Fate's Edge

ONE

KALDAR Mar stepped back and critically surveyed the vast three-dimensional map of the Western Continent. It spread on the wall of the private conference room, a jeweled masterpiece of magic and semiprecious stones. Forests of malachite and jade flowed into plains of aventurine and peridot. The plains gave rise to mountains of brown opals with ridges of banded agates and tiger eye, topped by the snowy peaks of moonstone and jasper.

Beautiful. A completely useless waste of money, but beautiful. If it somehow could be stolen . . . you’d need a handcart to transport it and some tools to carve it to pieces. Hmm, also a noise dampener would work wonders here, and this being the Weird, he could probably find someone willing to risk creating a soundproof sigil for the right price. Steal a custodian’s uniform, get in, cut the map, wrap each piece in a tarp, load them on the handcart, and push the whole thing right out the front door, while looking disgruntled. Less than twenty minutes for the whole job if the cutter was powerful enough. The map would feed the entire Mar family for a year or more.

Well, what was left of the family.

Kaldar’s memory overlaid the familiar patterns of states over the map, ignoring the borders of the Weird’s nations. Adrianglia took up a big chunk of the Eastern seaboard, stretching in a long vertical ribbon. In the Broken, it would have consumed most of the states from New York and southern Quebec to Georgia and a small chunk of Alabama. Below it, West Egypt occupied Florida and spread down into Cuba. To the left of Adrianglia, the vast Dukedom of Louisiana mushroomed upward, containing all of Louisiana and a chunk of Alabama in the south, rising to swallow Mississippi and Texarcana, and ending with the coast of the Great Lakes. Beyond that, smaller nations fought it out: the Republic of Texas, the Northern Vast, the Democracy of California . . .

Kaldar had grown up on the fringes of this world, in the Edge, a narrow strip of land between the complex magic of the Weird and the technological superiority of the Broken. Most of his life was spent in the Mire, an enormous swamp, cut off from the rest of the Edge by impassable terrain. The Dukedom of Louisiana dumped its exiles there and killed them when they tried to reenter the Weird. His only escape had been through the Broken. He traveled back and forth, smuggling goods, lying, cheating, making as much money as was humanly possible and dragging it back to the family.

Kaldar stared at the map. Each country had an enemy. Each was knee deep in conflict. But the only war he cared about was happening right in the middle, between the Dukedom of Louisiana and Adrianglia. It was a very quiet, vicious war, fought in secrecy by spies, with no rules and no mercy. On the Adrianglian side, the espionage and its consequences were handled by the Mirror. He supposed if they were in the Broken, the Mirror would be the equivalent of the CIA or FBI, or perhaps both. On the Dukedom of Louisiana’s side, the covert war was the province of the secret service known as the Hand. He had watched from the sidelines for years as the two organizations clashed, but watching wasn’t enough anymore.

First, the Mirror woke him up at ten till five, and now he spent fifteen minutes waiting. Puzzling.

The heavy wooden door swung open soundlessly, and a woman entered the room. She was short, with a sparse, compact body, wrapped in an expensive blue gown embroidered with silver thread. Kaldar priced the dress out of habit. About five gold doubloons in the Weird, probably a grand and a half or two in the Broken. Expensive and obviously custom tailored. The blue fabric perfectly complemented her skin, the color of hazelnut shells. The dress was meant to communicate power and authority, but she hardly needed it. She moved as if she owned the air he breathed.

Nancy Virai. The head of the Mirror. They had never met—he had not been given that honor, poor Edge rat that he was—but she hardly needed an introduction.

He’d spent the last two years doing small assignments, challenging but nothing of great importance. Nothing that would warrant the attention of Lady Virai. Anticipation shot through Kaldar. Something big waited at the end of this conversation.

Lady Virai approached and stopped at the desk four feet away. Dark eyes surveyed him from a severe face. Her irises were like black ice. Stare too long, and you’d veer off course and smash into a hard wall at full speed.

