Stealer

By A.M. Yates

A Thief. A Portal. A New World. But can she get back home again?

Home alone over spring break, Dee looks forward to a week free from worries about her sliding grades, her lack of friends, and her mom’s overbearing boyfriend. But when she chases a thief out of her house, she ends up with a whole new set of troubles . . . in a whole new world. The Crescent. Where everyday objects possess extraordinary power. Where countless other worlds are mere steps away. And where the High Minister has a plan for a greater future . . . that Dee really didn’t mean to screw up. Really.

Pursued by masked hunters, all Dee wants is to get back home again. Yet her every move only entangles her deeper in the fantastic and dangerous new world of the Crescent.

• Language: English
• Publisher: A.M. Yates
• Release date: Jul 8, 2016
• ISBN: 9781943746071

A.M. Yates

a.m. yates collects pieces of souls. She meets with dead Russian writers in bamboo forests to discuss the color of the sunlight in the water. She seeks exceptions and similarities over generalities and differences. She feeds almost every stray the muse drops at her door and adopts out only the most demanding few. She suffers from two terrible addictions, both involving words. She has a life story, but it isn’t finished yet.

Book preview

Prologue

A World Without Stars

Verge stumbled out into the shadowed alley, blood dripping from his lips. He crashed onto his hands and knees.

Before he could get in a breath, the meathead twins picked him up, spun him around, and slammed him against the wall. Behind them, a corpulent frame eclipsed the pale light slipping through the doorway.

What did I tell you? Bog’s voice was a thick rumble. If you brought me one more inextractable, what did I say I would do?

Verge’s words were slurred by pain and blood. Suffocate me with Cloud’s rotted-blackfish breath?

Cloud drove her fist into his stomach.

He doubled over, gasping. Bolts of agony radiated from his gut out to his fingers. It was a good thing he hadn’t eaten yet that day. Otherwise, he might’ve vomited, and that would’ve been a waste, seeing as he was given so little to eat to begin with.

Dam shoved Verge upright again, planting a leather-padded forearm against his throat, pinning him to the wall.

His belly a full stride ahead of him, Master Bog stepped closer. His murky green eyes were perched close to the bridge of his nose, which flattened out at the tip. Maybe some lucky slug had squashed ol’ Bog good and hard on the paveglass at some point.

The thought of Bog’s face flat on the street made Verge smile.

What’s so funny, stealer? Spit splattered Verge’s face as Dam spoke. I hate you stealers, always smiling. Think you’re smart, is that it?

Only when you’re around.

Bog placed a hand on Dam’s massive shoulder, stopping him before he could jam his meat hook into Verge’s tender vitals again.

Then Bog let a lovely gold watch slip out of his fist, dangling it by a delicate chain almost as fine as Weaver’s Thread.

What is this? he asked.

What you asked for, Verge replied.

Bog snatched the watch up into his hand again. The pasty flesh of his second chin quivered. I told you to bring me a piece of time! Not this… His eyes bulged as his voice turned taut and dark. You knew exactly what this was.

"How would I know that? Verge asked, feigning innocence. I’m just a lowly little stealer."

I know what you’re thinking, Bog said. And he probably did. The leader breed was manipulative, cut-throat, and acutely perceptive. You’re right, my boy. He stepped back. You’re the best. No doubt about it. I haven’t got a stealer better than you. That’s what worries me. Every time you shift, a trader’s got to wonder, ‘Will my light go out?’ He held up his left hand. Three of his fingers sported rings, each as different as the stealer to which it was connected. The middle one boasted a silver band with a gleaming black stone.

Verge’s Essence Stone.

We all depend on each other, yes? Bog went on, his tone rising from a simmer to a boil. "Each of us doing our part. Your part is to bring me something I can use!" He gave Dam and Cloud a go-ahead nod.

Dam released Verge’s throat as Cloud’s fist bashed into Verge’s side. Then it was Dam’s turn. Back and forth they went, Verge trapped between them. He knew they were holding back; he was no use to them dead. But he had a hard time feeling grateful.

