The Theft
Boscha rummaged through her jacket for her wand.
The dark was pervasive, but not absolute. She could just barely make out the individual bricks of the walls in front of her.
Her hand found its way around her training wand, and her teeth glinted in the dark.
The spell circle cast a low light on the face of the door.
A white-hot jet of flame melted right through the door’s lock.
Her hand gently pushed the door open.
She’d never been in Hexside at night.
Mattholomule had melted under just a bit of pressure. Like she’d expected. He’d always been a cowardly sort - a slippery bastard, granted, but still a little rodent running from any sign of danger. He coveted power because of his never-ending cowardice. After all, if he was powerful, he’d never have to be afraid again.
So, obviously, he was completely pathetic under a suitable display that he was prey, and she was predator. A part of him was angry - was egotistical - was offended, that anyone would dare stand up to him. But he was too fearful to really be defiant, much less arrogant.
He’d admitted that there were power glyphs in the supply closet of the construction classroom. For demonstrations, he said.
She’d expected it to be harder - to break into Hexside in the middle of the night.
Turns out it wasn’t very hard.
The hinges didn’t creak.
Her footsteps were light, but easy, as she traipsed into the classroom. She’d never been inside, but it wasn’t very interesting. At least the plant track classrooms were something, appearance-wise, even if you didn’t learn anything useful in them. The construction classroom was just… a room. With some red accents.
Honestly, the most interesting part of it was probably the closet, once Boscha found it.
It was locked. More thoroughly than the classroom door was, interestingly enough. Had a deadbolt and everything. She had to melt the entire knob before the door gave in - it took nearly 2 minutes, and drained her more than she expected.
The glyphs were in a tiny plastic container with a blue air-tight lid. The noise it made when she popped it open was louder than she would’ve liked - but no matter.
She carefully put just one of the glyphs into a tiny pouch by her waist, so that the sticky back of it didn’t touch any of the cloth.
And she just… left.
It was almost unsettling, how easy that had been.