any, I pointed to the shadows. Shasta trotted over and sat down, ears pricked.

"Good boy," I said, and then began climbing over the wall. All the lights were off in the dark courtyard, but my night vision had adjusted sufficiently. As a result, I didn't trip or knock into anything as I made my way to the door. Peering inside, I made note that there weren't any alarm systems (stupid of the owners), and then I began picking the lock. When I stepped inside, I nearly sank into the carpet; it was so soft.

I made my way upstairs, poking my head into every room along the way. Finally, I came to a pair of ornately carved doors and pushed one open. Well oiled, it made no sound as I put my shoulder against it and slipped inside. There was a large bed, right across from the door. Engulfed in the many blankets and billowing sheets slept an all too familiar Dottore.

What the hell! How'd I get here?

I looked around and hesitantly reached for a gold watch resting on a dresser—then pulled my hand back and backed up. No, I wouldn't steal from here. Not from here, not from this house. What if someone caught me? Scip would never trust me again… My over imaginative mind kicked into overdrive, playing through various scenarios; getting caught, Scipio recognizing me…I could pretend to not have known it was his house. Or I could—

I closed the door carefully on the Dottore and my thoughts.

Just as I was letting out the breath I'd been holding, a door opened down the hall. I spun around pressed myself into the shadows, gathering my hair around my face so that my pale skin didn't stand out. The door opened a fraction of an inch, shadows lurking behind it. I couldn't see the person who'd opened it, only a pale nose. A dark head emerged, flicking a glance left and right, wary. The contrast between shadows and moonlight was too great, and I couldn't make out who it was. But I had an idea, and as he straightened up and opened the door further my hunch was confirmed.

Damn.

Scipio was walking down the stairs slowly, haltingly, with a slight limp. He looked about him constantly, keeping his head low like a beaten, lost dog.

Silently I followed him (Thank God I didn't wear boots like Scip. How can you sneak in those, anyway?) downstairs into what was a small display room, connected to the kitchen. I hid behind the door that he had left open and peered through the crack between the door and the frame. The lights flicked on and blinded me, but after blinking a bit my vision cleared.

Scipio pulled out a chair and collapsed in it, his head falling back in exhaustion. Behind him was a maid, a first aid box lay open on the table. She began to clean some blood off of the left side of his face and handed him an ice pack, which he pressed against his right cheek to hide a swollen, fist-shaped bruise.

What had happened to him? I wondered anxiously.

"What did he do this time, Scipio?" the maid asked sympathetically.

"Can't remember past the kick," he said and gestured weakly towards his head. His voice was raspy and snagged in his throat, crackling as it passed his lips.

"You poor boy," the maid murmured.

I turned away from the door and stared into the darkness, shocked. As their words sank in, I closed my eyes and thought. What happened…? Can I help? I wondered to myself. Well, certainly not now, but later…? Should I confront him about it?

Idly, I picked up a small gold statue—a fox—in some cloth, and shoved it in my sack. Following the fox were some other figurines of bronze. My thoughts swirled behind my eyes as I began wandering around the house again. Soon I had some necklaces, three lily hair ornaments made of pearl or ivory (couldn't tell in the dark), and one silver brooch in the shape of a little bird. Its feathers were of sapphire, in its beak was a ruby.

Just as I was walking through the back door, I remembered my promise I'd made to myself. I shot a guilty look at the sack I carried, then sighed and shrugged. I closed the door behind me and walked towards the gate, which had been locked from the inside. I'd picked the lock and was opening the gate when the door to the house banged open.

"Stop! Who are you?" the Dottore shouted. His voice was slurred, but still I shivered at the rage in his voice. I didn't hesitate; shoving the gate out of my way and grabbing Shasta's collar, dragging him for a few steps before letting him run on his own. The Dottore chased us down the street, but he ran out of breath soon enough. Even so, we ran all the way back to the Stella. When we reached the theater, I went in through the back; a secret way that I knew would be there, though I wasn't sure how. No one was awake--that I could tell--as Shasta and I climbed the stairwell up to our box, where I dumped my sack in a corner. For a few moments I stood in the center of my room, staring blankly at my mattress. I still needed a blanket and a pillow…

Great.

This time I left Shasta in my room. I left the way I came in, and soon I was in front of what was obviously Ida Spavento's house. No idea how I knew, but I just did. Yawning, I made my way inside and pulled open the first closet I came to. A glance inside found that it was—miraculously—filled with quilts and pillows. Shrugging to myself, I chose a thick blanket that was quite obviously old, as well as a matching pillow. Both smelled of cedar. The smell of the wood brought up strong memories of home…

Home… Tears pricked the back of my eyes, but I blinked them away quickly. Crying later, get out now, I thought to myself.

