The lure was set, the alluring aroma of fresh fruit filling the chamber. Through the broken venetian blind of his wardrobe, Grayce could see the small plate of diced assortment planted on the floor in the middle of the room. Bright sunlight cast across the floorboards from the open blind, imbuing the space in a gentle warmth and illuminating the ceramic bowl like a spotlight that beckoned one’s attention. The trap couldn’t have been more obvious then if he’d written on the bowl come and eat me little thief. The online suggestions had been a good one, but there was no textbook answer on how to lure out a racoon, let alone how long it would take or if this would even work. Grayce just had to wait and hope.
In the growing warmth of the room as time slipped by, and the air heedy with the sweetness of mango cast about on the breeze from the open window, Grayce felt his eyes drooping. The clothes hanging about his shoulders seemed to cocoon him, wrapping him in a comforting blanket that relaxed his tense posture as he silently waited for the little thief to take the bait. His eyes closed briefly, feeling the pull of sleep lulling him backwards into the dark confines of the wardrobe…
It had felt like mere seconds had passed, but Grayce’s eyes shot open to the sound of tiny pitter-patters across wood. The light in the room had dulled, the strong protuberant beam of sunlight now a burnt crimson stretched high above the opposing chamber door. Hours had passed, not seconds. The ping of the ceramic bowl filled the silent room, a tiny noise of something hard and precise knocking against the surface, devouring the fruit. Slowly, Grayce eased himself upwards, cautious of knocking down the clothes that had curled themselves over his shoulders from the railing above. As he rose to sit, his eyes aligned with the hole in the wardrobe door and the view of the planted trap came into focus.
The noise of the thief had been too quiet, the sound of its feet moving across the wooden floor too light. The creature that stood gobbling down the pieces of fruit had ebony black feathers trailing over its small body, not fur. Instead of small, clawed paws, long taloned feet danced around the bowl, juices dribbling down it’s long beak where a muzzle should have been. The thief was indeed little, as he’d jokingly address them as, but this thief wasn’t a racoon, it was a crow.
Grayce peered closer, the fading light was glinting off something metallic hanging around its neck, dipping in and out from between the layers of feathers and fluff as it craned its neck back to swallow the chunks of fruit. Bemusedly, it looked like it was wearing a necklace.
Neither Grayce nor the crow expected the crash of the jackets and t-shirts as they tumbled from the railing in the wardrobe above, the wooden hangers thundering loudly against the door, flinging it open widely. In a fright, the bird launched into the air in a flurry of feathers and dandruff, the ceramic bowl spinning wildly on its base across the room. The crows flight barely made it a few centimetres off the ground, before it landed awkward and haphazard, wings parted askew, and feet spread-eagle to catch its balance. The golden necklace hung loosely outside of its feathery chest.
As Grayce clambered out of the mess of fallen clothes, the crow wasted no time and hurriedly fled across the floorboards. Its escape was a well-orchestrated movement of running and hopping, as it hurried across the room and scrambled up the tied curtain by the window. Grayce had no time to question why the crow wasn’t flying. Using beak and talons and small bursts of flight, the bird climbed the cloth with a practiced technique that outmatched Grayce’s own rope-climbing abilities. He realised with dread it was heading for the open window.
Grayce’s foot slipped on a twisted hanger, as he made a grab for the curtain, and he hit the floor with a thud. He kicked away at the damn object and rolled to see that, instead of fleeing out of the open window, the bird had climbed onto the closest of the wooden joists that traced the length of the old hotel room. The crow ran along the length towards the chambers door and disappeared through a jagged hole in the wall.
Grayce pulled himself to his feet and barged through the door, eyes craning upwards at the hurried pitter-patters as he spotted the crow running along one of the thick picture rails that ran down the hallway wall. The bird was fast and precise, jumping broken gaps and ducking under crisscrossing beams knowingly. The path it was taking wasn’t new, it had escaped like this once before. Grayce was certain now this crow had stolen Relic’s pendent.
The end of the hallway was coming up, the picture rail was running out of distance. He was certain the bird would fly across to the adjacent joist to continue its escape. Instead, it suddenly hooked its beak onto a nail jutting out of the wall, swung up onto the frame of a tall door and disappeared through the large broken pane in the stained glass of a small window above.
Grayce stopped outside the door. The faded black words of prayer room were just discernible behind the layer of dust and wear. If the dust was anything to go buy, the stiffened knob and sound of the locked lock, this room wasn’t used or had never been access by the Magicians.
Kneeling to the keyhole, Grayce retrieved his lockpick set from the satchel at his hip and slowly twisted the implements until the door gave a soft thirft. The accompanying creak was akin to one out of a horror movie as Grayce pushed the door open and stepped into the tiny, barren room. Apart from a single broken bench covered in cobwebs and the build up of time, leant against the brick wall, the room was empty. Grayce’s eyes traced the dim space and paused as a flicker of black caught his eye. A feather slowly drifted downwards from the ceiling. He followed its path backwards to where a large perfect square of ceiling had been cut away to the attic space above.
Scattering spiders, Grayce pulled the old bench from the wall and laid it beneath the scuttle hole, using it as a leverage to climb up into the attic space above. The space was small and cramped, with barely enough room for two people to fit inside. Like the space below it was covered in dust and cobwebs, save for one small new edition to the area. At the far end, nestled between the joists and the alcove of the pointed roof, perched a small nest. Makeshift and unnatural, it was made up of torn cloth, old clothes, papers, rope and debris. An assortment of small knick-knacks, buttons and dulled jewellery poked out from inside and littered the ground around it. One particular item, a vintage pocket knife, protruded through the layers of cloth, while another more eye catching item caught Grayces’ eye. Relic’s silver cross.
As Grayce’s eyes rose from the treasure trove, he met the face of the crow, it’s beady eyes staring fearlessly at him, as though daring him to try and take back the loot it had stolen. The crow would not give it up willingly, nor could he take it without the crow noticing, Grayce realised. He would have to find something to trade for it.