Chapter Text
cover art by me
///
As with all good romance stories, I met her while I was trying to rob her house.
You see, I had snuck into the Count’s manor, and found myself outside his smoking room. He was there with a couple of his friends, enjoying cigarillos… And discussing the future murder of his daughter! The scene filled me with dismay. No lady was to be treated of the sort, not on my watch! And so, I devised a plan… When the lady was thrown, hands and feet tied, into the pierced and leaded embarkation, no one knew I was hiding there under a tarp. As those wretched men pushed us down the river, her despair in the face of death wrenched my heart. But I had to wait until we were out of view of the castle before I revealed myself to her. The beauty of her relief made all my troubles worth it. It only took some crafty trick to plug the hole in the raft and free her of the lead weight. After which she fell into my arms, thanking me profusely and-
“Arsène.”
The old man stopped mid-sentence, to the great (and loud) disappointment of the enraptured child sitting in his lap. He turned towards the woman who had just entered the room.
“Yes, chérie?” he asked with his most charming and innocent smile. His wife’s eyes softened, although she did her best to maintain her reprimanding expression.
“What are you two doing?”
“Papy’s telling me how he met the lady of Ca-li-os-ro!” the kid exclaimed, lips stretched into a huge smile. “He saved her from drowning, like a true nice man!”
“It’s gentleman, darling,” the old thief corrected with an amused grin.
“Gent-a-man!” the child repeated in a sing-song voice, before dissolving into a fit of giggles.
The old lady sighed.
“You shouldn’t be telling that kind of stories to your grandchildren, love. It’s not appropriate.”
“Well, I was about to tell the story of how I then relieved the Count of all his valuables,” Lupin argued, “this was just exposition.”
“Still.”
“When I grow up, I wanna be just like Papy!” the kid chimed in.
“A thief?” he asked with a conniving wink.
“A lady’s man!”
The old man erupted into billowing laughter, while his wife shook her head and sighed, again.
“That’s going to be a tad complicated, but you’ve got the spirit!” he exclaimed. “Now, make your Papy proud, and show me how fast you can pick the lock of your dad’s study, okay?”
///
The Parisian mansion stood on a vast avenue, across the street from where his grandfather lived. The two neighbours didn’t know each other, which hopefully would play in his favour. The young boy knocked thrice on the door, then straightened his shirt and put on a practiced face of youthful innocence. It was only a handful of seconds before the heavy door opened, revealing an aging woman in an apron and a tight hair bun, looking down on him. Her expression softened a bit as she noticed the eight years old boy with slicked back hair standing on her doorstep.
“Good morning ma’am!” Albert exclaimed. “I’m from the house three doors down. My mom needs some eggs for cooking, and we’re all out, so I was wondering if…”
The maid smiled, and beckoned him in.
“Of course, dearie. We’ve got more than enough for Milady’s dinner. Say, I’ve got some hot cocoa on the stove,” she added as he walked in, “would you like some?”
The boy nodded respectfully.
“I would be very grateful. Thanks, ma’am.”
“Alright, just wait in here, kiddo. I’ll be back in a jiffy.”
She nodded towards the sitting room, and let her young visitor walk in while she went off into the kitchen.
Rather than sit on the couch and wait, Albert snuck a look at both sides of the corridor, quietly closed the door of the sitting room, then started poking around the shelves and sideboards. It wasn’t long before he found what he was looking for: a gilded box, richly decorated with flower engravings, that sat on a dresser. The view of it brought a victorious grin on his face. Jackpot. He shot a glance at the door: still closed, and he had at best two minutes before the maid came back. He carefully picked up the box from its stand, and made quick work of the lock with a hair tie he produced from his pocket. It gave way with a faint click, and he slowly lifted the lid open.
The inside of the box wiped the grin from his face.
All it contained was a single pearl necklace, a red rose, and a small card sporting a cartoonish grinning face.
“That little…” the boy muttered.
