This story is a response to the Muse on Monday prompt from June 15, 2026: Write a story where the character is trapped in a closet with a stranger.

A Closet of Thieves

The room smelled of death and opportunity.

I crept in through the window that had been left open to air out the stuffiness of chronic sickness, scanning for people as I stepped inside. My contact, the butler, had called me as soon as the doctors had declared the Grand Duchess Margot Delacroix had passed on to the next realm, leaving her legendary treasures without an owner and momentarily unguarded.

I checked under the bed first, looking for lockboxes or secret compartments. I was about to start checking behind paintings when there was the sound of footsteps in the hall. The bed was too low to get under, and the window was too far away. At the last second I ducked into the closet and pulled the door shut.

I was so intent on peering through the slats of the closet door that for several seconds I did not notice the person standing next to me. I almost yelped as they brushed against me.

In the dim light filtering into the closet, I saw it was a woman, dressed in black and wearing a panther mask. From what I could see of her face, her expression looked unimpressed.

“Who are you?” I whispered.

“Well, I not the maid.”

“Thief?” I guessed, hoping she wasn’t an assassin. She sighed and nodded.

I felt like I needed to set expectations. “I don’t care if you were here first,” I said. “The Necklace of Marrakesh is mine.”

“The Necklace of Marrakesh!” Panther Mask whisper-scoffed and moved a mink coat out of her way to get a little closer. “That’s just a legend. Everyone knows that was invented after the Davison expedition to hide the real prize which was the Staff of Tambor.”

“So, you’re here for the staff?”

“No, that was stolen three years ago by the Brotherhood of the Eleazer. So they say, at least. I’m here for the Faerie Crown.”

“The Faerie Crown!” I exclaimed with more scoff than whisper. She smacked me in the chest. I continued in a whisper. “You think the Necklace is legendary but you’re here to steal the crown of the king of Faerieland?”

“Just because it wasn’t made by actual faeries doesn’t mean it’s not real,” she said, sounding defensive. “I have a buyer all lined up for it.”

“You have a buyer already?”

“You don’t?”

“No, I do. I have . . . eight buyers,” I said, but the damage was already done.

There was a noise outside and we both peered through the slats in the closet door. A richly-dressed man and woman hurried into the room, looking around.

“Quick,” the man said. “It’s behind the picture of the constipated rottweiler.”

“That’s the Grand Duchess’s nephew and his wife, the Count and Countess of Fripperie,” Panther Mask whispered as we watched the pair outside swing the painting away from the wall to reveal a safe.

“It’s not fair,” I said. “They’re just amateurs, plus they’re already rich. They should leave this to the professionals, like us.”

There was a noise in the hallway and the two noble thieves looked up. “Quick!” the count said. “Into the closet!”

Before either I or Panther Mask could react, the countess opened the closet door and she and her husband crowded in, crushing us back against the sides. They pulled the door closed.

“Excuse me, but we were here first,” Panther Mask said. The count gave a small squeak of terror and tried to move away, which was impossible with four people in the closet.

“They’re thieves, honeykins,” the countess wailed, with not even a hint of whisper. “They’re here to steal the Ring of Rhondonia.”

“Shut up,” I hissed. “I don’t want the Ring of Rhondonia. That doesn’t even exist. I’m here for the Necklace of Marrakesh.”

“And I want the Faerie Crown,” Panther Mask said.

Outside in the room, a man came in cautiously, looking around.

“Oh, it’s only Jimmy,” the count said. He opened the closet door. “Glad to see you, Jimmy. I thought maybe it was one of the Rathbone family. Stand outside the door and keep them out, would you?” He turned to us. “You might as well all come out.”

We sat down to try to negotiate how this would work. We agreed that I would get the Necklace of Marrakesh if: a) it existed and b) we found it. Panther Mask would get the Faerie Crown and the count and countess would get the Ring of Rhondonia under the same conditions. The main sticking point was how to divide up any other treasures we found. As the negotiations dragged on, the countess sent Jimmy out for tea and sandwiches.

After we’d reached an agreement, we started searching. The next hour was an education in disappointment. There were no necklaces or crowns or rings or treasures of any kind. All we found was a box of unpublished manuscripts. The one on top was called Marvellous Margot and the Staff of Tambor. We divided them up and as per our agreement, I took Marvellous Margot and the Necklace of Marrakesh. After awkward handshakes all around, I crept sheepishly back out the window.

The papers the next day screamed about the death of the Grand Duchess and speculated about the legends of her unlimited treasures. I barely left the house all day. I was too absorbed in Marvellous Margot and the Necklace of Marrakesh. I got a nasty shock around evening when the book ended on a cliffhanger with the words “Find out what happens in Book 2: Marvellous Margot and the Ring of Rhondonia!”

I knew what I had to do. I would find them all and reassemble the series. First, I had to break into the estate of the Count of Fripperie before the suspense killed me.