I made my way back through the kitchen and put a hand on the doorknob, taking one last look around. The light turned on, and I froze.

"Stop where you are!"

Ida.

I spun around, coming face to face with the woman and her rifle. For a few breathless seconds we stood staring at each other, then I ducked and burst through the door, and ran all the way back to the Stella. Again. I ran on tiptoe to my room and closed the door with a soft thud, promptly collapsing against the door. I slid down to the floor, hand on my chest, wheezing. Stupid asthma…

Finally I caught my breath and collected myself. I pushed my mattress into the far corner of my room, putting the pillow in the exact corner. I had to fold the quilt in half just to get it near fitting on the small mattress. Then I kicked off my shoes, threw off my coat, gloves, and sweater, and slid under the thick blanket.

I said my prayers out of habit, rubbing my feet together absently to try and warm them up. The smell of cedar engulfed me, and my voice broke as tears filled my eyes. "Dammit," I whispered and wiped my eyes on the back of my hand. I might never be able to hug my mom, laugh at my dad, or yell at my sisters… Shasta was all I had left.

As if sensing my thoughts, he lay down beside me and whined. I closed my eyes, pulling him closer. I held my breath (not because he smelled like—well—wet dog, but because I was trying not to make a sound) and cried myself to sleep.

I dreamed of home, in December; and the rain fell around me like tears.

The next day I woke up late, but when I stumbled downstairs no one else was up. I wandered around for a bit, finally finding the bathroom, where I washed my face of the tears that encrusted my eyes and cheeks. Then I set about the task of brushing my unruly hair. When I finally came back into the main hallway, everyone was just waking up and making their way into the theater room.

I smiled, unnoticed, and went back upstairs to get my sack. Shasta, still asleep, was snoring softly on my bed. My smile broadened and I walked out with my pirate's booty thrown over my shoulder. Everyone looked up when I came into view.

"For Hornet," I said and handed Hornet all of the hair clips (they were ivory, not pearl). Her jaw dropped, her eyes widened, and she held the clips up the light with a reverence that was heartwarming. I continued to watch her reaction for a moment, then dumped everything else onto the stage. "There you go," I said offhandedly and threw myself into a seat to watch their expressions: Bo grinned as he held up necklace after necklace. Prosper merely gawked at me, while Mosca had his eyes closed, seemingly praying.

Riccio gaped at the pile, eyes so wide I was afraid that they'd fall right off of his face. But no wonder he was surprised—I'd probably brought more stuff than Scip ever did (for fear of getting a maid in trouble or something). Well I was the author of this story, so of course I'd be better. ...Right?

They bombarded me with questions, all of which I ignored except to give a smile.

"Breakfast, anyone?" I asked, suddenly famished. "I'll go get some!"

And I left, just like that.

When I returned, I was laden with bags and bags of food. I dropped them all on Mosca, and turned. "There. Now I'm going out for a walk. Ciao."

As I walked out into the crisp morning air, I sighed. In my pocket was the money left over from buying my new friends' breakfast; it was just enough to buy a loaf of fresh bread. I wasn't too hungry, actually, but I couldn't pass up the steaming, crunchy, golden crust…

I walked past a window and stopped to comb my hair a bit, staring into my reflection. Normal hazel eyes stared right back at me, extremely plain brown hair swished behind my waist, pale-ish skin contrasted with the dark clothes I wore… Everything about me was normal, plain-Jane. So why was I sent into Thief Lord and not some other fan? Not that I was really complaining…much…

I continued walking, not eating my bread yet. My appetite was more geared towards thought than food at the moment. For instance—Scipio.He'd looked so...so...small last night; like a beaten puppy who wants to grow up so it can bite back. But that left the question of who beat him? His father was the only likely person (and really, he was the only other character that would fit). But why? It wasn't in the book…

So lost in my mind was I that none of my brain was geared towards paying attention to where I was going. The few people who were out right now swerved to avoid me, paying me little to no mind—so I wasn't too worried about running into anyone.

I should have been.

As I turned a corner, I collided head-on with someone, and the force of the impact sent me to the ground. The other person fell onto me, and together we sprawled into a moaning, yelping, apologizing heap. "Sorry!" we both cried in unison; his familiar voice hitting my ears caused my head to jerk. Would you look at that?

