Codename: Shadow

Chapter 1

I’m the girl sitting in the third booth down at your favorite restaurant.

I’m the movement you could have sworn you saw in the mirror.

I’m the pair of eyes you think you see in the dark.

I’m the girl that you stare at for hours, but you never quite notice or remember.

I’m the reason you can’t find your cherished necklace.

I’m the—okay, I think you get the point already. I’m a thief.

I should probably start simple, because if you’re reading this, you’re one of two things: The man looking over my shoulder right now as I write this [Rude, isn’t he?] or someone with really high clearance. Because when someone shoves you into a room with a stack of college ruled paper and a box of number two pencils after my last year, you figure there’s some pretty high clearance going on.

                And I’m not talking government clearance…

                My name? Nara Anderson.

                They call me The Shadow. But I’m not your average thief—no, not even close—my work is known worldwide. By good guys and bad. I work for insurance companies, testing high tech security systems. At least, that’s what they officially say I am.

                I personally prefer the term “Pavement Artist.” I’m normal, no extensive beauty or anything that would distinguish me from the rest of a crowd. Early, I learned how to blend in with crowds, virtually disappearing. There was one time that I completely freak out my parents when I was seven because they couldn’t see me. Yeah, I was, at the most, five feet behind them.

                My age? This may surprise you, but I’m sixteen.

                Yeah, let the jaw drop. You read that right, I’m sixteen. The look I usually generate from people who know my profession and are just learning my age is quite amusing actually. My crew likes to call it the Shadow Stare.

                But anyway, that’s why I found myself sneaking in the dark the day my life went awry.

“Two coming down the left hallway,” said the voice in my ear.

                Quickly, I reacted, dropping down and rolling behind a large statue, pressing my body against the ground silently. My breathing was steady and silent as the two guards walked though the hall, patrolling the area. Both may have been two times my size, but I could have taken them out. I didn’t however—this was a clandestine mission, not a full on war force.

                Once their footsteps had receded down the hall, I sprang up and took off, careful to avoid the cameras. “Sweep in three… two… drop.” The voice in my ear told me and I dropped to the ground perfectly still, as if I was a statue, as if I belonged.

                Hundreds of thousands of dollars in art surrounded me. Amateurs would have snagged everything they could have and taken off, but I wasn’t an amateur. I had a mission, a goal.

                “Shadow,” said the voice in my comms unit, using my codename, but I wasn’t listening. My mind had gone into mission mode. The mental note of the building that I had visited a few days beforehand took over, the visible security system forever engrained in my memory.

                Foot steps sounded in the distance and I flew behind another sculpture, blending into the shadows. A single guard this time, unsuspecting, he would probably be out of the job the next day. Though, I guess he wouldn’t really be out of the job. Maybe. It depends on the anger management of the manager.

                I army-crawled over to the door. “Hacker, I need visual.” I said to the boy who sat off in a van down the street.

                “One second,” I heard his response followed by the clatter of his fingers hitting the keyboard. Finally, he responded, “Got it! It’s set to loop.”

                Silently, I bolted down the hallway and waited patiently until he’d set the next set to loop. I was nearing my destination, my senses tingled, my memory vivid of this hall.

                “You’ve got two minutes until the next wave of patrol guards passes through the halls, so make it quick, Shadow.” Hacker told me nonchalantly. It truly was a simple mission. No extensive running, no digging under walls, it was a simple museum.

                I continued down a hall filled with Michelangelo’s, Cezanne’s, and at least one Mondrian. Surrounded by priceless pieces, I should have been picking at everything I could, dragging home everything I could carry, but the mark of a true thief, as Hacker liked to say, was what they didn’t steal. We demonstrate self control for a reason.

                If every piece in that room suddenly went onto the Black Market, I’d be traced in minutes, so you choose what you need and take nothing more.

                One minute and six seconds left, my internal clock reminded me.

                My legs carried me farther down the hall. Once out of each hall, the security cameras came off of loop. I knew that.

                I started to hear the faint sounds of footsteps. The guards weren’t even trying to conceal the chatter as they wandered the halls, as I kept on the balls of my feet, silently creeping through the building.

                Nothing was out of place, but something still felt strangely… off.

                “Here they come,” I heard Hacker say in my ear. There are a few things you learn in my profession, some quickly, and others purely from experience. And trust me when I tell you that good hiding places are neither of the aforementioned.

                Either you’re a natural hider, or you can fake it pretty well.

                They call me a natural, and as I slid into the shadows of the darkened room that night, I didn’t need to question it. My eyes closed, and I let the shadows consume me until I heard the footsteps fade.

                When I opened my eyes, I realized that I was pressed to the ground beneath a stone bench on display. They should have seen me. If it had been anyone else in that position, they would have been spotted.

                But I’m not anyone else.

                “You’re clear for another ten minutes. The Romalda is the fourth exhibit to the left, down the stairs.”

                I had to stifle a laugh. “I know.” I whispered back shortly.

                The hall was easily accessible without the daytime crowds piling through it, leaving the exhibit that meant nothing to them, but everything to me.

                My steps were silent and breathing slowed to a quiet pace. I was on top of the world as I rounded the corner into the exhibit. Nothing could stop me as I descended the stairs without a sound. Nothing…

Except the boy who I found leaning against the wall, arms crossed, expression bored.

                For the first time in my life, I think I jumped ten feet. I’d never seen the boy before—he looked about my age, blonde, crew cut wavy hair, broad shoulders. Judging by the length of his legs and angle that he leaned back against the wall, he probably stood four or five inches taller than me (estimated of course).

                He turned his head and smirked at me with a look that I’d never seen before. I’m used to annoying boys, dimwitted boys, bragging boys, frightening gag-you-with-a-spoon boys, but I can honestly say I wasn’t prepared for the boy who waved at me and said, “Well… You’re not a six foot Vulcan with a green beard.”