Charles didn't want to spend all afternoon keeping an eye on Lillian, but he refused to leave her alone with Juliette. Although he knew Juliette was a very capable child, this thief was wily, and he would never be able to forgive himself if something happened to the small battle mage. 

Unfortunately—and much to Charles' horror—Juliette seemed to have developed a sort of strange affection towards the thief, treating her more like an older sister than a potential assassin. She led her on a tour of the house, first pointing out everyone's bedrooms and then bringing her into the small reading room on the second level. She plucked several books off the shelves—which she made Charles carry as if he were her pack mule—and then took everyone downstairs to explore the parlor, kitchen, dining room, and the small back garden where the plants James tended overgrew their pots and fought each other for sunlight.

"And the last spot is Charles' office," Juliette said, pointing to the door tucked under the stairs. "It's so cool. He has a collection of memories in there, and a scrying glass..."

Charles saw the thief's eyes lingering on the door and he made a mental note to seal it against intruders.

"Let's take a break and read!" Juliette announced suddenly, dragging the thief into the parlor.

When they walked into the room, they found James on his hands and knees, scrubbing at the soot marking the floor.

"How's it going?" Juliette announced, plopping down on the settee.

"It's almost gone, thank goodness," James said. He looked up and grinned. "Everyone making friends, I see?"

Charles rolled his eyes. Lillian didn't say a word. Juliette was the only one who said, "Of course!"

The ten-year-old then gestured impatiently at Charles. "Let me see those books."

Charles obliged, passing her the stack, which she rifled through quickly. She finally settled on a volume to give to Lillian.

"Here. Read this one. I think you'll like it. There's adventure and a pirate and... well, I don't want to give it away."

"Thanks," Lillian said. She took the book carefully and opened it to the first page.

"I'll step out," James said, gathering his cleaning supplies. "I need to start on dinner. Give me a call if you need anything—I'll be in the kitchen. Have fun you three!"

Charles wanted to beg his brother to stay, but James disappeared quickly, leaving Charles to his babysitting.

Charles sat awkwardly in an armchair, watching the two of them read—or perhaps pretend to read. While it was becoming more common for women to read, not many people he had met during his short time on the streets were literate, and so he initially assumed Lillian was simply appeasing Juliette by accepting the book she had offered her.

But after an hour of watching Lillian's eyes scan the text and her long fingers flip through pages, he decided that she could, in fact, read—which made him all the more curious about her.

"Where did you say you were from again?" he asked.

But of course, she didn't answer him. She never did.

Dinner was an awkward affair as well. To appease Charles' demands to limit the number of knives around their new guest, James had decided to make a stew. Typically James would pour each serving in the kitchen and then carry the bowls to the dining room. But as he was clearly vying for Lillian's trust, he brought the large pot into the dining room and poured each serving in a grand display that Charles knew was for Lillian's benefit. Still, the thief was apprehensive, watching everyone else dive into their meal and leaving her soup untouched.

"I promise, it's not poisoned," James said kindly.

"And it's really good!" Juliette said, mouth full of stew.

Still, Lillian waited a good ten minutes before tentatively tasting the broth. Once she had taken her tiny sip and waited another few minutes, she took another bite. And then another, with growing confidence. Soon she had finished the bowl and asked for seconds.

James beamed at their guest, getting her another serving, while Charles did his best not to roll his eyes. So she gets a free meal, and I'm no closer to learning about these cultists, he thought bitterly.

As dusk fell over the house and James lit the candles to beat back the darkness, Charles finally conceded that he was not going to get anything out of her tonight and that he would have to formulate a better plan for tomorrow.

As Juliette was staying in the only spare bedroom, Charles was forced to give up his own chamber for the thief. When she announced she was ready to retire for the evening, he escorted her to his room, somewhat bitterly. "You can stay here tonight," he said, pushing the door open for her.

Lillian appraised the space—the four-poster bed, the thick curtains, the wooden vanity—and raised an eyebrow. "A bit gaudy, but it'll do."

Charles couldn't believe his ears, but before he could say anything, she said, "Good night," clearly dismissing him.

It took all of Charles' willpower to hold his tongue. "Good night," he muttered as Lillian disappeared inside his bedroom. However, he didn't leave once the door was closed. Instead, he pulled a sachet of herbs out of his pocket and started sprinkling them onto the floor.

"Impedi hoc ostium," he whispered. At his words, the herbs began to swirl around his feet, as if lifted by a gentle wind. "Praetereat nemo nisi me. Defendite haec domi dum mane venit... Seal this passage. May none but me pass. Protect those in this home until morning comes."