“You are Kaldar Mar.”

“Yes, my lady.”

“How long have you worked for me?”

She knew perfectly well when he had started. “Almost two years, my lady.”

“You have open warrants in two provinces, which we quashed when you were hired, and an extensive criminal record in the Dukedom of Louisiana.” Nancy’s face was merciless. “You are a smuggler, a conman, a gambler, a thief, a liar, and an occasional murderer. With that résumé, I can see why you thought the Mirror would be the proper career choice. Just out of curiosity, is there a law that you haven’t broken?”

“Yes. I never raped anyone. Also, I never copulated with animals. I believe Adrianglia has a law against that.”

“And you have a smart mouth.” Nancy crossed her arms. “As per our agreement with your family and the condition of extracting the lot of you from the Edge, you are now a citizen of Adrianglia. Your debt is being paid in full by the efforts of your cousin Cerise Sandine and her husband, William. You are allowed to pursue any profession you may like. Yet you came to work for me. Tell me, why is that?”

Kaldar smiled. “I’m grateful to the realm for rescuing my family. I possess a unique set of talents that the Mirror finds useful, and I don’t want to rely on my lovely cousin and William for the repayment of my debt. William is a nice chap, a bit testy at times and he occasionally sprouts fur, but everyone has issues. I would feel rotten being indebted to him. It would be taking advantage of his good nature.”

Nancy’s cold eyes stared at him for a long second. “People like you love taking advantage of others’ good nature.”

He laughed quietly under his breath.

“You lie with no hesitation. The smile was particularly a nice touch. I imagine that face serves you quite well, especially in female company.”

“It has its uses.”

Lady Virai pondered him for a long moment. “Kaldar, you are a scoundrel.”

He bowed with all the elegance of a blueblood prince.

“You were born smart but poor. You view me as a spoiled, rich woman born with a gold coin in my mouth. You feel that I and those of my social standing don’t appreciate what we have, and you delight in thumbing your nose at aristocracy.”

“My lady, you give me entirely too much credit.”

“Spare me your bullshit. You revel in sabotaging the system, you hate orders, and you break the law simply because it’s there. You can’t help yourself. Yet two years ago you came to me with a bridle and a set of spurs, and said, ‘Ride me.’ And in two years, your record has been strangely law-abiding. You’ve been good, Kaldar. Within reason, of course. There was that business with the bank mysteriously catching fire.”

“Completely accidental, my lady.”

Lady Virai grimaced. “I’m sure. I need to know why you’re going through all this trouble, and I don’t have time to waste.”

The problem with honesty was that it gave your opponent ammunition to use against you. One simply didn’t hand a woman like Nancy Virai a loaded gun. Unless, of course, one had no choice. If he played coy now or tried to lie, she would see through him and order him out of the room. He would continue his rotation of small-time assignments. He had waited two years for this chance. He had to be sincere. “Revenge,” Kaldar said.

She didn’t say anything.

“The Hand took people from me.” He kept his voice casual and light. “My aunts, my uncles, cousins, my younger brother. There were thirty-six adults in the family before the Hand came to our little corner of the Edge. There are fifteen now, and they are raising a crop of orphaned children.”

“Do you want the Hand’s agents dead?”

“No.” Kaldar smiled again. “I want them to fail. I want to see despair in their eyes. I want them to feel helpless.”

“What is driving you? It’s not all hate. People driven by hate alone are hollow. You have some life left in you. Is it fear?”

He nodded. “Most definitely.”

“For yourself?”

In his mind, he was back on that muddy hillside drenched in cold gray rain. Aunt Murid’s body lay broken on the ground, her blood spreading across the brown mud in a brilliant scarlet stain. He was sure that’s not what he actually saw. Back in that moment, he didn’t have time to stand and watch the blood spread. He was too busy cutting into the creature that killed her. This memory was false. It came from his nightmares.

“What are you thinking of?” Lady Virai asked.

“I’m remembering my family dying.”