In fact, he was having a hard time feeling anything—other than pain.

Master Bog?

Dam and Cloud stopped pummeling.

Verge crashed to the ground, pain devouring him like Unravelers munching holes through the fabric of his being.

Forgive our interruption, the new voice said. It was light, refined… unsettling.

Who the— Bog barked. "Oh, uh… Minister… I mean, Deputy Minister, what are you doing here? That is… We’re most honored to see you so… unexpectedly," Bog said. He was doing his best to sound honored instead of annoyed—and nearly succeeding.

Through the flashes of painlight bursting across his vision, Verge spied a slow swirl of elegant black fabric, like a choke of oil smoke, settling around a pair of slender, soft-soled shoes. Beside these were sixteen pairs of legs.

He blinked, refocusing, and looked again.

No, eight powerful legs, and they appeared to be painted black.

His heart lurched into that almost-caught-stealing pace. Those eight beefy limbs weren’t painted. They were clad in Unpenetrate.

KETS.

One of Keystone’s Elite Terminal Squads was within sniffing range. True-bred hunters—warriors. Not mutts like Cloud and Dam, but trained wolves.

The very thought drove an icicle of fear into Verge’s heart.

Battered as he was, he slid quickly upright without making a sound.

I’m most fortunate, the minister said, as I’ve been sent on behalf of His Eminence to seek you out, Master Bog.

Is that so? Bog sounded about as thrilled as Verge felt.

With stealer-stealth, Verge began to slink toward the opposite end of the alley, but the dazzling firecrackers of pain made him flinch. One of the minister’s wolves noticed.

Minister Quell, the guard growled.

They’d probably known Verge was there the entire time. KETS could smell blood.

Slug slime, Verge muttered.

The guard who had spotted him strode between Cloud and Dam, forcing them to skitter aside.

A low gurgle escaped Verge’s aching throat as the guard’s hand clamped down on his arm. He hauled Verge toward the minister.

All the pain from Verge’s beating rose up in a fresh, nauseating wave. Luckily, he swallowed the queasiness back, else he would’ve puked all over the minister’s very fine shoes.

And then he was standing before Deputy Minister Quell.

The man’s face was bland and unadorned; his top-knotted hair a flat, brown hue; his frame slight, in spite of the stiff coat that exaggerated the breadth of his shoulders. Even the narrow slits of his eyes were a dim brown—utterly unremarkable.

And yet, Verge’s squishy insides were all aquiver.

You are the stealer called Verge? Quell asked in his spider’s voice—weaving around Verge with silken, sticky, inescapable threads.

Before Verge could answer, Bog stepped forward, making Verge stumble back into Cloud, who shoved him aside into the wall again with a sneer of disgust. Another bombardment of pain shot through him, but he was plenty glad to be away from Quell.

Please, Deputy Minister, if you’ll tell me— Bog started.

This is the one who stole the sword last quarter wane. It was hard to tell if Quell was asking or reporting. And, the waxing before, a bell, also deemed inextractable.

Yes, I told him he’d better not be bringing me none of those—

"Are you saying this stealer recognized that the latents were inextractable?" Quell asked, his voice soft… dangerous.

Verge’s heart was hammering so hard he was sure they could all hear it in the silence that followed the minister’s question.

Bog glanced at Verge, his mouth agape. Verge could see the trader calculating his response. Bog couldn’t lie to Quell, or he could, but if he were caught… Well, that wasn’t worth it—no matter how good Verge was. And that was what this was about.

No doubt—Quell was here to acquire Verge.

He cursed his recklessness. He should’ve known flaunting his knack would attract this kind of attention. He’d only meant to infuriate Bog and impress one… or two young women.

Bog scratched at his chin thoughtfully, turning back to Quell.

Would this be an inquiry? he asked, in the trader parlance.

Quell didn’t mince words. It is.

Verge wanted to fall to his knees and beg Bog not to trade him.

But stealers don’t beg.

Name your price, Master Bog, Quell said.

