Paul slipped over the fence and dropped into the bushes, keeping to the shadows. The new moon made for great prowling; the night was almost painfully dark. Only years of burglary allowed him to see at all, gave him the ability to work undetected.
He took a few moments to gather his bearing, make sure he was safe and hidden. Paul leaned forward, listening for the dogs, then rose. The house was big, no security, and was just begging to be hit. He was surprised someone hadn't already pulled a job, but they were probably scared of the dogs.
Paul smirked, darting across the lawn. He'd worked plenty of houses that had dogs, and he always knew which ones were too dangerous and which were just oversized puppies. He'd seen these particular dogs playing with their owner; she'd raised super sweethearts.
He made it to the side of the house without incident, spent a moment beside the big bay window listening for movement inside. All clear. Paul slipped out his knife and pried the window open. So far, so good; he was inside.
Not only did she lack security, she had candles or oil lamps burning in every room. The light wasn't bright enough to reveal him, just added a creamy glow to everything, caused gems and glass to gleam.
What bothered him most about the candles was that she'd left open flames unattended near antiques and drapes and tapestries. She just didn't seem to care about safety.
Paul heard a growl from somewhere upstairs. Barely. He stiffened briefly, but when there were no accompanying footsteps, he started his prowl again.
His bag was open, but he hadn't picked anything yet. The best burgles took time, a strategic hunt for the most valuable objects, for only items worth the risk of a B&E charge.
Another growl, a little louder, but still from upstairs. Paul didn't pause this time, plucking a large gem from a display stand. He'd made his way into a sitting room full of valuables. The gleam of so much wealth called to him, whispered to him of how big a score this was. Her foolishness would allow him to live comfortable for a while.
Paul spotted a Faberge egg; more than just a while.
He settled the egg in a special pocket in his pack, heart thundering in his ears. This was arguably the biggest piece he'd taken. Paul didn't know if his fence could move something like this. He might have to branch out, make new contacts, find himself moving up in the world.
Growls filled the air, deep, reverberating through his very bones. Paul's blood froze, and he turned slowly to face the dog. Both dogs. Side by side, hackles up, fangs bared.
Behind them stood their mistress.
She looked different than Paul remembered. Taller, thinner, paler. Dressed in black leather and stiletto boots, wearing a studded leather collar. She looked more like a dominatrix than a rich housewife.
Paul held up his hands. "I'll put it back," he said softly. He hadn't been caught in a very long time. He though briefly about rushing past her, shoving her aside, but the dogs posed a problem.
The dogs in question shifted, moving away from their mistress. Paul realized they were physically morphing, changing before his eyes. Their jaws grew longer, making room for dagger-sharp fangs. Massive paws with hook talons clacked on the floor, and their eyes burned fire red. Drool feel from their mouths, and it began to smolder where it landed.
Paul turned and ran blindly through the house, desperately looking for an exit. He ignored the sound of pounding feet until the monstrous dogs pulled him down. He cried out, tried to protect his head, but they merely held him still until she arrived.
She pulled one of his arms away from his face, and Paul managed to look at her, even in his blind panic. Her eyes were solid black, horns spiraled from her forehead, and a forked tongue darted across her lower lip. "You really should have listened to their warnings."
Paul shrieked as the hellhounds tore him apart.
