Fate's Edge

HELENA d'Amry inhaled the evening air. It smelled of the woods and dampness. She leaned against a large cypress, her cloak mimicking the color of the cypress bark so precisely she was practically invisible. In front of her, the road stretched into the distance, sectioned off by a weak shimmer. The boundary.

Helena closed her eyes and felt the reassuring current of magic. It was weak here, in the Edge, much weaker than in the Dukedom of Louisiana, but beyond the boundary, it didn't exist at all. Beyond the boundary, she would be dead. She could see the different dimension, but she could never enter it. The Edge was her limit. Very few of the Hand's agents could cross into the Broken. The Hounds were differently augmented, and yet barely a third of her crew had been able to cross the boundary.

This place, it was too damp, too rainy, too . . . verdant. Her Louisiana estate was verdant as well, but there the nature served her will, shaped by the tools of her gardener. Here it ran wild, like a bull out of control.

Still, it was good to be back. She had grown up in the Dukedom of Louisiana, on the family estate, and although her duty took her from the colony all the way to the capital of the Empire of Gaul, she had missed it. The air here smelled different from the atmosphere of the sprawling monster cities in the Old Continent. She hadn't planned to return, but her uncle needed looking after. To uphold the family name, she had stepped in to fill his shoes. They were rather large shoes to fill.

A faint noise made her turn. Three men approached from the Broken, running at an easy jog and carrying a bundle. Helena watched them enter the boundary. They slowed. One by one, they stepped through it, inching forward, their faces contorted, their legs bowing under the pressure. A long, torturous minute passed. Finally, the first man was through.

Helena peeled from the cypress trunk and stepped out into the road. Her cloak reacted, the long feathery strands contracting. Without an environment to mimic, they turned pale brown, each strand darkening toward the end. The strands fluttered weakly in the wind, as if she wore a mantle of owl feathers.

The men dumped the bundle on the ground.

To the left, Sebastian dropped thirty feet off a pine, landing in a half crouch. Jasmine stepped from behind the trunk, her bow aimed at the bundle. All around Helena, her unit, twelve of the Hound's finest, congealed as if by magic from the forest.

The largest of the three men who'd arrived from the Broken, an enormous giant with hair the color of eggshell, dropped onto one knee. Sebastian, her second-in-command, moved to stand by her side, hovering over her and emitting menace. The two men couldn't have been more different. Karmash, seven and a half feet tall, pale, with long hair so light it was nearly colorless, perfectly manicured nails and a penchant for finer things in life. Sebastian, barely five-ten but weighing nearly the same, darker-skinned, his dark hair cropped short. The ribbon of tattooed words around his neck spelled out FIERCE TO THE END. Monstrously strong and layered with hard, bulging muscle, Sebastian gave the words a new meaning. He was devoted to her the way a dog raised from a puppy is devoted to a kind but firm master. He didn't trust Karmash, and the albino giant couldn't stand him. It would be an excellent fight, Helena reflected.

Karmash was a loan, just like Mura, her new slayer shadow, but while the woman fit neatly into the chain of command, Karmash didn't. He was too used to running the show, and Sebastian hated him with silent, violent fury. That was fine. Sebastian was becoming too secure in his position. He needed some unfriendly competition. Besides, Karmash could enter the Broken, and apparently he got the job done. She had expected nothing less from one of Spider's operatives.

"My lady." Karmash's head was bowed, but his eyes watched her and Sebastian to her left.

"Rise."

He got up, towering a foot and a half over her. She walked over to the bundle and pulled down her hood. Her hair fell down over her shoulder in a long blond ponytail. "Open it."

The other operative crouched and sliced through the canvas, dumping a man out in the road. The man rolled up and sat in the dirt. "Hello."

Helena paced before him, tilting her head to get a better view. Thin. Almost emaciated. Bloodshot eyes. Feverish tint to the skin. Twitching hands. An addict.

"I can't say I appreciate the treatment." The man spat in the dirt.

What a sad, ugly wreck of a human being.