Bog’s lips puttered, obviously taken aback by the breach of traders’ etiquette.

"Well, I’ve a knot of twenty to feed so… a ye—two years’ food credit? All-inclusive." Bog ran his hands over his belly, probably imagining eating all that food himself.

A bold first offer. Not that Quell would accept. No one accepted the first—

Done, Quell said. Except now, you have a house of nineteen.

He held out his hand for Verge’s ring. Bog hesitated, probably too stunned by the fact that he’d traded Verge for two years of supplies—an unheard-of price for any stealer.

I believe you can trust me to keep my word. I’ll have the papers sent over first thing in the morning, Quell said.

Yes, right, of course. Bog tugged at Verge’s ring. His flesh was swollen over the band, but after some twisting and swearing, it popped free.

And then, Verge’s life was handed over to Quell.

A fresh spill of blood seemed to flood Verge’s mouth.

Bring him, Quell said to his KETS. Good evening, Master Bog.

Two of the KETS hooked Verge’s arms and pulled him forward. Verge didn’t dare drag his feet.

What about his things? Bog called after them.

He won’t need them, Quell replied, leading the KETS and Verge out of the alley.

At the end of the street, lined with looming stone walls of trader houses and softly glowing orbs of Starburners, Quell turned and looked Verge over.

I have a task for you, he said.

Verge’s bottom lip was throbbing and felt swollen enough to burst, so he said nothing. He was taller than Quell, yet the deputy minister seemed to be looking down on him.

You know of the Waste World? Quell asked.

Verge nodded. Not that he’d ever been there. Not only was it notoriously difficult to reach, but allegedly it had nothing worth stealing. Lots of stuff. All trash.

To prove your quality, Quell said, you will go there and return with a latent of consumable strength.

Verge sputtered, You’re joking.

You have three days, Quell said, holding up Verge’s ring between his fingers, inspecting it.

But—

I would suggest you return before then. Quell slid Verge’s ring onto his thumb. I’m told patience is a virtue. Perhaps you can find me some.

He turned and strode away. His pack of KETS obediently followed.

Verge stared after them.

Even though his mind was telling him the job was impossible, and his body was telling him he was starving and possibly bleeding internally, a tingle danced over his back.

Could it be?

A far-off, acrid stench of burning reached his nose—the scent of another world.

If there was something in the Waste World worth stealing, he’d find it.

He had to. He didn’t want to know what his new master would do to him if he failed.

Chapter 1

"Watch it, Amazon freak," Tony said when his thigh bumped into Dee’s knee.

She jammed her leg against the back of the seat in front of her and out of the bus’s aisle.

Tony jeered down at her. She fixed her eyes straight ahead to avoid provoking further trouble. How she wished she hadn’t failed her driver’s test—twice. Being the only seventeen-year-old on the bus was its own special kind of torture.

But she bit her lip and kept her head down.

Don’t feed the wolves.

Hey, T-Bone! Sly Vasquez called from the back of the bus, his prepubescent squeak the stuff of Dee’s nightmares. Sit your butt down! Let’s go, Joe!

The bus driver frowned at Sly in the rearview mirror. Today Joe was wearing a T-shirt that advertised his hot-air balloon business. As the bus doors squealed shut, she fantasized about stealing the rainbow-striped balloon and drifting away to wherever the wind blew. Maybe to wherever her father was.

Tony shuffled to the back of the bus.

The bus lurched into motion, away from the high school.

She checked her watch. She’d broken her phone and, as punishment, her mother was forcing her to live in the ice age—sans phone.

Twenty-three minutes, six stops, and she would have survived another day. Better than that, it was the beginning of spring break.

Next to her, Danny was sketching.

Who’s that? she asked, not because she was interested, but because she needed a distraction from Sam and Sly’s reenactment of the latest, most-hilarious video of the moment. Laura’s fake laugh rang above the others, each syllable stilted and harsh.

Ha. Ha. Ha.

Danny hugged his sketchpad to his skinny chest and then in a barely audible voice replied, Odin.

Can I see? she asked.

