Fate's Edge te-3 Read online

  Cops were the same everywhere, Kaldar reflected. In the Broken, they called you “sir” and Tasered you, while in the Weird, they called you “master” and hit you with low-level flash magic, but the street look—that wary, evaluating, flat look in their eyes—was the same everywhere. Cops noticed everything, and few of them were stupid. He had committed too many crimes in both worlds to underestimate them.

  The blond undersheriff stopped before him. “I’m Undersheriff Rodwell. Your name?”

  “Kaldar Mar.”

  “Do you find the destruction of Adrianglian landmarks humorous, Master Mar? Perhaps you would like to visit our jail and spend some time in our jail cell to collect your thoughts and explain to all of us what is so funny?”

  “I’d love to,” Kaldar said. “But my employer might take an issue with that.”

  “Who is your employer?”

  Kaldar sent a spark of magic through his spine. A faint sheen rolled over the earring in his left ear. It dripped down, forming a dull tear hanging from the hoop. The tear brightened, and Rodwell stared at his own reflection in a mirrored surface.

  “Kaldar Mar, agent of the Adrianglian Secret Service.” The tear sparked and vanished. “The Mirror is grateful for your assistance, Undersheriff. Thank you for securing the crime scene for me.”

  “I just want to know one thing.” Sheriff Kaminski kept his voice low. “Is the Hand involved in this?”

  Kaldar considered before making his answer. He needed their cooperation. It would make things easier, and he needed to build contacts in law enforcement. “Yes.”

  The sheriff chewed on it for a long breath.

  “How do you know?” Rodwell asked.

  Kaldar cycled through his options. Neither one of the men struck him as a social climber. They were good at what they did and were happy right where they were. If he came on with an imperious aristocratic air, they’d stonewall him. The buddy-buddy approach wouldn’t work, either—their town was on the line, and they were both too grim for jokes. A straight shooter, just-doing-my-job type was his best bet.

  Kaldar delayed another half a second, as if weighing the gravity of the information, and pointed at a fragment of a tentacle a few feet away.

  The two men looked in the direction of his fingers.

  “That’s a piece of a Hand operative, pieuvre class. Six to ten tentacles, amphibious, weighs in close to five hundred pounds. A nasty breed.” He clipped his words a bit, adding a touch of a military tone to his voice.

  “You’ve seen one before?” Rodwell asked. The hint of challenge in his voice was a shade lighter.

  Kaldar pretended to think for a moment and grasped the sleeve of his leather jacket. The clasps on his wrist snapped open, and he pulled the sleeve down, revealing his forearm. Four quarter-sized round scars dotted his forearm in a ragged bracelet, the reminder of a tentacle wrapping around his wrist. The suckers had burned into his skin, and not even the best magic the Mirror had at its disposal had been able to remove the scars. He let them see it and pulled the sleeve closed. “Yes. I’ve seen one.”

  “Did it hurt?” Rodwell asked.

  “I don’t remember,” Kaldar answered honestly. “I was busy at the time.” He heard people say that you couldn’t kill a pieuvre operative with a knife. You could. You just had to have the proper motivation.

  The sheriff stared at the wreckage. “What do they want here?”

  Kaldar gave him a flat look and clamped his mouth shut. Giving up the information too easily wouldn’t do. Kaminski didn’t like him and didn’t trust him. However, if Kaldar risked his neck and broke the rules to put his fears to rest, well, it would be a different story. But no straight shooter would break the rules without serious doubts.

  A wise man far away in a different world once said, “Give me a lever long enough and a fulcrum on which to place it, and I shall move the world.” Kaminski was worried about his town. It was written all over his face. That worry was the lever. Apply the proper amount of force, and Kaldar could shift the sheriff to his side.

  The silence won.

  “Look, Master Mar, I know you’re breaking regulations,” Kaminski said. “I just need to know if my people are safe.”

  Kaldar rocked back on his heels, looked at the sky, and sighed. “I don’t normally do this.”

  Kaminski and Rodwell took a step closer, almost in unison. “It won’t go anywhere,” the sheriff promised. “You have my word.”