She crouched by him and stared into his eyes. He returned her gaze. Most people couldn't hold it: her pale green eyes with a cat pupil made them uncomfortable. Spider once told her it was like looking into the eyes of a demon and knowing you were about to be devoured. Her uncle always had a flair for the poetic. Sadly, this man was either too addled, too stupid, or too arrogant to cringe.

"Were you bruised?" Helena asked.

"I'm tender in places." The man sucked mucus back into his nose. "But I could see a way to forgiving this sort of thing, provided you make it worth my while. You did get me out of rehab, after all."

"Mmm, I see. Do you know who we are?"

"The Hand. The Mirror. Honestly, I don't give a shit."

Profanity in the presence of others. Expected of a lowborn mongrel but rude all the same. "Where is the box?"

He raised his chin a bit. "What have you got for me?"

Helena almost laughed. He sat surrounded by the Hounds, and he expected them to bribe him. She leaned closer, her voice quiet. "Are you for sale?"

"Sweetheart, everyone is for sale." The man shrugged. "You're new at this? Let me explain to you how things work. I'm not expensive. I know what you're looking for. You want my sister. Give me what I want, and I'll tell you all about her."

"Is that so?" What a worm. No honor. No dignity. No loyalty. Pathetic.

"Like I said, if the price is right, I'm your man. I'll tell you everything. I'll even let you in on another guy who beat you to me."

Helena straightened and glanced at Karmash. The big man yanked the captive to his feet, slid his arms under the man's stick arms, and locked his hands on the back of the man's head, jerking him up, off the ground.

"Hey, hey, hey!" The man squirmed in Karmash's grip. "Come on."

Helena pulled off her glove, unfastened her cloak, and let it fall. Behind her, Mura, dark-haired, sharp and narrow, like the blade of a dagger, took a step and caught the living fabric before it hit the ground. The cloak shimmered, turning an unhealthy shade of orange, straining to duplicate Mura's magic-altered skin.

Helena stood before the man. She wore supple leather and dark cloth. A leather belt clasped her tunic to her waist, together with custom-made sheaths which held her two curved swords. She pulled a black knife from her waist and took a step toward the addict.

The captive stared down at her. "What, you're going to work me over now? What for? I'm trying to make a deal here."

She arched her narrow eyebrows. "I don't do deals." She pinched the thin fabric of his shirt and sliced it open, baring his bony chest.

"Listen, you're making a mistake here. You'll waste all your time and energy with me, and for what? Just give me my little piece of the pie, and I'll tell you everything.

Helena pulled back her sleeve and showed him the blue fang etched into her muscular forearm. "I'm a Hound of the Golden Throne. Do you know what that is?"

She could tell by his face that he had no idea. "Do you know that the Dukedom of Louisiana is a colony of the Greater Empire of Gaul?"

He nodded. "Sure."

"When the throne of Gaul wishes to slice open a boil, it calls upon me. I don't make deals. I don't bargain. I don't spare. I destroy for the glory of my country. Look into my eyes, sirrah."

He stared into her blue-green irises. She looked at him the way a tiger looks at her prey until she saw the first shiver of fear in his face.

"Tell me if you see any mercy." Her magic rose around her, like a smoky cloak of darkness.

The addict froze like a frightened bird. Finally, she had his attention.

Helena bowed her head for a brief second, her eyes closed. "I'm a Hound of the Golden Throne. I have the right of judgment within the Empire of Gaul and all of its colonies, and I find you, Alex Callahan, guilty. You are an enemy of Gaul."

Magic sparked. Karmash dropped Callahan, and the man blinked out of existence and reappeared twenty feet away. He hit the ground running and dashed down the path, squeezing every last drop of speed out of his worn-out body. Interesting power. More interesting was the fact that Karmash had sensed something amiss and acted to save himself rather than hold on to the prisoner.

Helena waved her fingers. Soma and Killian sprinted down the road after Callahan. In two breaths, the hunters overtook the running man. Killian crashed into the addict, pinning Callahan to the ground. The Edger's nails clawed Killian's arms and slid off harmlessly. Killian was one of her more enhanced hunters: his skin was thick like leather. Together, he and Soma jerked Callahan off the ground and carried him back.

