On the Edge

TWELVE

JACK sauntered into the house, following Rose and Georgie. Rose headed into the kitchen, Georgie went into their room, and Jack ambled a bit in the living room, deciding what to do. If he went back outside, he’d have to stay inside the ward lines. He could go to the kitchen and steal something to eat . . .

Jack passed by the door to Declan’s room and froze. The blueblood sat on the bed. In front of him on a rough canvas lay knives. Many, many sharp knives. The sun filtered into the room through the window, and the light played on the smooth surfaces of the blades.

Declan picked up a knife and drew a soft cloth over it. A spicy scent spread through the air. Cloves.

Jack liked the way Declan smelled. Like pumpkin pie spice, mixed with leather, and sweat. It wasn’t a girly type of smell.

Declan raised his hand and motioned for him to enter. Jack snuck in, making no sounds, and stopped by the bed. He didn’t say anything, just watched the cloth slide up and down the blades with a very soft sound: whoosh, whoosh, whoosh . . .

“Do you like school?” Declan asked.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“They make us sit still for a long time.”

“Is it hard for you?”

Jack shrugged his shoulders. “Rose says if I want to be a good predator, I have to learn to be patient and do it. She says patient predators don’t go hungry as much.”

“And you want to be a good predator?”

Jack nodded.

Declan took another rag, dabbed some oil on it, and threw it to him. Jack snatched the rag out of the air, fast, before Declan could change his mind. He looked at the blades and looked at Declan. The blueblood nodded.

Jack’s hand hovered over a large, flashy dagger. No, too big. Big meant slow. He was a small cat, and he was strong for his size. There were things that were a lot bigger and stronger, but few things were faster.

“Trailing point knife,” Declan said as Jack held his hand over the narrow blade with an upward curving back edge. “The curve makes the blade longer. It’s light and quick. Good for slashing.”

Jack moved his hand to the knife to the right, with a back edge that swooped down in a concave curve to a razor-sharp point.

“Yatagan clip. The back edge curves down. Some people leave the back edge false, so it’s dull. I like mine sharp. It’s a fast knife. Good for tight quarters and quick stabbing.”

Jack stared at them, torn. Slashing like claws or stabbing like teeth? Finally he picked up the yatagan clip and gently drew the cloth along the blade. His teeth did more damage than his claws. Jack drew the cloth along the blade. Whoosh. He smiled.

“Do you know what ‘anemic’ means?” Declan asked.

Jack shook his head.

“It’s a kind of disease that happens when your body lacks blood or iron. People who have it become tired quickly. They’re usually pale and weak. Have you ever heard Rose mention it when she talks about Georgie?”

“Georgie isn’t anemic,” Jack said. “He would be okay except for Grandpa. Grandpa and all the animals are making him sick.”

“Grandpa?” Declan raised his eyebrows.

“We keep him in the shed out back,” Jack said helpfully. “So he doesn’t eat dog brains.”

Declan gave him an odd look. “Charming Edge custom, keeping elderly relatives locked up.”

“Because of Grandpa, Georgie can’t fight that good. I protect him in school, but he’ll go into middle school when he’s twelve and I won’t. I don’t know what to do about that yet.”

Declan gave him another odd look. “Is the schoolwork hard?”

Jack shook his head. “Boring. We do word lists. You have to memorize the way words are spelled and pretend to read them back. I don’t have to. I already know how to read. Rose taught me.”

“What about math?” Declan asked.

Jack shrugged. “I can add things together. I already know how many angles are in a triangle. It’s called tri-angle. I’m not stupid.” He held on to the knife a bit too long, but made himself put it down and looked at the trailing point blade. Declan nodded.

Jack took the knife into his fingers. He liked the way it felt, light and comfortable. “Lunch’s awful,” he volunteered. “They give you fish sticks. They taste like cardboard. Georgie says they’re made from mystery meat. Nobody eats them.”

“Have you ever eaten cardboard?”

Jack nodded. “I chewed it.”

“Why?”

