The Boston Historical and Archaeological Museum was a majestic building, right in the heart of the cultural center of the city, in the outskirts of the Boston Common. The woman, waiting in a turquoise Simca 1000 inconspicuously parked in a side road, could see the people rushing out from the Wilbur Theatre.

From her position, the closed doors of the museum were very visible. The long banners advertising the exhibit were flapping loosely in the crispy night air, the picture of the fateful music box deformed by the wind. The tall Greek-looking columns of the façade were dimly lit by the yellow night lights, shining briefly on the great external staircase before fading in the darkness of the surrounding gardens.

The back door opened and closed, and Vopros's tall figure crumbled on the backseat of the Simca 1000 with a polemic expression.

«So, everything's set?» asked Banshee from the shotgun seat.

«Don't know if plan sound so easy because it is, or because is stupid.» said the Russian, with his usual tact and delicacy, shrugging under his fur hat.

«We'll only know it when we try, no? Let's do this and go back home volando, can we? Andale.» sentenced Chico on the common channel on their military-grade walkie-talkies.

«All right, Chico ye know what ye have to do, right?»

«I got it. See you at the exit. And por favor, be careful!»

The Mexican sighed and left the driver's seat, starting strutting down the road with an innocent, half-drunk expression. He was nervous, and his jitters had started to pass to his familiar. Soballende's black cat's form, the form anyone could see, had its fur on edge and his eyes jolting all around. He looked like a big cat, draped on Chico's shoulders like a tippet.

It was far less terrifying than his spiritual form, the black, red-eyed shadow climbing up and down the walls of his house, but the empathic contact they had with each other implied that everything Chico felt, the familiar felt too.

It hadn't happened so often they had to plan a heist in something so central and popular. The Order's recovery missions were usually set in discomforting mysterious places untouched by man, and for good reasons. If they had to acquire an already discovered object, possessed by someone, they usually found a way to buy it, without excessive fuss.

Chico stared at the innocent electrical junction box in front of him. The alley was a little and rather clean one, not the kind of rape alley one would fear to be assaulted in. Behind him, a quite populated road was swarming with people rushing home. Typical of Banshee to choose a Saturday evening for a heist, and not a more pacific night in a city that hardly slept anyways.

He used the trash can as a cover to be sure not to be seen from the main road, but even if he was, he was simply a well-dressed Mexican man, going home from tonight's theatre evening, who suddenly felt very lightheaded and stepped away from the pavement traffic to try and catch his breath.

He put a hand on the junction box as if he just needed to hold on to something. He felt the conventional rush through his veins. In front of his black eyes, reality started to take the already familiar look of a writhing mass of shiny filaments, a twisting tangle, breathing with that energy that permeated the world, unseen by the eyes of the mortals.

He pitied them. He started to since the day he discovered he could use magic. To be able to see the true blueprint of the world, the connections between every living and unliving thing, was an astounding sensation. Its marvel never really grew old.

He concentrated on the kind of magic he was going to use, feel the energy pass through his body, to his hand, and from his hand to the fluxes all around the target. It was one of those things that took more time to explain than to do. Simple, plain gestures.

One second the junction box was working.

The next, it fizzled and shut down.

The whole block went down in complete darkness.

https://youtu.be/XZBp0VvuUhQ

Of course, the Museum had a backup generator.

And of course, the minute electricity failed, a shout out distress signal was sent from the Museum to the nearest police department. It was a built-in system of the Museum alarm, to be sure that whoever would have ever tried to block the Museum's electricity for a heist, couldn't block the distress signal.

So, neither did they.

The distress signal reached its target: the police department. And, as per protocol, a phone call was rapidly made.

«This is the 87th, we have received a distress signal.» said a metallic voice on the other side of Banshee's phone, fizzling with magic in quite showy green sparks.

«Oh yeah, hi, no, I think it's just the black-out, everything has gone dark around here. Not only us. We have our guards on the up and up, so don't worry. Thank you anyway.»

The police, swarmed by calls from all the other people hit by the blackout, was quite happy to leave the situation at that. Technology, after all, had no way whatsoever to determine that the call hadn't reached the Museum's phone. The flux that the call followed was the one it would have naturally followed. Banshee simply deviated the flux to her phone. Like a wire, but easier.

«So you sure you don't want us to check out the Museum?» asked the policeman.

«Oh no, we're completely all right. Our guards have just started a patrol round, we'll call if something happens, but everything seems peachy. Bye.» Banshee put down the phone trying to sound smiley and shot a glance at her colleague.

«So it's a general black-out?» asked a worried voice, for the third time, in Vopros's unsympathetic ear.

«Yes, lady. Be calm. Light will be back soon.» he answered dryly, not even trying to hide his Russian accent. «We send patrol anyway, to check. You feel calm, then?»

«Oh yes, that would be wonderful. I mean, I know it's affecting everyone and it's just a malfunction of the grid but... these days, you're never too sure, and with the exhibit soon...»

«Patrol is coming.» Vopros put down the phone and groaned audibly. «We go fast.» he pleaded.

They both looked dashing in the police uniforms Chico had found them in one of those shady shops they had in his neighborhood. They were very similar to the real ones, if you didn't stop and look at the seams to reveal the Velcro. But they would have been lighted only by the emergency backup-generator lighting, and judging by the lady's voice, things would have been frantic enough not let them be so suspicious.

They marched to the Museum entrance with all the self-confidence of regular policemen. Just inside, a short woman with a brown suit and her chestnut hair tied up in a bun was writhing her hands, suddenly lighting up when she saw them approach.

«Oh, thank God you're here.» she smiled. She instinctively went towards Vopros, but a cold glare of the Russian man made her change her mind and approach the smiling Banshee on his side.

«Problems, ma'am?» she hated using the American accent.

«No, not at all luckily but... I do feel more secure now that you're here. I keep repeating to myself that I must be paranoid to think about this black-out as some sort of out-of-a-movie heist, but you know... you read the strangest things, and this exhibit...»

«Are guards on patrol?» asked Vopros, sounding professional with his deep voice and serious glare. The woman jolted.

«Our... yes, yes of course they are! They checked the music box, at once, and then proceeded towards the rest of the museum. So far, everything seems in order, but... you never know, you truly never know, if something happens to that music box, I...»

«Calm down ma'am. Would you feel better if we went and checked it all as well?» asked Banshee, with a reassuring smile. She was starting to feel quite guilty about the heist itself. That poor woman would have had a hell of a day tomorrow. But, eyes on the prize, after all. The museum could recover. Her pride, from another failure, couldn't.

«Oh, yes, please! We put some guards on the music box, if you could proof-check the rest of the museum it would be marvelous! Thank you very much!» she answered, with a note of such gratitude in her voice, Banshee's guilt skyrocketed.

Now came the difficult part. Until now, every good heist crew could have pulled something like they did. Maybe not as smoothly and easily, but still.