“How did you feel when they were killed?”

“Helpless.”

There. She had pulled it out of him. It hurt. He didn’t expect it to, but it did.

Lady Virai nodded. “How well can you handle the Broken?”

“I swim through it like a fish through clear water.”

She gave him a flat look.

“The Edge is very long but narrow,” he told her. “The Mire, where my family lived, is boxed on two sides by impassable terrain. There are only two ways out: to the Weird and the Dukedom of Louisiana, or to the Broken and the State of Louisiana. The Dukedom uses the Mire as a dumping ground for its exiles. They murder any Edger who approaches that boundary. So that border is closed, which leaves only one avenue of escape, to the Broken. Most of my family had too much magic to survive that crossing, so it fell to me to procure supplies and other things we needed. I’ve traveled through the Broken since I was a child. I have contacts there, and I’ve taken care to maintain them.”

Lady Virai pondered his face.

Here it comes.

“So happens that I can use you.”

Aha!

“A few hours ago a group of thieves broke into the Pyramid of Ptah in West Egypt.” Lady Virai nodded at the map, where the peninsula that was Florida in the Broken thrust into the ocean. “The thieves stole a device of great military importance to the Egyptians. The Hand likely commissioned this theft. To make matters worse, the thieves were supposed to hand off their merchandise to the Louisianans, and they chose to do it in Adrianglian territory. Their meeting didn’t go as planned, and now Adrianglia is involved, and the Egyptians are threatening to send the Claws of Bast into our lands to retrieve the object.”

Kaldar frowned. The Hand was bad, the Mirror was dangerous, but the Claws of Bast were in a league of their own. There was a reason why their patron goddess was called the Devouring Lady.

“Can you handle a wyvern?” Lady Virai asked.

“Of course, my lady.” Not much difference between an enormous flying reptile and a horse, really.

“Good. You will be issued one, together with funds, equipment, and other things you may require. I want you to use it to fly to the south, find this device, and bring it to me. Find the object, Kaldar. I don’t care if you have to chase it to the moon; I want it in my hands, and I want it yesterday. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes. One question?”

Lady Virai raised her eyebrows a quarter of an inch.

“Why me?”

“Because the West Egyptians tells me the thieves are Edgers,” she said.

“How do they know?”

Her eyes flashed with annoyance. “They didn’t specify. But it’s hardly in their best interests to lie. The Hand hired the Edgers to do their dirty work, and now they have vanished into the Broken. They think they are beyond my reach. Your job is to prove them wrong. You may go now. Erwin will brief you and see to the details.”

Kaldar ducked his head and headed for the door. Fate finally smiled at him.

“Kaldar.”

He turned and looked at her.

“I’m taking a gamble,” she said. “I’m gambling that you are smart as well as pretty, and those smarts will keep you following my orders. Don’t disappoint me, Kaldar. If you fail because of lack of ability, I will simply discard you. But if you betray me, I will retire you. Permanently.”

He grinned at her. “Understood, my lady.”

THE briefing room lay just a short walk from the conference room. Kaldar rapped his knuckles on the door and swung it open. Erwin rose from a chair with a neutral smile.

Lady Virai’s pet flash sniper had a pleasant face, neither handsome nor unattractive. His short hair, halfway between dark blond and light brown, didn’t attract the eye. Of average height, he was trim but not overly muscular. His manner was unassuming; at the same time, he always appeared as if he belonged wherever he was. Never uncomfortable, never nervous, Erwin also never laughed. During meetings, people tended to forget he was in the room. He would blend right into a crowd of strangers, and once you passed him, his flash would take your head clean off. Erwin could hit a coin thrown in the air with a concentrated blast of magic from fifty paces away.

“Master Mar.” Erwin held out his hand.

“Master Erwin.” They shook.

Inconspicuous Erwin. When Kaldar had first met him, he’d taken the time to replicate the look and the mannerisms. The results proved shocking. He’d walked right past the security into the ducal palace twice before he decided to stop tempting Fate.