The sound of footsteps rose from outside. Quickly, he pocketed the necklace, then closed the box and put it back on its shelf. When the door finally opened, Albert was docilely sitting on the couch, legs dangling off the edge. He took the cup of cocoa with a thank, made small talk with the maid, politely answered her questions about his work at school, and what he wanted to do when he grew up; then he thanked her for the nice drink and the box of eggs she had provided, and left. He made a detour around the block, took off his jacket and ruffled his hair for good measure, then finally, he made his way back home.
When he stepped into the entrance hall, he found his cousin casually leaning against the wall, staring at him with a cocky grin. Her dress was dirty and covered in scrapes, and her hair looked as if a bird had nested in it.
“So? What did you get?” she asked, in a tone that suggested she knew full well the answer already.
Albert sighed.
“A pearl necklace,” he replied as he pulled the adornment from his pocket. “And a dozen of eggs.”
The cocky grin grew wider, as the young girl produced seemingly out of thin air five other necklaces, a diamond brooch, and several rings.
“Guess I win this round.”
“We’ll see how long your rookie luck lasts!” Albert replied before sticking his tongue out.
“What are you two troublemakers up to?”
The two kids spun around to find themselves face to face with the mischievous face of Arsène Lupin, poking his head in from the living room. His grandchildren immediately presented him with their loot, Albert not letting the fact that he was holding a box of eggs deter him from looking as proud as a peacock. The old man smiled wider, and stepped out of the room to ruffle the kids’ hair.
“Good work, you two! I knew you could sneak in there unnoticed. Now, will you-“
The front door slammed behind them, making the two children jump. Lupin turned his attention from the kids to the newcomer, and his smile faded a bit.
“Ah, there you are. Took you long enough.”
“I had business to take care of,” the man retorted before taking off his coat and hat and hanging them on a hook. He gave the children a quick glance, his eyes growing colder as he spotted the dirt on the girl’s dress.
“What did you do, this time? Go change immediately.”
He didn’t grant them any more attention, and walked out of the hall, followed by the master of the household. The children shared one look, and immediately launched themselves up the stairs, giggling and shushing.
They got to the attic by the time a door on the floor below them clicked open. The place was dark and dusty, lined with cardboard boxes and weird contraptions that they didn’t try to identify. They silently crawled under the low roof, until they reached a pile of wooden crates. The boxes where quickly pushed aside, revealing a hole between the floorboards.
“Here it is! Right above Papa’s office!” the girl proudly whispered.
Her cousin mushed his face against the floor, before being shoved aside.
“Move over, Albert! I want to hear too!”
“Here they are…” the young boy murmured before retreating.
The children crouched down, eyes full of mischievous excitement as they listened to the two voices in the room below them.
“You’ve been giving her your stupid challenges again, haven’t you?”
The angry voice was somewhat muffled by the layer of wood separating the study from the attic, so the two kids held their breaths and pricked up their ears.
“I’m giving her healthy distractions,” replied an older and much calmer voice. “What’s so bad about that?”
“Have you seen her? Clothes all torn up and bruises everywhere. She’s only six, dad, she shouldn’t be running around trying to steal the neighbour’s family jewels, or God knows what!”
The girl giggled, before getting elbowed in the arm by her cousin.
“You were doing much worse at her age. I’m just passing on my skills. She’ll need them, eventually.”
“As if. Besides, you’re not supposed to have a favourite grandchild.”
“Well, who’s fault is it that I’m the one responsible for raising her?”
“I’m Lupin the Second!” came the offended response. “I have responsibilities, a reputation to uphold, I can’t just stay home and play babysitter!”
“He’s Lupin the Second!” echoed his daughter in an excited whisper. The other rolled his eyes.
“To your own child,” the old man retorted.
“It isn’t my job. Anna’s there for that, since Hinata isn’t anymore.”
Silence.
“It’s your job to be a thief now,” his father finally answered, “it’s my job to make sure she can be a thief after you.”