As he finished his spell, he noticed James lingering at the end of the hall.

"Yes?" Charles asked.

James held up his hands defensively. "I didn't say anything."

"It looked like you wanted to, though. Come on. Share."

James hesitated. "I just... don't like how you're treating Lillian."

Charles blinked. "Excuse me? How exactly am I treating her? The only thing I've done is seal her door—like I told you I would. I'm not letting her slit our throats in the middle of the night."

James exhaled. "It's not the door. It's just... the way you look at her. Like she's going to sneak up behind you and stab you at any moment. It's so obvious you distrust her. How do you think she'll relax and tell us anything if you're always on the defense around her?"

Charles took a step closer to his brother. "James, we just brought a thief into our home who we know nothing about!" he hissed. "She could be a mage. She could be a spy. She could be an assassin. I let you put that bracelet on her, but I refuse to let my guard down. Not after what she did to me."

He started down the stairs and James followed. He needed to grab a set of spare sheets from the linen closet so he could sleep on the couch. As Charles angrily opened the wooden door, James sighed.

"You're mad at me."

"Of course I am," Charles admitted. "I don't how you can be so naïve sometimes."

"I'm sorry, Charles. Maybe you're right and I'm being naïve. But I like giving people the benefit of the doubt. I just... don't think she's that bad."

Charles scoffed, digging through the closet for a blanket. "How do you get that sense? From all the wondrous conversation we've been having with her?"

"Don't you think it says something that when Juliette was pretending to be lost in the square, she offered her food?"

"It could have been an act," Charles said, walking into the parlor and throwing the sheets onto the sofa. "Or she could have been luring her off to sell into slavery—or maybe even pass her off to that cult."

"I don't think so," James said. "Juliette told me she seems genuine. And she's the one who's spent the most time with her today."

"I spent just as much time with her," Charles bit back. "Or did you forget that I was stuck babysitting the two of them all day? And you're going to trust a ten-year-old's opinion over mine?"

James opened his mouth to say something, but then just exhaled. "I can see you're in a mood and I'm not going to change that. Just... think about what I said. Now I'm going to bed. Good night, Charles." And with that, James left the parlor and retreated to his chambers.

Charles groaned and rubbed his face. It's amazing how kindness can make you stupid, he thought. Then, after a few minutes of feeling annoyed, he dug into his pocket for his sachet of herbs. He had a lot more doors to seal. 

In the middle of the night, as he slept on the settee, Charles felt a tug on his gut. At first it was something he could ignore, like a mild hunger pang. But soon the sensation grew, turning in a gnawing, churning pain. It eventually drew him from his sleep, and as he stared at the ceiling in the parlor, he suddenly realized what it meant.

The tracing spell in the bracelet.

Lillian's not in the house.

He threw off his blanket and ran upstairs. The herbs he had used to seal his bedroom door were still on the floor, still subtly glowing from his spell. But as he rushed into the room he realized his mistake.

The window was open, curtains flapping in the breeze.

He had sealed all the doors; he hadn't sealed the windows.

"Shit!" he cursed.

He ran to the spare bedroom and banged on the door. Juliette answered it a few seconds later, rubbing her eyes. "What's going on?" she asked.

"Get dressed," he barked. "Lillian's gone."

Juliette's eyes widened and she retreated into the bedroom to change.

As Charles waited impatiently for her, James stumbled out of his bedroom, a single candle flickering in his grasp. "What's going on?"

Charles felt anger well up in his chest like a wave. "Your precious thief escaped!" he shouted.

James' jaw dropped. It took him a second to form words. "Let me put my things on—"

"Don't bother," Charles bit back. "I don't want you coming with us. You've already messed things up enough." He grabbed his clothes from the day before, changed into them quickly, and then raced back downstairs into the kitchen. He threw open the door to James' potion cabinet and rifled through his collection, pulling out a selection of vials—he needed to be prepared if he was going to face this thief again. The glasses clanked against each other as he shoved them into his pockets, but he didn't care if he was being careful.

I hope you can hear this, James, he thought bitterly. You should be feeling bad. This is your fault.

Juliette appeared in the kitchen a minute later, blonde hair thrown back into a messy ponytail. "I'm ready to go, Mister Abbot."

"Good," Charles said, grabbing her arm and racing to the front door.

As they threw on their shoes, Charles could see James out of the corner of his eye, hovering at the top of the stairs. But Charles didn't give his brother the satisfaction of a look, and without turning back, he and Juliette ran out into the night.