“Would you care for a drink?” the sniper asked.

“No.”

“Very well. On with the briefing, then.” Erwin turned to the large round table and tapped the console. The surface of the table ignited with pale yellow. The glow surged up and snapped into a three-dimensional image of a large pyramid, with pure white walls topped with a tip of pure gold.

“The Pyramid of Ptah. The Egyptian pyramids started as tombs and slowly progressed into houses of worship and learning. This particular pyramid, the second largest in West Egypt, is devoted to Ptah, God of Architects and Skilled Craftsmen. Of all creation gods of West Egypt, he is particularly venerated because of his intellectual approach. In essence, if Ptah thinks of it, it comes into being.”

“A useful power,” Kaldar said.

“Very. Ptah’s pyramid is the center of research for many magic disciplines. It’s the place where discoveries are made and cutting-edge technology is produced. That’s why Egyptians guard it like the apple of their eye.”

Erwin touched the console, and the walls of the pyramid vanished, revealing its inner structure—a complex maze of passageways.

“This is just what we know about,” Erwin said. “The defenses of the pyramid are constantly evolving. It is seeded with traps, puzzles, impossible doors, and other delightful things designed to separate intruders from the burden of their lives. The Egyptians informed us that the thieves entered here, at two in the morning.” Erwin picked a narrow metal tube and pointed at the passageway shooting off from the main entrance. The hallway lit up with a bright shade of yellow. “It’s a service hallway. It’s typically locked at night, and the lock is considered to be tamperproof.”

“Until now.”

“A fair observation. The Egyptians estimate that a talented picklock could open this lock in ten to fifteen minutes. The entrance is extensively patrolled. The thieves had a window of eight seconds, during which they opened the door, slipped inside the passageway, and closed and locked it behind them.”

“They locked it?”

Erwin nodded.

Four seconds to open, four seconds to lock. That was crazy. To break into the Pyramid of Ptah would take incredible talent. Kaldar had looked into it when he was younger and the family was desperate. If someone had asked him this morning if it could be done, he would’ve said no.

“Then they proceeded down this hallway, leaving three distinct sets of footprints, two large and one small.”

“Two for muscle and the cat burglar,” Kaldar guessed.

“Probably.” Erwin swept the length of the hallway with his pointer, causing sections of the image to light up. “They opened impossible locks in record time. They avoided all of the traps. They escaped detection and ended up here, bypassing both treasury here and armory here.” The pointer fixed on a small room, then lit up rooms to the right and left of it. “They took a wooden box containing the device and walked out of the pyramid the way they came. In and out in under twenty minutes.

“That’s impossible.”

“Our Egyptian colleagues are of the same opinion. Unfortunately, the facts have no regard for their collective sanity.”

Kaldar frowned at the pyramid. “Was this the shortest route they could’ve taken to the room?”

“Yes.”

An enterprising thief would’ve done the research and broken into the treasury. A terrorist would’ve gone for the armory and the weapons within. But these three went directly to the room, took their prize, and escaped. Someone had hired them to do this job and provided them with the plans of the pyramid. Only a heavy hitter would have access to this sort of intelligence. The Mirror. Or the Hand. That would explain why a thief with a talent of this caliber took a job for hire. The Hand’s methods of persuasion rarely involved money. Mostly they showed you your child or your lover strapped to a chair and promised to send you a piece of her every hour until you agreed to do whatever they wanted.

There it was, finally, his chance of a direct confrontation. He would make them pay.

Erwin was watching him.

“What happened after the thieves left the pyramid?” Kaldar asked.

“They disappeared off the face of the world.” Erwin fiddled with the console, and the pyramid vanished, replaced by an aerial image of a small town. “This is the town of Adriana, population forty thousand. Two hundred and twenty leagues north, across the border, in our territory. A small, quaint settlement, famous for being the first place Adrian’s fleet disembarked after crossing the ocean. It’s a popular destination for school tours. Six hours and ten minutes after the thieves left the pyramid, Adriana’s prized fountain exploded. The city crew, first on the scene, became violently sick. They reported catching ghost insects on their skin, hot flashes, freezes, temporary blindness, and vomiting.”