“She isn’t cut out to be a thief.”
There was the sound of a chair being pulled, and a door closing. Above them, the two children stayed very still.
“He always says that,” the girl whispered. “He doesn’t mean it.”
///
A dozen tools were scattered on the floor, screwdrivers and pincers and very tiny chisels that belonged more in a jeweller’s workshop than in a ten-year-old’s bedroom. The ten-year-old in question was hunched over a tiny work-bench, peering through magnifying goggles and poking her tongue out in concentration. On the bench sat what looked like a disassembled wrist-watch, with a comically large dial, wires and cogs poking out of it. The kid finally put down her tools, and popped the lid back on the watch, before holding it up into the light. She turned it, poked at it, and finally a victorious grin illuminated her face. She stuffed the screwdriver and the watch in her pocket, and jumped to her feet, before barrelling out the door and through the corridors of the mansion. She only stopped running when she reached the closed door of a study, its decorated wooden panels standing tall over her. She quickly knocked three times on the door, before pushing it open and trotting inside.
The man sitting behind the desk inside raised his head and glared at her over a pair of austere-looking glasses.
“I’m busy,” he said, “go play elsewhere.”
“I’m not playing!” she replied, holding up her creation for her father to see. “I made this!”
“Is that a toy?”
“It’s a tool!” she explained. “For going on heists. You use it like this!”
To illustrate her words, she aimed the watch towards the window, and pressed a tiny button. Something loudly wheezed past her father’s head, and crashed into the curtain, ripping through the fabric before tangling itself around the rod. The little girl staggered under the movement, pulled along by the other end of the cable she was still holding, but quickly recovered balance.
“Oops,” she giggled.
Her father lowered his arms that he had reflexively raised to shield his head, and pushed back his chair before striding towards his daughter. He snatched the watch from her hands, and with a strong tug, freed the cable from where it was entangled. The look on his face was enough for the girl to understand she had messed up.
“It wasn’t supposed to do that,” she quickly added, “it still needs some work, but I can…”
“You can nothing at all,” the man cut her off. “Stop wasting my time with your stupid toys. You’re not going to get anywhere with that.”
“But Papa!” the girl argued. “It works, I just need to improve it! If I can make more tools like that, I could use them to go on heists like you, and like Papy!”
Her father turned to her, disdain deforming his features.
“Using cheap gadgets to cover up your lack of skills doesn’t make you a thief,” he spat out, “it makes you a cheat! So quit trying to be someone you’re not, and stop wasting my time!”
His voice had risen into a shout, making his daughter recoil. She stayed still as a statue, as he took a deep breath and walked back to his desk. After he had sat down, she risked in a tiny voice:
“Can I have my watch back, please?”
Her father held her gaze for a few seconds.
“No,” he declared.
The child winced at the crunching sound the watch made under her father’s heel. There was a second of silence, before she finally turned around and left the room, head bowed down. She walked quickly until she was well away from her father’s office, then slid down against the wall and sat heavily on the floor.
Only then did she allow herself to cry.
She had only wanted to make him proud. Why couldn’t she figure out how to do that? Why did she always make things worse?
It felt like hours when, a few minutes later, footsteps grabbed her attention. She tried to stifle her sobs, as two strong arms scooped her up from the ground and held her tight.
“There, there,” murmured the reassuring rumble of her grandfather’s voice. “What happened, ma puce?”
She shook her head.
“Don’t cry. Hey, I have something for you.”
The girl’s head perked up as she was carried through the corridor to her bedroom, and gently set down on her bed. Her grandfather knelt before her, a mischievous smile lighting up his wrinkled face.
“To be a thief,” he declared, “you need to be crafty. You should always have more than one trick up your sleeve, and you should know how to distract people, make them look the other way while you deploy your ruse.”
His hands were flying in front of the enraptured child’s eyes, like moving on their own accord in a strange and captivating dance. She nodded silently, her wide eyes trained on his fingers as they weaved through the air. She didn’t even notice that her tears had stopped flowing.