  Kaldar took another breath. “Eight hours ago, the West Egyptian authorities discovered that a group of thieves broke into the Pyramid of Ptah. The perpetrators stole a magic device of great strategic value. It was a theft for hire, and the Dukedom of Louisiana’s Hand was the intended recipient of the device. In the early-morning hours, the thieves crossed the border and arrived here, to meet the Hand’s operatives. The Hand is infamous for double-crossing the hired help, so the thieves picked a public, well-known location for their own safety. As you can see, their fears were justified.”

  “So Adriana was never the intended target?” Kaminski asked.

  “No, Sheriff. It was simply the closest public place. Your people are safe.”

  “Thank you,” Kaminski said simply.

  “If the city was never the target, why is the Mirror involved?” Rodwell frowned.

  “Because the attempted exchange took place on our soil, West Egypt requires our assistance in recovering the device. It’s a diplomatic nightmare already. We must resolve this and quickly, or they may take matters into their own hands. Nobody wants to have half a dozen of the Claws of Bast running around in the realm.”

  The undersheriff winced. Even Kaminski looked taken aback for a moment. The Claws of Bast had a certain reputation.

  Kaminski surveyed the rubble. “All those pieces look like they belong to the same body, and according to you, they’re pieces of a Hand operative. No other body parts. The thieves got away.”

  Kaldar nodded. “Indeed. Somewhere out there, in that mess, is a clue that will tell me where they went.”

  “I can have my men pull the rubble apart,” Kaminski said. “I can put sixteen undersheriffs on this. We’ll throw up a grid, work in shifts through the night, and have every crumb and rock cataloged for you by morning.”

  Kaldar grinned. “I appreciate the offer, but time is short.”

  The two men stared at him. Showtime.

  “Do you have any coins on you, Undersheriff?” Kaldar asked.

  Rodwell dug into his pocket and came up with a handful of change. Kaldar plucked the small silver disk of a half crown from the man’s palm and held it up with his thumb and index finger. The rays of the morning sun shone, reflecting from the small disk of silver. “I bet you a half crown that I’ll walk out there and find this vital clue in the next three minutes.”

  Rodwell glanced at the half crown and back at the sea of debris. A small smile bent his lips. “I’ll take that bet.”

  A spark of magic pulsed from the coin in Kaldar’s fingers. It shot through him like lightning, awakening something lying hidden deep in the recesses of his being, just on the edge of consciousness. The strange reserves of magic sparked to life and solidified into a tense, shivering current that burst through the coin, through his spine, up through his skull, and down through his legs and the soles of his feet. The current speared him, claiming him, and he shuddered, caught like a fish on the line. This was his own special talent. If he got someone to accept a bet, his magic skewed the odds in his favor.

  The current pulled on him, and Kaldar let it steer him. The magic led him, guiding each step, maneuvering him around the pitted pavement, over the heap of shattered marble, to a cluster of splintered wood. The coin tugged him forward. Kaldar bent. Something shiny caught the sun in the crevice underneath a twisted wreck of metal that used to be a tea-making machine. He reached for it. His fingertips touched glass, and the current vanished.

  Kaldar pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, wrapped it over his fingers, and gently pried the
glass object free. A six-inch-long tube with a wide bulb on the end. Dark soot stained the inside of the bulb. How about that?

  He turned and brought his find back to the two men.

  “What is that?”

  “That’s an ‘I Love You Rose.’ These tubes are sold in certain shops.” Namely, the gas stations near ghettos in the Broken. “There is usually a cheap fake flower inside. They’re bought by addicts who drop cheap narcotics into the bulb and smoke the tube like a pipe.”

  Kaminski raised his head. “Bring the goleeyo!”

  A young woman, whose blond hair was carefully braided away from her face, hurried over, carrying a contraption of light bronze resembling a long flashlight. She glanced at the pipe, snagged a small leather book chained to her belt, tore a piece of thin paper, and looked at Kaldar. “Hold it up, please!”

  He raised the meth pipe. Most of the Weird’s gadgetry was still new to him. He hadn’t seen this one before.