“I wanted to know if it’s good to eat.”

Jack put the knife down with reluctance.

“What kind of animal do you change into?” Declan asked.

Jack narrowed his eyes into sly slits. “I’m not supposed to tell you.”

“Why not?”

“Because Rose told me not to talk to anybody about it.” Declan leaned forward and fixed him with his eyes. Jack tensed. If Declan were a changeling, he’d be a wolf, Jack decided. A large white wolf. Very smart and with big teeth.

“Do you always do what Rose says?”

Ooooh. That was a trick question. If he said he did, Declan would think he was a mama’s boy. If he said he didn’t, he’d have to tell him that he was a cat. Jack thought about it. “No. But I always know I’m supposed to.”

“I see,” Declan said.

Jack decided he had to explain, just so there wouldn’t be any doubt that he wasn’t a mama’s boy. “My mom died. My dad left to hunt for treasure. I don’t remember him. He was a good dad, I think, but he might have been not that smart, because when Grandma talks about him, she calls him ‘that stupid man’ sometimes. She can do that because he’s her son, so I don’t get mad.”

“Aha,” Declan said.

“So until my dad comes back, I’m Rose’s cub. So I have to do what she says.”

“Makes sense,” Declan said.

“You like Rose?” Jack said.

“Yes, I do.”

“Why?”

“Because she’s smart, kind, and pretty. She stands up to me. That’s hard to do.”

Jack nodded. That made sense. Declan was hard to stand up to. He was tall and big and he had a sword. “Rose is prickly.”

“She is certainly that.”

“She’s nice, too,” Jack said. “She takes care of me and Georgie. And if you ask her really nice, she’ll make you a pie even if she’s tired from work.”

“And she’s funny,” Declan said confidentially. “But I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell her that. If she knew I thought she was funny, she might not take me seriously. Women are like that.”

Jack nodded. He could keep a manly secret, and it wasn’t something that Rose had to know. “If you win the challenges, you’ll take Rose away.”

“That’s the agreement,” Declan said.

“Can we come?”

“Yes.”

“Breakfast!” Rose called.

Jack started for the door and turned. His eyes flashed with amber fire. “I won’t help you win,” he said.

Declan grinned. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

ROSE crouched by him. Jack wished he were bigger. He disliked it when people crouched to talk to him, but he knew Rose did it so she could look at his eyes.

“Focus, Jack.”

He nodded.

“You don’t chase the leech birds. You don’t stop to catch a bunny. You run as fast as you can, and when you get tired, you hide as well as you can. Do you understand me?”

He nodded again.

“Repeat it.”

“Run and hide. No leech birds.”

Rose bit her lip. “It’s very important. I know that Declan saved you and he’s nice to you, but he won’t be nice to me if I have to go away with him.”

“He said we could come.”

Rose stopped. “Where?”

“With him and you.”

Rose hugged him. “Jack, of course he would say that. He would say anything to get the two of you on his side. You can’t trust him.”

Jack squirmed until she let him go.

Rose sighed and took hold of his bracelet. “Are you ready?”

He nodded.

“Run and hide.”

“Run and hide,” he repeated.

Rose slipped his wrist out of the bracelet. The room swayed. The floor buckled and punched him in the face.

ROSE stepped onto the porch. Declan waited for her in the yard, his handsome face serene.

“You wanted a challenge.”

Declan nodded. “I’m a-flutter with anticipation.”

A-flutter. Right. Rose held the screen door open and let Jack onto the porch. He padded out on disproportionately big round paws and blinked at the sun with huge amber eyes. Thick fur, spotted with rosettes of rust and deep brown that seemed almost hunter green, clothed him in a dense coat. Jack wrinkled his muzzle, shaking his white whiskers. The long chocolate tufts of fur at the tips of his large ears trembled.