“But more importantly, you need to surprise them.”
A single white flower suddenly appeared between his fingers, startling the child.
“How did you do that??”
“A thief never reveals his secrets.”
Lupin smiled warmly, and closed his granddaughter’s fingers on the flower.
“But, I might teach you… if you manage to steal this back from me.”
He held up a tiny precision screwdriver, and the kid immediately dropped the flower to start frantically patting her pockets – to no avail.
“How did you- ”
“You get this back,” he said, “and I’ll show you how.”
The girl smiled with fierce determination.
“I will.”
“Aaah, that’s what I like to hear!” her grandfather exclaimed. The screwdriver had disappeared again, presumably into one of his numerous hidden pockets. “And remember: craftiness, and surprise. You come up with your own tricks. Your own way to be a thief. You don’t need to be like anyone else.”
The girl nodded firmly.
“I’d still like to be like you, though.”
He chuckled, and ruffled her hair.
“I know, I know. I’m pretty great, aren’t I!”
“I’ll be even better than you!” she exclaimed. “I’ll be the greatest thief ever!”
The old man gave her an impressed look.
“Well, I can’t wait to see that.”
Grandfather and granddaughter exchanged a conniving smile, all worries forgotten – for now.
///
“I really don’t like what Edgar is doing.”
Anna poured herself and her husband another glass of wine, and sat down next to him on the couch.
“He’s doing his job, chéri.”
“And he’s also doing that badly.”
“You’re harsh. He’s one of the greatest names of the underworld. You should be proud.”
“He may be a great thief, but he certainly isn’t a gentleman. And he’s a terrible father.”
“Like you can talk.”
Lupin grunted, and brought his glass to his lips.
“Low blow,” he muttered. “And you know what I mean.”
Anna shook her head with a sigh.
“Well, I certainly can’t agree with how he’s treating his daughter, but maybe he is right. Maybe she isn’t cut out to be a thief.”
“Nonsense.” He fidgeted with the tiny screwdriver in his pocket. “She has more potential than he’s ever had. He’s too stuck up to think outside the box. He’s lost his edge.” He sighed. “And she wants to follow in his path. What a waste.”
“Well then, let’s hope you raise her better than you raised him.”
“I’m trying. But I’m not supposed to have a favourite, remember?” Lupin chuckled and elbowed her in the arm.
“And everybody knows you do.”
He smiled, and set down his glass to wrap an arm around Anna’s shoulders.
“Now, enough about them,” he whispered. “I have the world’s most beautiful woman sitting next to me…”
“Your old tricks don’t work on me, Arsène,” she giggled, but let him plant a kiss on her whitening temple. He’d never change.
///
BANG.
Click.
BANG.
Another cartridge case fell onto the sandy floor, still smoking. Forty meters away from there, a man-shaped target sported two almost coinciding holes in the middle of the forehead. A third bang came, followed by a third hole, and the shooter lowered her gun.
“So! Did I hit?” she asked excitedly, jumping from one foot to the other. Her instructor, a cousin of her father’s, raised his hands.
“Hey, be careful with that gun, kid! What did I tell you?”
The girl rolled her eyes and sighed, but nonetheless took out the gun’s magazine and opened the chamber, and obediently set both down on the pop-up table next to her.
“Safety first, yeah, yeah. In five years of handling guns, I’ve only shot someone’s foot three times. You can relax.”
And someone’s arm once, she didn’t add, but that one was on purpose. Her uncle frowned at her, but didn’t comment, and simply went to check the target. From there, he raised a thumb up, and the girl’s face lit up.
“Bullseye!” he shouted, and watched with a smile as the kid punched the air.
“Do I shoot well enough to be a boy?” she asked when he came back.
He ruffled her hair affectionately.