Reluctantly, he handed her the pad.

She glanced over the cartoonish drawing of a bearded, muscle-bound man that longed to be bigger and fiercer than it was.

How come he only has one eye? she asked, handing the pad back.

Because Odin gave his eye to Mimir’s Well to gain wisdom. Danny’s dark eyes grew bright with suppressed excitement. Odin’s the wisest. He’s the best. He’s the All-Father.

With only one eye?

He nodded, but then frowned at the drawing. It’s not right though. My best pencil broke.

He fished in his pants pocket and pulled out a slim mechanical pencil.

At the sight of it, her throat tightened, her palms prickled.

See? He tried to compress the end to push out more lead, but the mechanism didn’t budge. He held the pencil in his palm, giving it a rueful, forlorn look. It was my favorite.

She could tell. The eraser and the company’s logo were long ago worn away. The plastic casing was chewed, up and down. Every tooth mark incised the instrument with Danny’s belief in magic—belief in gods who used magic.

And, the pencil… It glowed and floated.

At least it appeared that way to her.

Her mouth went dry. Her tingling fingers curled against her palms.

So, it’s no good? she asked, attempting to sound casual.

I’ve got other ones, newer ones. He scowled at the pencil, like it had betrayed him. I shouldn’t use this one for drawing anyway. It’s not a proper sketch pencil.

Could…? She had that fluttery, almost sick sensation in her gut. Can I have it?

His hand closed around it. Are you going to fix it? Because I tried and the spring’s broken.

No. A fine perspiration gathered between her shoulders. She cleared her throat. I sort of… collect things. Broken things.

You collect broken things?

She nodded.

Why?

She shrugged. She had no idea why she collected useless things, except they all contained some… energy.

Years ago, she’d convinced herself it was all her imagination. Danny’s pencil wasn’t floating or glowing or full of magic. Magic wasn’t real. But still… she wanted that pencil.

Nah, he said, slipping the pencil back into his pocket. I think I’ll try to fix it again.

She deflated. Okay.

Twenty-one minutes later, she, Danny, Laura, and the Vasquez brothers stepped off the bus—the afternoon air clear and pleasant, the birds singing, the elementary school kids racing across front yards, yelping and squealing.

Usually, Dee headed straight home. But as her foot touched the curb, she noticed Peter’s red Honda parked in the driveway.

She stopped in her tracks. The last person she wanted to see was her mom’s boyfriend.

Behind her, the bus doors closed with a whish. It rumbled away.

On the sidewalk, Sly snatched Danny’s sketchpad.

Got any cool new drawings for me?

Sly was small for fourteen, but Danny was only twelve and so shy he could barely speak, let alone fight back. He stiffened, but didn’t try to retrieve the drawing pad as Sly flipped through the pages.

Sam and Laura were strolling away, down the block. Twisting her beautiful brown hair around her finger flirtatiously, Laura barked her fake laugh every time Sam opened his mouth.

Once, Laura and Dee had been friends—best—but that was before Laura had decided her social status was more important than a lifetime of friendship. Dee couldn’t blame her. Not long ago, she would’ve given anything to feel like she belonged. But recently, she’d come to accept she never would.

Hey, this one’s cool. Sly tore a sheet out of the sketchpad.

Danny flinched, his hands fisted, but he didn’t move.

Dee’s ears began to ring.

That weird, precarious feeling was shouldering in against her better judgement again. That is, better to just turn and walk away. Better not to get involved. Better not to…

Give it back, she said, unable to stop herself.

Sly’s glinting eyes slid up to her. What’s that, Freaky Dee?

It’s not yours, she said.

What do you care? Sly puffed up his little chest and cocked a pointy Peter Pan ear at her. "You and Danny good friends, huh? ¿Verdado amor, sí? "

Just give it back, she said, resolved to stand her ground, though all she wanted to do was run away before things got worse.

Don’t feed the wolves. Never feed the wolves.

"No hay problema." He ripped the sketchpad in two.

Pages were snatched by the breeze and blown everywhere, tumbling across the asphalt like autumn leaves.

