Painted Devils (Little Thieves, #2)

by Margaret Owen

To the wicked girls, The hard truth about shooting for the moon is, when you miss, you don’t always land among the stars. Sometimes all that slows the fall are the thorns. The good news is: The sun won’t see you coming.

The princess spoke the words as a wall between herself and the world. And she told herself no one would be foolish enough to die trying to climb it.

“You,” he says blearily, “are an unparalleled devil from hell in your sleep.” “What?” Emeric rubs his eyes. “You stole all the blankets. And then you rolled up in them, like a, a crêpe, so they were stuck on your side. And then, when I tried to take one off the top, you turned over, looked me straight in the eye, and said—and I quote—‘I’ll kill you.’” “I never.” “You followed it up with ‘It’ll look like an accident.’” That unfortunately tracks. Mortified, I wordlessly free one side of the blankets and extend it to him. He sheds the laundry and scoots under with a grumble that subsides when I wrap my arms around his chest. He is rather dreadfully chilly. I mumble into his nightshirt, “Well, at least you know I can’t come up with a decent murder threat in my sleep.” “Quite the contrary,” he says, almost a touch impressed. “I asked several follow-ups. Your plan was shockingly robust.” “Nooo,” I groan. “One of your contingencies involved a pig farm.” “I’m never going to hear the end of this, am I?”

“Could … could you explain a little more about that saying?” Bajeri looks to Joniza. She gives a go ahead nod. “I already know,” I chime in. “Joniza told me after a bottle of wine.” Bajeri lets out a belly laugh as Joniza swats my arm. Then he puts a hand on Emeric’s shoulder, his face turning deadly serious. “Young man,” he intones, “it means, ‘When you want white people to stop arguing with you, make up a proverb.’” He gives Emeric a little shake and lets go, his agbada swishing as he heads for the door. “We will leave at nine sharp.” “Not eight?” I ask. “That proctor woman knows if she makes you late, we will leave without you,” he says dryly. “Of course I told her eight.”

I have been called many things in my life, but “temptress” is a new direction entirely. “Uh?”

I lean my head on him. “I’m tired,” I say quietly, “of watching the empire make a thousand more girls like me, every day.” Then I stand. “I’m going to go wash off this mess.”

“The good news,” Emeric says, writing furiously in his notebook, “is that she’s probably an immensely powerful demon.” “We need to discuss your standards for good news,” I say darkly as I pace the carpet of the library study.

There’s money laundering? And you didn’t invite me?

I want her to remember how one moment of casual cruelty became the worst mistake of her life. And I want her to remember this moment when, after years of getting rich at the cost of girls like me, one of us took everything from her.

Gold and shadow explode on either side of me: Godmothers Death and Fortune in all their glory, radiating the coldest of wrath. “Your luck,” Death tells Marthe, “just ran out.”