I spent the next day preparing like I was going into combat.
Because in a way, I was.
"You're insane," Tommy said, watching me review the updated intelligence on Vivienne's security system. "She knows you're a thief, and you're just going to walk into her house alone? That's seems more like a trap than a date."
"Probably," I agreed. "But it's also an opportunity."
"To get turned into a newt?"
"She won't do that. She's curious. And curiosity is something I can work with."
Sarah leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "What's the actual plan? And don't say 'wing it.'"
"I'm going to have dinner, be charming, and gauge whether she's genuinely interested or just playing me. If it's the former, I move forward. If it's the latter, I extract and we reassess."
"And the necklace?"
"If the opportunity presents itself naturally, I take it. If not, we move to Plan B."
Marco joined us, looking tired. "Victor called again. He's getting impatient. Apparently, Vivienne's been flaunting the necklace at social events – wearing it, showing it off. He wants it back now."
"Then he should've thought about that before he cheated on a powerful witch," I muttered.
"Not our problem. Our problem is getting paid." Marco fixed me with a hard look. "I'm giving you latitude because the situation changed. But don't get distracted by the pretty witch. Remember why we're doing this."
"I remember."
But as I got ready that evening – shower, shave, the nice suit we'd bought – I couldn't deny that this had become more than just a job. Vivienne was fascinating in a way I hadn't expected. Smart and damaged in ways that resonated with my own fall from grace.
And if I could complete the job AND corrupt her? That would be perfect.
I just had to survive dinner first.
---
The Garden District looked different at night. The street lamps cast golden pools of light, and shadows gathered thick between the historic homes. Vivienne's townhouse glowed with warm light from within, welcoming and dangerous in equal measure.
I rang the doorbell at exactly 8 PM.
Vivienne answered wearing a deep burgundy dress that somehow managed to be elegant and devastating simultaneously. Her hair was down, makeup subtle, and she held a glass of wine.
"Punctual," she observed. "I like that."
"I try not to keep beautiful women waiting."
"Smooth." She stepped aside. "Come in, Cain. Let's see if you're as interesting over dinner as you were in text."
The house smelled amazing – garlic, herbs, something rich and savory. She led me to the kitchen, where a pot simmered on the stove and the table was set for two.
"I hope you eat meat," she said, stirring the pot. "I made coq au vin."
"I do. And that smells incredible."
"Family recipe. My grandmother taught me." She poured me wine – a rich red that probably cost more than most people's monthly rent. "She was also the one who taught me magic. Said cooking and witchcraft weren't that different – both required precision, intuition, and knowing when to trust your instincts."
"Smart woman."
"She was." Vivienne's expression softened. "She would've liked you, I think. She always said the most interesting people were the ones who didn't pretend to be something they weren't."
"Is that why you invited me? Because I stopped pretending?"
"Partially." She leaned against the counter, studying me. "But also because you intrigue me. You walked into my home with a cover story, got caught, and instead of making excuses, you just... told the truth. That takes confidence or perhaps stupidity."
"Which do you think it is?"
"I haven't decided yet." She smiled. "That's what dinner is for."
We moved to the table, and she served food that was genuinely exceptional. The conversation flowed easily – art, magic, the supernatural community in the city. She asked about my "acquisitions," and I told her carefully edited stories that were true enough to be believable.
"So you've stolen from vampires, demons, and at least one very angry dragon," she summarized. "How are you still alive?"
"I'm very good at not getting caught. Usually."
"Until you met me."
"Until I met you," I agreed. "Though I'm starting to think getting caught was the better outcome."
[Target Attraction: +10%]
[Current Total: 45%]
[She's enjoying this despite her better judgment]
"Flattery again."
"Honesty again." I met her eyes across the table. "You're easily the most interesting person I've met in this city. And trust me, I've met a lot of people."
"Interesting is a diplomatic word."
"Would you prefer fascinating? Captivating? Dangerous in ways that make me want to see what happens next?"
She laughed, but her cheeks flushed slightly. "You're trouble."
"So are you. That's what makes this fun."
We finished dinner and moved to her living room, settling on a couch with fresh wine. The conversation shifted, became more personal. She told me about her marriage – how it had started well but deteriorated as her ex became controlling, jealous of her power, ultimately betraying her with someone he thought he could dominate.
"I should've seen it coming," she said, swirling her wine. "The signs were all there. But I wanted to believe in the fairy tale, you know? The powerful witch and the charming vampire, eternal love, all that bullshit."
"It's not bullshit to want connection."
"Maybe not. But it's naive to think it'll last." She looked at me. "What about you? You mentioned being alone a long time. By choice?"
"Not entirely. I had... responsibilities that didn't leave room for relationships. And the few I tried ended badly."
"How badly?"
I considered how much to share. Then decided – she'd given me honesty, I could return it.
"I was in a position of authority. People either wanted to use me for advancement or were afraid of what I represented. There was no middle ground, no one who saw me as just... me." I paused. "After a while, I stopped trying. Easier to be alone than constantly disappointed."
[Sharing Vulnerability]
[Target Response: Empathy]
[Attraction: +15%]
[Current Total: 60%]
[She's relating to your isolation]
"I understand that," Vivienne said quietly. "After the divorce, everyone looked at me with either pity or suspicion. Poor Vivienne, couldn't keep her husband. Dangerous Vivienne, probably cursed him. No one just saw... me."
"I see you."
"Do you?" She set down her wine. "Or do you see a mark? Someone to charm and manipulate and steal from?"
"I see a woman who's brilliant, powerful, and lonely despite being surrounded by people. I see someone who's been hurt and is trying to decide if she can trust again. And yes, I see someone I'd very much like to kiss, if she'd let me."
The air between us went electric.
"That's a bold statement for a thief in a witch's home."
"I'm feeling bold." I shifted closer. "Tell me to leave, and I will. Tell me to back off, and I will. But if you're even slightly curious about what this could be..." I let the sentence hang.
Vivienne stared at me for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Then she laughed – soft and almost sad.
"Are you the best con artist I've ever met, or are you sincere?"
"Does it matter?"
"It should." But she was leaning in, closing the distance between us. "God help me, it really should."
I met her halfway, and our lips touched.