He looked adorable, like a poufy, stout kitten on long legs, slightly larger than a big house cat, but she knew those big, soft paws hid razor-sharp claws. Even at eight, Jack was deadly. In lean times, when they didn’t have meat, he went out hunting and more often than not came back with a turkey or a hare, sometimes slightly chewed up. Jack knew the Wood like the back of his hand. And when he didn’t want to be found, even an experienced hunter couldn’t discover his hiding place. She had to resort to magic to find him.

“Here is your first challenge.” Rose smiled. She crouched and petted Jack on the head. He rubbed against her knee. She whispered, “Go!”

Steel muscles tensed under the fur. Jack leaped off the porch, sailing through the air as if he had wings. He landed in the grass and bolted, his rosettes blending into a blur. A blink and he vanished in the trees.

Declan looked after him. “What is he?”

“Edge lynx.” Rose straightened. “You have until morning to catch him. If he returns here free by sunrise, you forfeit.”

Declan nodded, picked up a sack lying at his feet, and headed into the forest.

RUN and hide.

Run.

Run.

Run.

A hare scent trail. Tasty. Have to keep running.

Jack leapt over the log and kept going, flying over the forest floor. Heat spread through his muscles. The scents of the Wood bathed his face. He kept going, faster and faster, leaping from one moss-covered trunk to the next. Above him, leech birds circled with guttural cries somewhere high above the canopy.

Run and hide. No leech birds.

He dashed to and fro, confusing his scent trail just in case, leaped and ran deeper and deeper into the Wood, until finally he grew tired and scrambled up the trunk of a huge pine into the dense blanket of needles and lay on a branch, panting.

Birds chirping, little tiny fat birds. Tasty.

A squirrel poked its way out of the hole in the tree.

Jack lay still for a long time. Long enough to make him sleepy. He yawned, closed his eyes, and sank into a warm, happy nap.

A long twisting sound echoed through the Wood, jerking him awake. It wasn’t like any noise he had ever heard. Like a long wail. It pricked his ears, and he rose to a half crouch.

It was a trap.

He lay back down.

It was a trap, because Declan was smart.

What made that sound? What if it wasn’t Declan? Jack rose again and lay back down. Run and hide. He ran and he hid.

He waited for the sound to come again. He waited and waited, but the Wood was full of little animal noises and no wails.

It didn’t hurt to look. He would be very, very careful. Very careful.

Jack slunk up the tree branches, higher and higher, digging his claws into the fragrant bark, until he reached the top of the pine towering above the foliage. The sun shone from high above—he had slept for several hours.

In the distance a tiny star sparkled among the greenery.

Jack crouched in surprise.

The star winked at him, a little shiny spot. Oh, he wanted to see it. First the sound, then the star. Curious.

The spot of light trembled and swayed back and forth, glinting.

He had to see it up close. Just to find out what it was. He would be careful. Nobody would know.

Jack slid down and set out through the branches.

He moved quietly and slowly, like a shadow on soft paws, leaving no sign of his passing, taking his time. Up and down the branches, through the tangles of wild whiteberry, through the sea of dense feathery ferns, up the mossy fallen tree, onward and onward, until he came to the edge of a clearing and melted into the darkness between the branches.

In the clearing a long lean sapling bent nearly to the ground, held by a rope. The rope was attached to a piece of wood, and that piece of wood was thrust into a stick driven into the ground. A spring snare. Jack had seen those before. The piece of wood was a trigger bar. There would be bait attached to the trigger bar by a rope. Jack slunk through the shadows, circling the snare. Sure enough, a taut rope was attached to the trigger bar and on the end of that rope hung a star. Jack lay down and squinted against the glare. Not a star but the knife, the wicked, sharp, pretty knife he had cleaned in Declan’s room.

Ooooooooooooh.

Jack forgot to breathe.

The knife rotated on the rope, glinting in the sun. Sharp. Shiny.

He had to have the knife.

Jack lay still, listening, waiting. Traces of Declan’s scent hung above the clearing, but the blueblood was long gone.

The moment he touched the knife, the rope would yank the trigger, and the sapling would jerk straight, pulling a hidden loop. The loop would catch him and send him flying through the air.

