Lessons in Criminality By Malori Bigler
Romantasy Short Story Challenge 2026
7th Place
Malori Bigler
Lessons in Criminality
SYNOPSIS: Khari is gone. Their stolen jewels have seemingly been stolen again. And Isha is having a very bad day. It gets even worse when she’s forced to work alongside Atticus, the snarky and better-than-everyone Magicker of the crew.
Trigger Warnings: Mild violence and blood. Fear of rats.
Khari was missing. There was a traitor among them. And Isha was screwed. These thoughts tumbled into each other as Isha stared at the empty bed. The plan had been simple: rob the Baron, get out clean, and pay off her debts. A guard raising the alarm mid-escape was not a part of that plan. One desperate flee from the castle and into an abandoned church later, and the crew was trapped as guards swarmed the city outside in search of them. As if this kick to the face of Isha’s pride wasn’t enough, they had woken to find that Khari, who was supposed to be on watch, was gone, and the jewels they’d just stolen were stolen again.
“You don’t think she took the goods and ran, do you?” It was Maudwyn who vocalized the question on everyone’s mind.
Isha doubted most things (for example, that her debtors would accept a missing girl as an excuse not to beat her senseless), so she might as well doubt that Khari was a deserter. Isha had done half a dozen jobs with her and, if anything, the girl was too focused on the “we’re in this together” bullshit. And, since the crew hadn’t woken to the unfriendly end of a dozen guard sabers, Khari hadn’t been discovered. That left only one explanation: someone in the crew had betrayed them. They’d stolen the jewels and, likely, spirited Khari away in the process.
Option number one was Maudwyn. The organizer of their crew had the brains to pull it off, but, as Isha watched her anxiously pace in and out of the morning light seeping into the half-collapsed room, she doubted Maudwyn had the acting skills. Options number two and two and a half were the twins, Knock and Chock. They were as big as cart horses, but possessed less than half the brain of one between them, making them an unlikely mastermind.
Isha was willing to bet all her non-existent money on option number three: Atticus, the aloof Magicker with the I’m-better-than-you swagger. He leaned against the opposite wall, arms crossed and dark curls brushing the edges of his glasses. He was in his mid-twenties, like her.
But, unlike her, the Potioner had hundreds of tiny glass vials strapped to belts across his person. Each contained a concoction he’d brewed. One could make someone grow a foot taller when drunk, while another could summon poisonous smoke when poured out, and, perhaps another could incapacitate a bright-eyed girl on watch and disappear a bag of stolen jewels.
Atticus’s dark eyes met Isha’s. She looked away, pretending to fuss with a loose curl that had escaped her braid.
“We search the church,” Maudwyn announced. “Twins, check upstairs. I’ll take this floor. Isha and Atticus, head to the chapel.”
The chapel, Isha soon discovered, stood as a literal crumbling shrine to those who’d put their trust in something that didn’t exist. To punctuate this, the rising sun shone through the cracked stained glass windows, casting the overturned pews and spattered spiderwebs in shades of pink and yellow.
“This is pointless,” Atticus said, half-heartedly tossing a molding prayer book across the room. “Khari took off with the jewels.”
Isha recognized a challenge when she heard one and took a step closer. “She didn’t.” Atticus mimicked the step. “She’s a criminal.”
“Says the criminal.” Isha countered with another step.
“I’m not a criminal.”
Isha laughed. “You just robbed a Baron. If they line us up for the executioner’s block, you can set your pretty little head right next to mine.”
“You think it’s pretty?”
They were practically on top of one another now.
“I think you’re a coward and traitor,” Isha hissed in his face.
If they weren’t so close, she wouldn’t have seen the subtle wince in his eyes as her words struck. Atticus reached for one of the vials at his belt. Isha’s dagger was at his throat first. He raised the vial between them. Isha dared him to hit her with the spell. He popped the cork and downed a long gulp.
“Coffee?” He offered.
His breath on her cheek definitely held the smell of coffee, and, below that, notes of jasmine. Isha rolled her eyes.
Atticus chuckled. “Slow to trust, aren’t you?”
Isha sheathed her dagger. “Criminal lesson number one: don’t trust anyone.” “Except Khari, apparently?”
“I don’t trust her. I just know she wouldn’t leave.” This prick was getting more annoying by the second.
“Here’s hoping you’re right.” Atticus took another swig. As he did, light refracted through the now-empty vial, casting tiny rainbow dots across the dusty floor. Those dots danced across the room, eventually landing on a spot that wasn’t dusty: the ground in front of a large bookshelf against the wall. It was almost as if…
“This was moved recently,” Isha said.
She braced herself against it and felt Atticus’s hands slide into place above hers as she pushed. Hidden behind the bookcase, and now revealed to them, was a staircase spiraling downward into a yawning darkness.
“Perfect,” Isha said with a sigh. “A mysterious murder passage.”
Atticus palmed and shook another vial. The liquid inside began to glow with an iridescent, milky light. Handy.
The farther they went down, the more overwhelming the smell of must and rot. After a few turns, the warm, pinkish light from the chapel was blotted out, leaving only the eerie shadows cast from Atticus’s vial.
“So… who do you trust?” Atticus’s voice was the type someone used when trapped in a long carriage ride: bored and looking for any source of entertainment. When Isha didn’t answer, he pressed harder. “You said you don’t trust Khari. Who then?”
“No one,” Isha retorted.
Atticus shrugged. “Sounds lonely.”