“You shoot even better than them. Okay, let’s try a different drill…”
She had already rearmed her weapon, which he admonished her for, then he explained the new exercise to her. He hadn’t lied about her shooting better than most of his students. At twelve years old, she was already deadly with a handgun, and he wasn’t sure what more to teach her; but he could put her in increasingly challenging situations, and he didn’t hold back. When he pressed a button of the remote on the table, the targets at the other end of the field started moving. The movements were hard to follow with precision, as they would erratically change direction at any given moment; but that didn’t seem to deter the young girl. A determined smile stretched her lips (albeit with her tongue poking out), and she exhaled slowly as her aim followed the targets’ movements. A first shot sounded, then an another a few seconds later, then another, then the magazine ran out. She was about to push in a new one, when a movement in her peripheral caught her attention.
Her father had just walked in behind them, and was leaning against one of the crates on the border of the field. He greeted his cousin with a nod, then set all his attention on his daughter.
She took a deep breath.
Playtime was over. Don’t think about how rarely Lupin the Second came to check on her. Don’t think about the hopes he’d put in her skills. Don’t think about how impossibly high his expectations were. She could deal with impossible. Right now, there was only her target, her gun, and her father’s steel-hard gaze on the back of her neck.
She adjusted her grip, and took aim.
BANG.
Click.
BANG.
Click…
The rounds followed each other in close succession, until at last the magazine was empty. In contrast, the silence was deafening. For a few seconds, she didn’t move an inch, gaze fixed on the targets. They had finally stopped moving, but she couldn’t quite see if she had hit the mark. Then the sound of her father’s footsteps rose behind her. She spun around, looking at him expectantly. His face gave away nothing.
Finally, a discreet smile broke his composure, and he affectionately patted his daughter’s shoulder.
“Nicely done,” he declared, and just like that, all of the pressure in her chest was lifted.
“Your kid has a deadly aim, Edgar,” her uncle chimed in. “I wouldn’t want to go against her when she’s our age.”
“Does that mean I can come with you next time?” she inquired, excitedly shaking her arms up and down.
“You can’t,” her father replied, “but I’ve got something else for you.”
///
“It’s SO COOL!”
The girl’s eyes were full of stars as she stared at the shiny new gun in her hands. It was a semi-automatic pistol, like the ones she had been training with; but of much higher quality, which made it a lot more precise. If she had done her homework correctly, it had been designed during the war for the German army, but it had been such a success that they kept producing it years later. A seemingly ordinary, but versatile, and deathly accurate tool. One that she was sure to rely on all her life.
“I can keep it?”
Her father smiled.
“Of course, darling. You’ve earned it.”
He pushed the open box across the desk towards her, so she could set the gun back down. Her eyes were still glinting with pride as she looked over her new weapon, its long shiny barrel, and the letters embossed on its side: Walther P38.
///
The sun was shining high and bright in the springtime sky, casting its warm rays onto the colourful branches of trees in bloom. Somewhere out of sight, a robin was singing. A group of black-clad men and women were sitting there, silent.
The people were assembled in a loose semi-circle, at the centre of which stood a lone tombstone. It towered over a deep hole, a perfect rectangle of crisp lines and angles stabbed into the soft earth. There was some quiet chatter among the group – this was the first time in many years they had all been assembled in one place, and some of them had come from all the way across the globe to pay a last homage to the greatest among them.
Soon all the voices died down into a solemn silence, as all attention turned to the back of the crowd. The casket had arrived. It was being carried by four men with closed-off faces, who set it down on a low pedestal in front of the grave, before retreating. The chatter resumed, quieter this time. It wasn’t until a man broke out from the crowd to walk up to the casket, that silence fell once again.
The man, a severe fifty-year-old in a top hat and dark suit, looked over the assembly, letting the silence settle into an expectant wait.
Finally, he spoke up.
“Honour. Decency. Respect. These were all qualities that my father cultivated, and had elevated to a way of life. He was a free spirit, never one to let the world assign a place to him, but always following what he had decided was his duty. Those of you who knew him know how deep a wound his absence leaves behind, but also how much brighter our lives are for having had him in them.
