I didn't sleep well that night.
Vivienne's text kept replaying in my mind. "I know when someone is playing a role." She was suspicious, which meant the job had just become exponentially more dangerous. A paranoid witch with detection wards and magical defenses was not someone you wanted questioning your every move.
The next morning, I found Marco in the planning room, already going over schematics of Vivienne's townhouse.
"We have a problem," I said, closing the door behind me.
He looked up. "What kind of problem?"
I showed him the text exchange. His expression darkened as he read.
"Fuck. She's sharper than the intel suggested." He set down his coffee. "You think she knows what we're after?"
"I don't think so. If she knew, she wouldn't have invited us to her home. But she knows something's off." I leaned against the table. "She's testing me. Trying to figure out what the real angle is."
"Can you still pull it off?"
"Maybe. But I need to change the approach." I gestured to the texts. "She's expecting me to lie, to maintain the cover. So I need to give her something that feels true without exposing the actual mission."
"Like what?"
I thought about it, running through possibilities. Then it clicked.
"I tell her the marriage is fake, but the interest in art is real. I'm a private collector working independently, and I hired Sarah to play my wife because it's easier to move in those social circles as a couple. It's close enough to the truth that it'll feel authentic."
Marco considered it. "That could work. Gives you a reason to have a cover story while not revealing the actual job. But it also makes you look shady."
"She already thinks I'm shady. At least this way, I'm the kind of shady she might find interesting rather than threatening."
"Your call. You're the one who has to sell it." He pulled up the townhouse layout. "Either way, we proceed with the plan. Three days from now, you and Sarah go to the showing. Tommy will be monitoring from outside – he's hacking into her security system to give us a thirty-second window when you signal. You find the necklace, grab it, and get out before she notices."
"And if she catches us?"
"Then Sarah shifts and we fight our way out. Not ideal, but we've done worse." He met my eyes. "Think you can keep her distracted long enough?"
"I'll manage."
---
The next two days were spent in preparation. Tommy worked on cracking Vivienne's security system – a nightmare of magical and technological defenses that made him curse creatively. Sarah and I refined our approach, adjusting our story to account for the new angle. And I couldn't stop thinking about Vivienne.
She was dangerous. Smart. Powerful. Everything about her screamed "don't fuck with me."
And yet, I couldn't deny the thrill of the challenge.
My phone buzzed regularly with texts from her – casual conversation about art, questions about Boston, observations about the supernatural community. Each message was friendly on the surface but probing underneath, testing my responses, looking for inconsistencies.
Vivienne: What got you into collecting supernatural art specifically?
Me: A piece I saw in Prague. A painting by a ghost artist – literally painted by a ghost. It captured something about the intersection of life and death that traditional art couldn't touch.
Vivienne: Poetic. Collectors I meet are in it for status or investment. You actually care about the art.
Me: Some things are worth caring about.
Vivienne: Indeed. I'm looking forward to showing you my collection. Fair warning – some pieces don't react well to skeptics. Keep an open mind.
Me: Always.
On the third day, Sarah and I prepared for the showing. We dressed more casually this time – still expensive, but less formal. The goal was to seem comfortable, like we were visiting a friend rather than executing a heist.
"Nervous?" Sarah asked as we drove to the Garden District.
"Should I be?"
"Definitely. This is a witch's home turf. She'll have every advantage." Sarah checked her weapon – a small pistol loaded with iron bullets, tucked into a concealed holster. "If things go south, follow my lead and don't try to be a hero."
"I'm not the heroic type."
The Garden District was exactly what it sounded like – tree-lined streets, historic townhouses, old money and older magic. Vivienne's home was a three-story brownstone with a small front garden. Elegant, understated, and absolutely crawling with wards.
I could feel them as we approached – detection spells, defensive barriers, alert systems. This place was a fortress disguised as a home.
[Warning: High-Level Wards Detected]
[Magical Defenses: Extensive]
[Detection Risk: High if hostile intent detected]
[Recommendation: Maintain genuine curiosity and non-threatening demeanor]
We rang the doorbell, and moments later, Vivienne answered.
She wore casual elegance – dark jeans, a silk blouse, her hair down in waves. Barefoot, which somehow made her seem more dangerous rather than less. In her own home, without the formal armor of a social event, she was even more striking.
"Alexander. Rebecca. Please, come in." She stepped aside, and we entered.