Kara was high-up again, only this time none were around to see it. The orange glow of the street lamps had been extinguished hours before, and the faint lights of the stars were dim and distant this night, smothered by heavy cloud cover. Atop her roof she was invisible, dressed in black-on-black satin, with a shawl to cover her white-grey hair and a scarf to conceal her face. She padded over to the edge. It was a long way down, but that didn’t concern her. It never did. Across the street she could see the south face of the townhouse. The red-brick walls were ornamented with carved marble castings around each window. A lone side-door at street level was thick oak, painted cobalt-blue but varnished black by the hour. Across every window on the ground floor twisting, black-painted iron bars sheltered thick glass. Iron spikes, painted the same black, protruded all around the level where the second floor began, to prevent any ambitious climbers from scaling the immaculate facade.

From her vantage point, only a single weakness was evident; one that had not been on the two nights previous. On the second floor a single small window pane was open, just like Turner said it would be. He had visited that morning, in mufti, to offer complementary tickets to the man and lady of the house. He worked his magic, was invited in for refreshments, and left the window open before he departed. It had to be a small window, he explained, and in an unused bedroom. That way nobody would notice it was left open.

All that leaves me to do is bound across the breadth of the street, thread through a narrow window and land amongst bedroom furnishings while making little enough noise to not alert any of the servants. Should be easy enough.

Kara gazed across at the window one last time, gauging the distance. She paced a measured number of steps back, took a deep breath, and bolted for the edge. She was at a full sprint by the time her feet made their final plant on the sill of the rooftop. Kicking off, her body straightened like an arrow. She looked up over her arms only long enough to be certain she was on track for the narrow window. Then she ducked her head, closed her eyes, and felt the windowsill pass by inches from her shoulders and the top of her head. Her hands only traced the floor of the room for a moment, before her arms and head tucked in instinctively and she rolled gracefully over her shoulder and lightly onto her feet, sliding to a stop. Then she froze, ears pricked and at attention. Nothing stirred. The room was decorated with elaborate carpets and rugs, just as Turner said it would be.

Just as well. Anything else and I would have been a lot louder.

Confident her entry had gone unnoticed, Kara crept soundlessly to the door.

Light seeped through the gap under the door. She pressed her ear against it, but nothing could be heard in the hallway on the other side. She opened it excruciatingly slowly; it creaked just like Turner had warned her and every screech of the metal hinge caused her heartbeat to spike. Thankfully it opened inwards, and she could peer out without poking her head into the corridor. Soon it was open, and she ventured out into the hallway at a restrained pace, carefully measuring each placement of her feet, her head on a swivel. Unfortunately, just as Turner had warned, the owners of this particular townhouse did not have the inclination for buying things that Kara’s hosts usually did. Most people with money liked to buy things, and things meant clutter and hiding-places. The halls of this townhouse were uncharacteristically bare, and the lack of a good hiding-spot made Kara more nervous than she had been already.

A creaking sound somewhere up ahead caused Kara to duck quite recklessly into a nearby room.

No light under the door. Other doors either side are quite close. Please be a closet.

It was a closet. Kara waited amongst cobwebs and linen for footsteps that never came, and after a measured two-minute wait stepped back out into the hall. Soon she arrived at the study Turner had picked out. Kara was not a natural-born locksmith, and picking the door was always the hardest part. That’s why Turner had her practice so often. Practice paid off and, with her heart in her throat, Kara got into the study.

The drawer of the desk was also locked, but safely tucked away in the shadows and with the study door closed behind her, picking it seemed a much more manageable feat. It was open in no more than a minute, and Kara began the always-rewarding task of scooping silver and gold jewellery into her pockets. Then the door opened. Her breath caught in her throat. She crouched behind the desk before the door was opened fully, but there was no escape. Heavy footsteps edged closer to the desk.

Please don’t see me, please don’t see me.

It was no use. She knew what she needed to do.

I wish he won’t see me.

When it happened, it felt just the same as the first time. And she hated it. A nameless gaze of some terrible, far away entity fell upon her. The unwelcome presence of that gaze fell away almost instantly to a flood of energy, surging through her body like something indescribable. A waterfall pouring into a wineglass, or a bolt of lightning striking a candle. It only lasted an instant, but an instant was all it took to sap everything she had. She slumped to the floor. It took every ounce of her remaining strength just to lift her head. A large - rotund even - bearded man in a red nightgown rounded the desk, gazed upon the open drawer and his mouth fell agape.

“Clyde! Dirst! The study! I’ve been robbed!”

His eyes fervently searched every corner of the room, but they never once touched her. The same might not be said for the servants.

“… he won’t see me” she recalled.

Kara knew she had to stand. Heavily she lumbered onto all fours and began to crawl toward the door, avoiding the pacing man in the nightgown. Her head was splitting apart and she wanted nothing more than to throw up her supper, but somehow she rose to her feet. The hallway spun around her as she staggered through it, rushing at the echo of footsteps ascending the stairs. Back inside the unused bedroom, she closed the door behind her. Oh, gods no, she thought as the latch screeched her presence to all in earshot.

“What was that?!” she heard from the other room.

There was no time now. Her vision was blurring and her muscles were losing all feeling, but with no other option she lifted herself up to the window. With her upper half hanging out, she promptly fell out the rest of the way. Through the haze in her mind she could feel the air passing by as she fell through it towards the fast-approaching pavement. Before she felt the crack of bones upon paving stones, her descent ended as quickly as it began as she landed in a large, familiar pair of arms. Looking up through the haze she saw a bald head, a full beard of coarse black hair and a hard face.

“Bull…?” she asked, moments before she fainted.