Excerpt: Ghedflæg

The glass-cutter rasped against the shadowy window, gliding smoothly along the flat plane. Fox stuck his tongue out through his teeth, nearly holding his breath with the effort of being quiet. The thin circle of glass popped free with a quiet crack. He froze, glancing around to see if anyone had heard, shifting nervously on the metal fire escape, but the alleyway was as empty as it had been the moment before. Fox reached in carefully, one gloved hand poking about in the dark for a latch. He prayed that it was not one of the ones that had been painted over—that would just make his night. In the distance, thunder rumbled. He rolled his eyes; that was the last thing he needed. He started to fumble faster, fingers finally tapping on the uneven surface. Thankfully it was not painted shut.
Thumbing the latch open with a squeak, he pushed up the sash slightly, just enough to get his fingers under the bottom. Miraculously it lifted silently just as the first raindrops started to come down. Fox stepped inside, silently cursing, and turned to shut the window again, thinking to keep the rain out. That was when he was the rain coming in through the hole he made.
“Ah, bollocks.” He glared at the steaks of water for a moment and then decided that there wasn't anything he could do at this point anyway, and turned his attention back into the room. It looked like a study, if you ignored the piles of newspapers and old coffee mugs and what might have been a pile of laundry. Well, now how was he supposed to find anything in this mess? First thing's first, he decided; look for a cabinet. People always kept valuables in cabinets. Or in desks, he thought, spotting such a piece of furniture in one cluttered corner.
He sneaked over to the desk, and poked under the papers, thumbing through the old envelopes there. In the process, he knocks over a coffee cup, it's moldy contents spilling over on a pile of old papers. Fox made a face and then moved on to the drawers.
They were mostly full of pens and more papers, broken bits of pottery, a stick of two (which was rather confusing) and quite a few knits of dried plants. One was locked, near the bottom on one side. Fox smiled. Behind his belt was his set of lock picks, which he dug out with care. They made a quiet clicking as he worked them in the lock. The latch inside gave easily, and he slid the door open with on hand, using the other to put away his tools.
Something did catch his eye on the inside of the drawer—it was cold to the touch and metallic. He drew it out carefully, lifting it into the thin light from outside. The object was a bit like clock parts, with many moving pieces. It was certainly old, but clearly broken and useless. Nothing of value there. He put it on the top of the desk and went back to rummaging through the rest of the drawer. Inside there was little of value, although there were a few of what looked like foreign coins, and those he threw into his pocket. The rest was nothing but junk, a few crystals and other new age junk. He glanced around from where he was crouched, and then stood to try picking through the book case.
Mostly it was full of journals and other boring things, certainly nothing worth stealing. As he crouched down, the floor boards under him gave a loud creak and he winced. Well, if someone was here, they surely heard that. He held his breath, listening for the sounds of someone moving in the room beyond. He had thought the owner was out for the night, but there was always the possibility that he'd come back since. He waited for a moment, then two, and turned back to what he was doing. He'd have to be careful when he stood up so that the floor wouldn't make so much noise.
Something between a pair of cover less journals tipped over when he moved one to search behind it, falling onto his hand and down onto the pressed wood beneath. It clattered and he jumped wincing. He picked it up; a metal disk, glinting golden in the light, and shoved it quickly into his pocket. He could have sworn he had heard something as when he dropped whatever it was. It was time to cut his losses and run.
Lightning flashed outside, followed after a moment by a roll of thunder. In the flash of light, he caught sight of what looked like the silhouette of someone standing by the door. In the flash of panic, he wondered how long the person had been standing there to the side of the door. He bolted for the window.
“Stop!” the figure of the woman said, and Fox tripped on something on the floor, landing on his hands and knees, chin smacking into the dusty carpet and raising a cloud of dust. He lay there dazed, hearing the woman behind him walk up behind. He was too stunned to do anything by lie there with his head spinning out of control. The woman nudged him over onto his back with one foot, and Fox rolled over, the room tilting wretchedly, and stared up at the woman towering over him.