Danny’s hands went to his head. No!

He chased after them.

Dee glared at Sly. You are such a little shit.

She spun, stooping to grab a page before it blew into the Graysons’ yard and the minefield of droppings left by their schnauzer.

Sly’s feet pounded the sidewalk behind her, but she dodged as he leapt at her.

He sprawled, crashing stomach-first, barely missing a fresh-looking pile of dog mess.

Hey! He bounced back up, brushing the grass from his T-shirt like he’d meant to fall.

A few houses down, Laura and Sam were hovering near Mrs. Jensen’s lilac bushes. Sam was smirking. Laura looked on with resignation, as if Dee had brought this on herself.

I just wanted to pet your poodle hair, Sly said grinning, holding his hands out at either side of his head, fluffing a giant imaginary bouffant. Is that how you got it? Are you half dog? He started barking and panting. Yip yip yip! He burst into self-inspired laughter. Sam, too, chuckled and seeing that Sam thought it was funny, Laura joined in with her forced imitation of laughter.

The veins in Dee’s temples began to pound.

Is that why you don’t know your daddy? Sly asked. "¿Tu padre era un perro? ¡En serio!"

More laughter.

"¡Ladra perra!" Sly taunted.

She crumpled the stiff sketch paper. Her head began to pound. Her vision cut out for a second and then came back twice as sharp. That squirming, twisting sensation she sometimes experienced seized her, exploding into an upside-down, zero-gravity tilt.

Strange words erupted from her lips.

"¡Cállate, enano!"

Sly’s cruel smile faltered.

It was enough to bring Dee back to herself.

She didn’t speak Spanish.

Danny was scrabbling to gather his drawings as the breeze tossed them around the neighborhood willy-nilly. Neither Sam nor Laura moved to help.

What’d you say to me? Sly’s face hardened.

Good question. What had she said?

Better question. How had she said it?

She’d taken French the first two years of high school but hadn’t done very well. She wasn’t doing very well in any of her classes at the moment. But she was pretty sure she’d told Sly to shut up and called him a dwarf in Spanish.

She fought against her instinct to turn and walk—or better, run—away. But she was so sick of Sly pushing people around.

I said you should shut your mouth since the only thing that ever comes out of it is shit, she snapped.

Sly’s color darkened to a piping-hot stove-top burner hue. Behind him, Danny and Laura were gawping. Sam wore a shrewder expression, like he was wondering if he needed to step in and help his little brother deal with her.

Just leave Danny alone, she said, and stop being such a bully.

With that, she gave herself permission to turn away.

She’d meant to bolt home, but something caught her eye and forced her to stop.

Danny’s pencil, glowing and hovering above the pavement.

The bones of her fingers pulled toward it like magnets to iron.

She bent and snagged it.

A warm rush of satisfaction pulsed through her.

And then something smacked against the back of her head.

Damp clumps rolled down her neck and under the collar of her shirt. Chunks stuck in the thick nest of her curls, catching on her barrette. Her stomach turned as the stink hit her. Dog shit.

She spun, tears burning her eyes.

You should pick up your shit, freaky bitch, Sly said, crumpling one of Danny’s drawings, which he’d used to pick up the dog poop.

He pitched that at her too, hitting her in the face. Then he stalked away, pushing between Sam and Laura and shoving Danny back into the lilac bushes as he stormed past.

Sam strode after his brother. Laura stood there for a second, looking like she might say something apologetic, but then Sam stopped and turned back.

You coming? he called.

Laura hurried after him.

Dee glared after them, body hot and trembling like oil in a

Reviews for Stealer

[lilbooks22-1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Not a bad book. Was very surprised. Hope to read many more by Yates.And must say that I love this cover. It is very eye catching.

[browsermix · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

It took me awhile to get into this book.I put it down several times but finished it through. This is a sci-fi adventure story about a teenage girl Dee who has special abilities and has gone through another world is being chased for them. I'm glad I stuck with it because it did get better and I did enjoy it in the end