Arsène Lupin was the son of Théophraste Lupin and Henriette D’Andrésy…”
The afternoon dragged on as relatives followed one after the other to speak a few words about their father, grandfather, uncle, friend, or sometimes even foe. Each had a unique story to share, and wanted to make clear how important Arsène Lupin had been in their life – and them in his. To a perspicacious observer, it would be clear that this was not simply a reunion of mourning relatives paying homage to one of them. This was a vast and powerful clan, and such a complex group was bound to breed dissensions, rivalries, and grudges. The death of the first holder of the prestigious title left a gaping void, and an unstable base for his successor. If anything, this was a reminder that no Lupin was eternal, and there was no telling who the title would go to next. Gossips had already started to spread through the crowd, in hushed words and discreet suggestions, accusations and revelations. For all the dissensions in the Lupin clan, there was one thing everyone agreed on: the gentleman thief’s shoes were too big to be filled by such an incompetent as his son. Honour, decency, respect: those were all qualities that Lupin the Second was lacking.
These whispers had long reached the ears of a certain kid sitting in the front row, and they were making her blood boil.
She remembered her father’s instructions, his steel-hard gaze and the coldness of his tone as he towered over her. Do not talk, do not attract attention, just sit and wait for the ceremony to be over. The people here don’t care about you, they are here to deal with adult matters that do not concern you. That last statement though, she couldn’t agree with. Not when the poisonous whispers talked about her father, denigrating his work and his reputation. They were denying him the merit of a title he had earned fairly. He had beaten less talented rivals and become the legitimate heir of the great gentleman thief, how dare they say that he didn’t deserve his name?
Then the whispers started carrying her name, and the grief left by the disappearance of her grandfather turned into anger. To hell with instructions. She had just lost one of the two people she looked up to the most, she would not let them drag the other in the mud. If these people had the nerve to speak ill of her father, they would have to face the wrath of his daughter.
“How dare you?”
The whispers died down, as all attention turned to the indignation-torn face of a small thirteen-year-old girl. Far from making her shrivel up, the attention only fuelled her rage.
“You came all the way here to celebrate the life of Arsène Lupin, and you find nothing better to do that to defile his name and his successor?”
The whispers started up again. Quieter, like underlying harmonics of surprise and incredulity.
“My father is better than all of you combined. You’re all whining, scheming low-lives. You’re jealous that’s he’s the one who got to carry Lupin’s name, so you drag him down and pretend your boring little lives are worth more than his achievements.”
A few eyes turned towards a figure at the front of the crowd. Edgar had frozen in the middle of a hand gesture, incredulous face turned towards his daughter.
“But you know what?” she continued. “He’s not only carrying Grand-Père’s legacy. He’s bringing it to new heights. Lupin the Second has done more for our family name than any of you ever will. And when I become Lupin the Third, I’ll bring our name even further.”
Angry footsteps were growing behind her, inaudible to her oblivious ears as her voice grew even louder with rage and pride.
“I’ll do greater things than you can ever imagine, and you’ll all just stand back and watch, and wish you had had the skills and the guts to do even half of what my family can do. You-”
A hand fell onto her shoulder like a tolling bell, its weight announcing that she had crossed a line. Too late. She turned around, only to find herself face to face with Edgar Lupin, his features distorted by anger.
“You.”
In an instant, the confidence that had pushed her to stand up shattered.
“You pathetic, stupid, pretentious brat.”
The crowd held its breath.
“You’re just a coddled little idiot with delusions of grandeur, that’s all you are. I thought I had taught you not to speak out of turn, and look at you! Making a fool of yourself, and me with you! Haven’t you learned your place already?”
She wished she had, more than anything she had ever wanted. She didn’t know what was worse: the weight of the crowd’s attention, or the towering shadow of her father’s anger. Both left her shaking and breathless.