The reaction to Hand’s magic. Kaldar grimaced. The Mirror relied on gadgets to supplement their agents’ natural talents, while the Hand employed magic modification. Officially, all countries of the West Continent abided by an agreement that limited how far the human body could be twisted by magic. The Dukedom of Louisiana made all the right noises and quietly manufactured freaks by the dozen. Men with foot-long needles on their backs, women who shot acid from their hands, things that used to be human and now were just a tangled mess of fangs and claws.

Magic augmentation came with a price. Some agents lost their humanity completely, some held on to it, but all emitted their own particular brand of unnatural magic. If you were sensitive to magic, the first exposure made you violently sick. He’d experienced it firsthand, and he didn’t care to repeat it.

Erwin straightened. “The Egyptians believe the Hand hired the thieves to steal the object and scheduled the trade in Adriana, where things went badly for both parties. Your wyvern is on standby. With luck and good wind, you should be in Adriana in an hour. After you review the scene, I’d imagine you will have a better idea of the supplies you’ll need. Please stop at the Home Office, and we’ll provide you everything you require. This assignment is rated first priority. Should you be captured, Adrianglia will disavow any knowledge of you and your mission.”

“But you’ll miss me?”

Erwin permitted himself a small smile. “Kaldar, I never miss.”

Ha! “What’s the nature of the stolen device?” Kaldar asked.

Erwin raised his eyebrows. “That’s the best part.”

KALDAR surveyed the sea of rubble, enclosed by a line of fluorescent paint and guarded by a dozen undersheriffs. Before him stretched what had once been the Center Plaza: a circle of clear ground, which until this morning had been paved with large square blocks. The blocks had radiated like the spokes of a wheel from the tall round fountain in the shape of a pair of dolphins leaping out from the water basin. He’d picked up a tourist brochure on his way to the scene of the crime. It showed a lovely picture of the fountain.

Now the fountain lay in ruins. It wasn’t simply knocked down, it was shattered, as if the dolphins had exploded from the inside out. Not satisfied with destroying the fountain, the perpetrator had wrenched the stone blocks around it out of the ground and hurled them across the plaza. The brochure stated that each block weighed upwards of fifty pounds. Looking at the giant chunks of stone, Kaldar didn’t doubt it. A small tea vendor’s wagon must’ve gotten in the way of the barrage, because it lay in shambles, blue-green boards poking out sadly from under the stones.

Blood stained the rubble. Gobs of flesh lay scattered here and there, some looking like they could possibly be human and others sporting weird bunches of fish bladders strung together like grapes. About ten feet to the left, a chunk of an oversized, flesh-colored tentacle curled around a piece of cloth. Long strands of yellowish slime covered the entire scene. And to top it all off, the slime stank like days-old vomit, harsh and sour. The deputies downwind, on the opposite side of the ruined plaza, valiantly tried not to gag.

The tall, broad bruiser, who was the sheriff of Adriana, was giving him an evil eye. His name was Kaminski, and he was clearly having doubts about the wisdom of Kaldar’s presence at his crime scene. Kaldar couldn’t blame him. His skin was at least two shades darker than most faces in the crowd. He wore brown leather, fitted neither tight nor too loose, and he looked lean, flexible, and fast, like a man who scaled tall fences early in the morning.

The sheriff stared at him. He could just go over and introduce himself, but what fun would that be?

Kaldar grinned. The sheriff’s blond sidekick began weaving his way through the crowd toward him.

Strange pair, these two, but probably highly effective. And respected, too. They didn’t bother with putting up any barriers, not even a rope. Just a line of paint around the crime scene and a dozen undersheriffs, but the crowd stayed way back.

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 you 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.