“Sounds safe.” It was a whisper meant only for herself, but Isha suspected Atticus had heard it, because no further questions came.
Before any other ill-conceived heart-to-hearts could be forced upon her, they reached the bottom of the stairs. Before them was a large stone room with another hallways out the back. Barrels overflowing with rotten food were shoved against the walls. As he scanned the room, Atticus’s light caught on four tiny pairs of eyes. There was a rush of scuttling cfeet. “Rats,” Atticus commented helpfully as he sidestepped around her.
Isha should’ve known there would be rats. She felt them crawling over her. She remembered the feel of their claws on her skin. She was a little girl again. Abandoned. Passed out in the trash. Covered in rats.
Atticus called to her over his shoulder. “What’s wrong, you scared?”
When she didn’t respond, he turned. The light flooded over her, putting her shame and fear on full display. His brow furrowed.
“I can’t.” Humiliating, revealing tears pricked at Isha’s eyes.
The air went taught as Atticus stared at her. And then, “Okay. Let’s go back.”
The words broke the dam keeping Isha together. Her traitorous body started to shake. Her lips felt numb. “What if the haul’s down here.” Her breathing quickened. “I need the money… The bounty hunters—”
“Shh.” Atticus’s voice was soft. He looked into her eyes, debating something. Atticus offered her a vial. “Drink this. It’ll dull your senses for two minutes.” He gripped her hand. “I’ll lead you through. I promise.”
Isha couldn’t. She didn’t trust him. She didn’t trust anyone, and for good reason. It could be poison. It could transform her into a donkey for all she knew. But there was this look in his eyes. This… care. Against her better judgment, Isha took the vial and downed it in one gulp. It tasted of jasmine and honey. Within a few seconds, everything faded away, like she’d dunked her head underwater.
Atticus pulled her forward. One step. Then another. It was like walking in a foggy, milk-drenched dream. And then, as her senses returned, it felt more like the prickly, uncomfortable sensation of standing after letting one of your limbs fall asleep…. If all of your senses were limbs. Isha blamed her scattered mind on the potion and definitely not on Atticus’s hand in hers. Slowly, her panic was replaced by something potentially worse: embarrassment. It built. And boiled. And eventually bubbled over.
“Thank you,” Isha blurted.
Atticus nodded.
Apparently he finally didn’t feel like talking. She couldn’t stop.
“I’ve never drank magic. Have you ever tested what happens when it, uh, comes out the other end? I wonder if that also has magical properties. Not that it made me think of that, of course. It tasted good!” She was babbling. “Was that jasmine?”
Atticus looked back at her. He was smiling. “It was. I put it in all my potions. My mom used to grow jasmine on the windowsill.”
His smile cooled the shame, but stoked a different kind of warmth.
The vial-light caught on something ahead. It was a slumped form… and a mop of blonde hair. Khari’s hair. The girl was curled up on the ground. Isha released Atticus’s hand and sprinted to her, checking for a heartbeat. It and the bag of jewels were there, thank every lucky charm and non-existent god in the city.
“Seems we make a pretty good team,” came Atticus’s voice behind her.
Isha snorted. “I just don’t understand how she got here in the first place.” Isha fussed with the girl’s breathing. As she got in closer, she could smell something on the girl’s breath… honey and jasmine.
No. It couldn’t be. For once, Isha didn’t want to be right.
Slowly, painfully slowly, she drew her dagger. Then turned.
Atticus had his back to the wall, the bag of jewels in one hand and an open potion vial extended toward Isha in the other.
A laugh, equal parts dumbfounded and pissed, bubbled out of Isha. “I knew there was a traitor.”
Atticus winced. “She’ll wake in a few hours.”
Isha didn’t respond.
“You don’t understand.” He looked at her with desperation. “My mom’s sick. The Baron caught wind that someone was planning a job. He said he’d pay for her treatment—” “Save it.” Isha stood to face him.
“You were supposed to believe she’d run.” Atticus was pleading now. “You all could’ve gotten away. The jewels and I would get safely back to the Baron. Everyone would be fine.” Isha said nothing.
Atticus met her eyes. “Please.”
Isha struck. Her knife caught his fingers around the vial. He dropped it as blood welled. The vial shattered on the ground, spewing its contents. The smell of coffee rose. Atticus tried to swing the bag of jewels at her, but she ducked out of the way. She brought her knife up to his neck. His eyes met hers. Those eyes that had been so gentle before were now so full of fear.
Isha changed her grip and brought the hilt of the knife to Atticus’s temple. He crumpled to the ground.
Atticus woke to darkness. The light potion sputtered beside him, barely emitting the glow of a lightning bug. His head throbbed, his fingers were bloody, and the hallway was empty. Isha, Khari, and the jewels were gone.
Hours later, Atticus walked home in the dying light. The Baron had thrown things, cursed, and threatened. Even after all that, Atticus had done all he could to protect the crew and keep their identities secret. No, not the crew. Her. He kept seeing Isha’s face. Her fear. Her trust. Her rage.
Atticus pushed his bandaged hand through his hair as he turned down the alley to his apartment. He could see his mother through their kitchen window. Her face was gaunt. Her hands shook as she prepared dinner. Atticus had failed. He’d doomed her.
The crunch of footsteps echoed behind him. Atticus pulled a defensive potion from his belt and whirled around. The alley was empty. No… it wasn’t. His eyes caught on something that hadn't been there before. Sitting on the cobblestones was a single ruby, nearly the size of his fist. And beside it, a tiny bouquet of jasmine flowers.