“Your grandfather has spoiled you rotten,” Edgar spat out, “made you believe you could ever hold a candle to him, just because you were his favourite.”
He gave a disdainful nod towards the silent assembly.
“You’re even more pathetic than they are, if you really think you’ll ever amount to anything.”
Even if the girl had found the words to answer, she could not have willed them past the knife in her throat.
She just wanted to disappear.
Edgar swept the crowd with his eyes.
“Show’s over,” he spat out. “Everybody go home.”
He tugged on his daughter’s collar, dragging her along as he left the premises. She was too busy trying to pick up the shattered pieces of her self-esteem to hear the whispers that he was doing his best to ignore.
“He’s jealous he’ll never be half the man his child will be.”
///
The wooden door of the study had stopped being intimidating years ago. It had never really been scary, in and of itself; it was the person behind it who instilled fear and admiration into his child’s heart. As time passed, the fear had wilted into a cunning form of caution, and the wooden door had become a shield for him to gather himself before facing his father. Something that was becoming increasingly easy, and yet still frustratingly needed.
The teenager straightened the front of his dress, and sighed internally. He didn’t like having to keep wearing that old thing. He disliked the frilly lace on it, his curves that it failed to hide, and everything else it represented. He hated having to play the perfect daughter. It had taken him years to understand that he’d never be that person, no matter how much his father wanted him to. And a lot faster to understand that Edgar would never let him be something else.
He’d be himself later, elsewhere. But not here.
He took a deep breath, plastered a smile on his face, and knocked on the door.
“Come in.”
Inside the study, Edgar Lupin was sitting behind his desk as usual, a textbook picture of studiousness. The hair on his temples had seriously started to whiten, and there were new crows’ feet behind his glasses; but besides that, it was the same image that had filled the young man’s childhood. The old thief was probably planning a heist, judging by the building plans and the blueprints scattered on the desk. He glanced at his child from over the rim of his glasses, and raised an eyebrow.
“Yes?”
“I wanted to ask your permission for something, Papa.”
“What for?”
The teenager steeled himself. Now or never.
“Andrew is going to travel oversea to Great Britain next month, and he offered to take me along. Could I…”
“Travel alone with your boyfriend?”
No warmth or affection could be found in Lupin the Second’s smile.
“I’m glad to see you’re finally taking some initiatives,” he declared. “I take it you’re learning how to use your charms on him?”
His child hummed non-committedly.
“Good. With your skills, he’ll only see what’s coming once you’ve ran off with his wallet.” He chuckled. “I’m glad to see you’ve finally found your way. You can go.”
The young man’s lips stretched imperceptibly.
“Thank you, Papa.”
“Don’t disappoint me.”
He scoffed as he closed the door behind him, and clutched the golden ring he had swiped from his father’s desk.
It was a bit too late for that.
The phone downstairs was too far away for his father to hear anything. It only rang twice before his correspondent picked up.
“Andrew Henson,” declared a slightly distorted voice in the receiver.
“Andrew! He said yes!”
He knew the man on the other end shared his smile.
“That’s amazing! I can’t believe… Does he know?”
He shook his head, his smile persisted.
“He doesn’t need to know. And I have a gift for you,” he added as he toyed with the ring.
“Aww, you’re too good for me. Alright, I’ll see you soon. And… Paul?”
The young man’s heart started beating a little faster.
“Yes?”
“I love you.”
And faster.
“I love you too.”
///
“So. The big day is finally here, hmm?”
Paul shrugged, and threw his cousin a mischievous smile.
“Big day for you, maybe. As far as I’m concerned, this is just a heist like any other.”
Albert crossed his arms and leaned back into his chair, before carefully studying his cousin’s face. “Paul” Lupin had changed a lot in the time they’d known each other. But one thing always remained: his happy-go-lucky, cocksure attitude and his utter confidence in his own success. Still…
Even he couldn’t act so casual about the death of his own father, could he?
