And if they were that good, that stealthy, it could only mean one thing: She wasn't the only member of the so-called Finders' Guild planning to take advantage of Clarence Rittier's party.

“Olgun?” It was almost a whimper. “Things actually do go right for some people, yes? I mean, it's not just a foolish dream I have, is it?”

She was fairly certain that the god more or less shrugged inside her mind.

Widdershins's first instinct was just to leave. She had no real authority to make them go away; there were more of them than her; and she was somewhat unpopular with several factions within the community of Davillon's thieves, thanks to a minor misunderstanding some months ago that had resulted in the deaths of about a dozen Finders. It hadn't been her fault-not really-and the guild's leader, the enigmatic Shrouded Lord, had cleared her of any wrongdoing, but not everyone was eager to let the matter lie.

On the other hand, Widdershins had spent days planning this heist, there might not be another plum opportunity to match this one for a while, and-most importantly-there was more than just her own avarice riding on this.

With a grumble, a sigh, and an angry pout (which, she would have been mortified to learn, was really far more cute than it was menacing), she dashed once more for the roof's edge.

Not even a boost from Olgun would have allowed her to cross the entire boulevard separating the estate from her current vantage. Instead, she dropped over the eaves and clambered down the wall, her fingers finding holds as easily as if someone had placed a ladder for her convenience.