Jack swallowed. This had to be done very carefully.

“SHOULDN’T you be out looking for my brother instead of sitting here eating lunch?” Rose passed the potatoes to Declan.

“You’re supposed to want me to fail, remember?” Declan snagged two additional Edge burgers off the platter. He seemed to really like them. They weren’t anything special. She’d seasoned the ground beef with garlic, salt, pepper, and a pinch of swamp spice, added an equal amount of cooked rice, shaped the mix into oblong patties, rolled them in bread crumbs, and fried them. The rice made the meat go twice as long, and nobody could taste it.

Declan ate like a horse. If he did manage to catch Jack, which she seriously doubted, Rose vowed to go down to Max Taylor’s and exchange the two doubloons now in her possession for some money. She would need more groceries to feed him.

Having him in her kitchen was like trying to serve lunch to a deadly tiger. Declan was too large, his shoulders too broad, his eyes too predatory. His face was inscrutable. She wished she could search his head and find out what really went on in there.

He caught her looking and hit her with a direct stare. His gaze lingered on her face.

On the other hand, it probably was best she didn’t know what he was thinking.

Declan sliced a piece of the burger, put it into his mouth, and chewed with an expression of complete happiness. “My wife will never have to cook,” he said.

“Why?” Georgie asked, imitating Declan’s surgical precision with his own knife and fork.

“Because I employ a cook. But I want you to promise me, Rose . . .” He put another piece of the burger into his mouth and paused.

“You really should cut your food into pieces small enough so you don’t have to swallow before you can talk,” she said. Take that, Mr. Manners.

“I wasn’t busy chewing. I was savoring the taste. It might surprise you, but when I find something delicious, I take my time to enjoy it.”

His gaze caught hers just in case she missed his innuendo.

“You don’t say,” she said dryly.

He ate another bite. “Promise me that when we marry, you’ll occasionally make these. As a special treat.”

“You’re impossible,” she told him and slid the platter of burgers closer to him in spite of herself.

Georgie poked his burger with his fork and leaned over to Declan. “Her fried chicken is better,” he said.

“Georgie!” She glared at him in outrage. “Whose side are you on? You’re not supposed to tell him my fried chicken is good.”

Georgie blinked in confusion. “What am I supposed to say?”

“You’re supposed to tell him I’m a horrible cook, so he’ll go away and leave us alone.”

Declan made an odd noise that sounded somewhat like a strangled cough.

Georgie glanced at Declan. “He’ll never believe me. He likes your burgers.”

“You have to convince him. Be charming. Use your Edger wiles.”

Georgie furrowed his eyebrows in thought and looked at Declan. “Don’t eat her fried chicken. It tastes good, but she puts rat poison in it.”

The inscrutable mask on Declan’s face shattered. He leaned forward and laughed.

KNIFE. Knife, knife, knife.

Jack crawled through the grass like a fluffy caterpillar. He’d circled the clearing three times, studying the lure from all angles, until he finally determined the size of the loop. It lay in wait in the grass, ready to snag him the moment the knife was touched.

But the loop was long and narrow. He could jump over it. He knew he could.

Jack crouched in the grass, tight and ready from the ends of his white whiskers to the tip of his short tail. Jump, bite the knife, and spring the trap.

Sure, the lure would’ve caught any other beast, but Jack wasn’t a dumb beast. He was smart.

Jack exploded into flight. He sailed over the loop, air rushing past him, everything crystal clear and slow around him. The handle of the knife loomed before him. He bit it, the feel of its treated wood handle like honey in his mouth, and flew by, free and clear. The sapling sprang upright. The loop whistled past him. Safe!

A green net rushed at him from below. He tried to veer in midflight, but it caught him and clamped him tight. He scrambled in its soft folds, slicing at it with his claws. The knife slid from his mouth and fell through the mesh to the ground. A meow of despair broke from Jack. He bounced a couple of times in the knot of the net, suspended high above the ground like a kitten in a sack, and then the net was still.