“A heist that I’m going to win,” Paul added with a wink.
Albert replied with an unimpressed stare.
“You know it’s not just this one,” he retorted. “It’s going to take more than simply robbing the Banque de France to earn the title of Lupin the Third.”
“And I’m ready for all of it. What, are you having second thoughts about this? Worried one of our first cousins twice removed might snatch the title from under your feet?”
“Please. We both know they don’t stand a chance,” Albert scoffed. “At the end of the day, it’s going to be like it’s always been: you against me.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
There was silence for a minute, as Albert busied himself with stirring his coffee. Paul watched him for a few seconds, then lost interest, and his attention drifted out to the street outside the café. The Banque de France was right across from them, standing tall and proud with its colonnades and pediments and heavily armed security. This was one of the most secure institutions in the country, perhaps the most secure, outside of military compounds that he had no interest in. It would have been madness to attack it even with a team of expert robbers and months of preparation. He was planning to go alone. As was the rest of his family. All of this for…
“What are you doing this for?”
Albert’s voice suddenly pulled him out of his thoughts and back to the present. He frowned for a second, uncertain why his friend would ask such an obvious question.
“Same as you.”
Albert shook his head.
“Don’t give me that. It might be enough to fool the rest of them, but I don’t buy it.”
“Buy what?”
“Do you really want to be a thief, Paul? Or do you just want to be like Grand-Père?”
It was an obvious question, with an obvious answer. There was no reason to ask why he felt like being anything other than a thief would mean admitting failure. Why giving his family the finger meant fitting in the box that had been prepared for him since before his birth. Why he could only escape their expectations by taking them and making them his.
He was a thief. He was a Lupin. And he was going to be the damn best of them all.
“I know what you want,” he retorted with a grin, “and that’s weeding out the competition. Too bad I can see through your tricks!”
Albert’s expectant look fell back into an expression of tired disappointment – just his normal face, really. Paul stood up, took his jacket off the back of the chair, and waved at him.
“Check’s on you! Good luck for tonight. I’ll be waiting for you in the vault room!”
He made his way out of the café, winked at a waitress and smiled at the tingling melody of the doorbell. He tried not to think too much about the weight of Albert’s gaze on his back, and the weight of Albert’s words on his heart.
///
There was wind ruffling the thief’s hair and stinging his eyes as he ran down the stairs and through the window. A thin cable wheezed and hooked itself to the roof outside, allowing him to swing out of the building. Below him, the gyrating blue lights of police cars illuminated the night like a Christmas display, and three giant spotlights were trained onto a hot-air balloon lazily floating away. On the balloon was drawn a cartoonish potato-shaped face, grinning and taunting the officers.
The thief stilled for a second, the sheer strength of his grip on the cable the only thing guarding him from a deadly fall. He took in the scene below him, his smile mirroring the one on the balloon. They were all here for him. All these people. And they’d never get their clumsy hands on him. His heart beat madly in his ears, pumping adrenaline into his veins. He’d never felt so alive.
He almost wished his father could see him.
Almost.
He addressed a cheerful wave to the crowd of oblivious policemen running after the balloon, and lowered himself to the ground. A minute of fumbling around later, he was walking out of the alleyway, catsuit abandoned in a trash bin and sports bag full of bank notes on his shoulder. He hailed a passing taxi, and comfortably sat in the back seat as the car drove away from the crime scene.
“Passage Hébrard, please.”
The driver nodded.
“Crazy stuff,” he commented with a nod towards the fading blue lights. “Apparently some smartass robber snuck in right under security’s nose, and flew away with the contents of the vault. They’re trying to catch him.”
“I hope he gets away.”
The old man erupted into laughter.
“Ha! I’d like to see him try! What’s your name, young man?”
The thief smiled. It was a smile made of pride, mischief, and too many teeth. The smile of someone who was about to take on the whole world, and knew he had a good chance of succeeding.
“Arsène. Arsène Lupin the Third.”