"Scipio!"

Dressed in fancy clothes, a look of fear was frozen on his face. The deer-in-the-headlights appearance was directed at me, and his hands were trembling, ready to run.

"...Scip?"

My voice shocked him out of his trance and he shot up, scrambling away. I grabbed his wrist before he could get anywhere, then pulled myself up. "What the hell are you doing here?" I asked. He looked at the ground. A thought hit me, and a tendril of cold dread curled in my gut. "Your father isn't with you, is he?" This time, my voice was urgent.

"No, I sneak out sometimes to get away—" He stopped, an entire other person appearing on his face. "Did you follow me home?" he asked, suspicion in his voice. Though there was suspicion in his voice, the look on his face seemed almost amused.

I chose to ignore that. "Now, I'm going to let you go. You're not going to run, capisci?"

He nodded and relaxed, and I let go. Using my freshly freed hand, I ripped off a hunk of bread and handed it to him.

"How'd you know about my father?" he asked as we began to walk along.

"I know all of the rich families of Venice," I said calmly. Of course this was an absolute lie. "Including yours, Massimo. It's part of my job."

"I probably should have asked about that job before taking you in," he murmured. "So, what else do you know about me?"

I took a bite of my bread. "Well," I said around my chewing (great manners, Rae), "you're not actually a Thief Lord, for starters… Oh, by the way, I got some loot last night. The gang's gawking over it at home." I smiled innocently at him.

He raised an eyebrow. "So you're the thief my father is cursing to hell?" He glanced at me with a mix of arrogant disbelief, and appreciative admiration in his eyes. I tried to arrange my face into an innocent expression—really, I tried!—but my wolfish grin kind of defeated the purpose.

"Maybe," I said and he laughed.

"So, Cara," he began. I blushed when two nearby girls giggled at us, but tried to ignore them. "What were you doing not paying attention to where you were going?" It was as if he hadn't noticed the girls.

"Thinking," I replied coolly and swerved to avoid crashing with a man who wore an obviously false mustache and beard—what? NO! I froze, eyes locked on the man who'd just walked past me. My heart slammed against my ribs.

That was definitely Victor Getz.

"Merda," I whispered. In reply to Scipio's raised eyebrow, I explained. "Victor Getz, the detective that's after Prosper and Bo? That's him."

"I see…" His dark eyes narrowed, as if trying to read Victor's mind. "Let's tail him."

I snorted. "Are you kidding? You've got no experience! No offense, but you're not a thief." Neither was I, but still...

He attempted to glare, but his gaze was more hurt than angry. "I'm good at following people. It's the thievery that I haven't done," he said quietly. His voice was definitely hurt. Dang. Now I felt bad… To remedy this, I gave him a one armed hug.

"Well then, Tail Lord, let's tail Getz," I said, and then ran off after Getz. Scipio followed a few seconds later, scowling at my back.

We followed Victor for about an hour and a half, then I heard Scip's watch beep. It gave me a thought. "Hey, do you have any lessons or something you need to get back to?" I asked.

Scip didn't meet my eyes. "…Maybe…"

I turned to him, exasperated. "Quite obviously you do! When?" I put my hands on my hips and gave him the dreaded Evil Eye. He cringed.

"Ten minutes," he admitted.

I glanced at my watch (had I had it before…?) and then looked around, checking my internal map. "If we run we can make it," I sighed, and grabbed his hand. For a moment he just stood there, and then his warm, thin hand curled around mine and held on for dear life as I dragged him into an alley. Soon, we came out close to his house. I looked around a corner, then turned back to Scipio. "I shouldn't be seen with you, I think," I said quietly.

He nodded. "Right." For a moment we stood there, hand in hand, staring at each other blankly. Then he leaned back into the wall, hands in his pockets and eyes closed, trying to catch his breath.

I moved closer to him and was about to put a hand on his shoulder, but stopped and let it fall. "Scip," I said gently, trying to catch his attention. He looked up. "Be—"

"SCIPIO!"

The voice of the Dottore cut me off, and Scipio cringed, as though expecting his father to jump out and hit him. He didn't look at me, gaze anywhere but my face. "Arrivederci," he murmured, and then hurried off to his house.

I ran out after him, but then backpedalled. "Be careful!" I hissed, but the door was already slamming shut. Muffled shouts leaked out from an open window, but I didn't stay to find out what was happening. I turned, mind reeling, jaw clenched, steaming.

I had no doubt in my mind that Scipio's father abused him, and I worried.