  The blonde clicked the flashlight. A bright beam of pale green light stabbed the pipe, highlighting dirty smudges, specks of dirt, and, on the bulb, one large, beautiful fingerprint. The woman placed the paper between the light and the fingerprint, holding it an inch away from the glass, and clicked the flashlight again. The flashlight whirred. Its back end split, the metal plates lifting up, revealing the interior: a series of small gears speckled with tiny gems. The gears spun. The flashlight clicked loudly in a measured rhythm. With each click, the light turned darker and bluer. Thin lines appeared on the paper, growing darker and darker. The beam of the flashlight turned indigo and winked out. The blond woman handed Kaldar the piece of paper with the fingerprint squarely in the center.

  He hit her with a dazzling smile. “Thank you, m’lady.”

  She smiled back. “You’re welcome, m’lord.”

  If he didn’t have to leave, he could’ve asked her to share a meal with him, and she would say yes. Kaldar checked the hint of a smile hiding in her eyes. She would definitely say yes, then he would get her to say yes to a night together, and it would be a lot of fun for them both. Unfortunately, he wasn’t his own man at the moment.

  “So what’s next?” Kaminski asked.

  “Next, I’ll go hunting,” Kaldar said.

  Fifteen minutes later, Kaldar finished with the pleasantries, shook the hands, thanked and was thanked, and finally headed to his wyvern, waiting for him on the edge of town. Addicts in the Weird didn’t use meth pipes, which meant the West Egyptians were right. The thieves must have come from the Edge or the Broken. Almost four months had passed since he had visited either place. The hop back across the boundary was long overdue.

  Of the three people involved, the picklock had to be his best bet. A man with a gift like that wouldn’t stay idle for long. Somewhere, somehow, that man had left a trail. All Kaldar had to do was find it.

  He couldn’t wait to meet the talented bastard.

  THE fallen tree still blocked the road. Audrey sighed, put her parking brake on, and started up the mountain. The evening sky sifted gray drizzle onto the forest. Soon June would come and with it heat and crystalline blue skies, but for now the world was still damp, its colors, except for the brilliant green, muted. A far cry from Florida. Traveling through the Weird meant crossing four countries, impossible without a wyvern. She had flown from Seattle into Orlando instead. The plane had landed late, and they pulled the job off that night, but when they had driven to Jacksonville, she got to see the sunrise through the windshield of a stolen car. It started as a pale glow of purple and red near the horizon, just over the smooth expanse of silvery ocean, then, suddenly, it bloomed across the sky, pink and orange and yellow, a riot of color, huge and shocking. If it had a sound, it would’ve deafened everyone on the road.

  Audrey sighed. She wished she could’ve stayed longer, but common sense had won. Every moment in Florida put her in danger. Besides, seeing Alex again was like ripping off a scab. He hadn’t changed, not even a little. Same sneer, same hollow eyes, same junkie-contempt for everyone and everything. She abandoned Dad—no, Seamus, since he hardly was her father anymore—and Alex to their scheme and took the first available plane from Jacksonville. Ended up with a six-hour layover in Atlanta, just like everyone else. She was pretty sure that if you died in the South, you’d have a layover in Atlanta before you reached the afterlife. But now, almost fifteen hours later, she was finally home.

  The pyramid had been a hell of a challenge. Complex locks weren’t a problem, but three doors had heavy bars. Lifting a bar by magic felt harder than lifting her own weight. The three reinforced doors had nearly drained her dry, but she had done it. It was over now, and she was living the first day of the rest of her life. Free life.

  Audrey conquered the fallen tree, crossed the clearing, and knocked on the door of Gnome’s house. A rough growl answered. “Come in!”

  Audrey tried the door handle. Locked again. A little test, huh. She put her palm against the keyhole, and the door clicked. Audrey opened the door, wiped her feet on the little rug, and went inside. Gnome sat in his chair. His thick eyebrows furrowed as she approached. Audrey took a seat across from him, reached into her bag, and pulled out a bottle of AleSmith Speedway Stout. She set the bottle on the table.

  “Thank you for feeding Ling for me while I was gone.”

  “No trouble. All she needed was a cup of cat food.” Gnome shrugged his huge shoulders. “The little beast hates me, you know.”

  “No, she’s just weary. She’s been beat up by life,” Audrey said.

  “Haven’t we all?” Gnome took the bottle by the top and turned it, this way and that. “That’s some talent you’ve got there.”

  “It comes in handy.” What was he getting at? If there was a job offer on the end of this conversation, she’d turn it down flat.

  “Did your talent have something to do with this urgent business you left on?”

  Audrey nodded.

  “I thought you got a legal job in the Broken.”

  “I did. It was a special one-time thing. For the family.”

  “Family, huh.” Gnome gave out a gruff snort. “I knew your father.”

  “He mentioned you.”

  Gnome studied the beer bottle. “What did he say?”

  “It was some years back. He said you knew just about everything there was to know about the Edge business on this coast. He didn’t like you much. He thinks you’re a tough fence to con.”

  “Well, I don’t like him much, either.” Gnome grimaced. “You see all this around you?” He indicated the shelves with a sweep of his hand. “That’s over a hundred years of the right decisions.”

  It didn’t surprise her. Gnome looked sixty, maybe, but a lot of Edgers were long-lived. A couple of centuries wasn’t out of the question, and Gnome knew the Pacific Edge too well to have gotten into this business only a few years ago.

  “I bargained for every item here, and I know I can sell it for a profit. Those batteries over there cost me nine dollars and ninety-eight cents. I sell them for three bucks apiece. Make fifty dollars and two cents in profit. I don’t force foolish people to pay three dollars for a double-A battery. I just provide the opportunity, and they buy it because either they’re too lazy to drive five miles down to the store or they don’t have the gas, or they don’t have the money, but they’ve got something to trade. Why should I charge less because they can’t make enough to feed their kids and buy gas at the same time? This is business. You build it little by little, and you hold on to what you’ve got. Your father can’t get it through his thick skull. He wants big money now, and when he gets it, he blows it all because he is too damn stupid to pace himself. He had you with your gift, and he’s still penniless.”

  “I won’t argue with you there.” Childhood in the Callahan family had been feast or famine. One day steak, the next mac with imaginary cheese.

  Gnome leaned forward, poking the table with his finger. “I’m not in the business of giving advice. I’m in the business of making money. So yo
u listen to me good because this is the only time I’ll say this. You’re a nice girl. Not many of you are left out there. You’re an endangered species. Your father’s trouble. He’s a selfish asshole, and his turkey is cooked—he ain’t gonna change for nobody.” Gnome made a cutting motion with his hand. “He’ll drag you into a mess and run the other way. You’ve got a good thing going here: you’ve got a house, you’ve got a good job, and you’re your own person. Don’t let him screw it all up for you.”

  Audrey rose. “I won’t. This was the last time.”

  “That’s what they all say.”

  She smiled at him. “Yes, but I mean it. I will never do a job again for Seamus Callahan.”

  “You see to that.”

  Oh, she would. She most definitely would. If any of the Callahans ever showed themselves on her lawn again, she would meet them with a rifle in her hands. If she was feeling charitable, they’d get a warning shot, but chances of that were slim.

  TWO

  JACK sheathed his knife, tied the dressed hare to a stick, and slung it over his shoulder. It wouldn’t do for the meat to touch his school uniform. Might make the kill dirty.

  He headed down the forest path. It was a nice rabbit. No bugs. No sickness—all the innards smelled right. He’d killed it quick, by breaking its neck with his fangs. Best that way because the hare didn’t suffer, and the meat wasn’t contaminated. Jack had changed back into a human, washed the hare in a stream, and taken care to field-dress it properly.

  He always brought a gift when he came to see William. He was going into his den, and William didn’t have to let him in. It was polite to bring a present.

  Jack grimaced. He wasn’t very good at polite, according to his sister, Rose. But William and he never had an issue. They were both changelings, and some things were unspoken but understood: bring a gift, don’t show your teeth, don’t stare at Cerise for too long. Not that he liked Cerise like that. It was just that she was William’s wife, and when Jack tried to explain things, it made sense to her. When he tried to explain things to his own sister, he got chewed out.