"Nail him to the tree," Helena said.

The two hunters yanked the Edger upright. Sebastian pulled two daggers from the sheath on his waist and stabbed both through the man's shoulders, just under the collarbone. Callahan screamed, pinned to the oak like an insect.

Helena approached him, holding her knife. It was an excellent blade, razor-sharp and strong, like all of her tools, human or otherwise. She flicked it across the Edger's torso. The blade barely touched the pallid flesh, but its razor-sharp point painted a vivid line of red across the man's skin.

"Help!" Alex screamed. "Help me! Help me!"

The knife flashed once, twice. She used to paint like this in her study: fast strokes of brilliant red paint across the pale canvas.

Alex screamed and buckled, but the knives held him tight.

"Betrayal is bought with agony. When you betray your partners, especially if these partners are family, you should do it only after much suffering. Flesh is weak. When the pain is too much, most people do break. The greater the betrayal, the more terrible the pain the captive will endure."

Helena slid the point of her knife into the first cut she'd made, hooked the skin, and jerked it down in a sharp move. Alex shrieked a desperate, pain-filled howl. Red muscle glistened bare on his chest. She was always an excellent skinner.

"Don't worry. I will make sure that the pain you experience is equivalent to your betrayal." Helena raised her left hand, still in the soft brown glove. "Salt."

The vial of salt was deposited into her fingers.

"Now then. Let's talk about your sister."

JACK looked out the window. Outside, gray rain sifted onto a Broken town called Olympia. It was in the State of Washington, which was like a province but larger. Kaldar had stolen another car - this one was blue and smelled of some bitter fake-pine scent - and Jack got the front seat this time. The view from the window was wet and dreary.

"Does the sun ever shine here?"

"Sometimes," Kaldar said. "If you wait for a few hours and squint just right."

In the backseat, George shifted around. They both wore plain brown shirts and loose pants. They still didn't look like they belonged in the Broken, but at least it was an improvement over George's poofy shirts, Jack decided.

His side ached. He discreetly rubbed his bruised ribs. Gaston had been less than happy to find out that the two of them had taken off into the Broken and gotten themselves caught by Kaldar. Words like "morons," "spoiled babies," and "made me look like a total imbecile" had been said. And then words turned into punches. To be fair, he did throw the first one, Jack reflected. But there was only so much baby name-calling one could take. He and George had double-teamed Gaston, but Gaston was strong like a bull. Still, he hadn't won by much. It was fine now. They had made peace. He'd just have to be careful with the ribs for a couple of days.

Jack had left the little cat with Gaston. It had taken them a few hours to fly to Washington, and they spent the night in the Edge. Until they'd crossed back over to the Broken, Jack had carried the little cat around in a basket he'd found in the wyvern's cabin. The cat drank but didn't eat. That was usually a bad sign.

Gaston would take good care of it. He'd stayed behind to watch over the wyvern, and he promised he would check on the little cat. Of course he would.

"Where are we going?" George asked.

"We're looking for a thrift store. Anything would do. Goodwill, Salvation Army . . ."

"Salvation Army?" Jack perked up. "Crusaders?"

"No, not that Salvation Army," Kaldar said. "A secondhand clothing store."

"What's that?"

"You've been rich for too long." The thief sighed. "Does Rose do any charity work?"

"She gives alms to the poor," George said.

"How does that work?"

"We ride up to the Helping Hand building," Jack said. "We get out and carry the food crates inside. Rose talks to the people in there. They look at accounts for a while. She gives them money. We go home."

"Okay." Kaldar nodded. "A secondhand store is like Helping Hand: it's a store that raises money for the poor. In the Broken, they are usually attached to houses of religion."

"Churches," George said.

"Among others. People bring in clothes and furniture they no longer need and donate them. The stores sell them and use the money to feed the poor."

Jack frowned. "Why would you want to wear clothes somebody else had worn?" The scent alone would drive him mad.

"Because you can't afford anything else," George said quietly. "Rose used to shop at the secondhand store."

"I never got clothes that somebody else wore," Jack said. "I would've known."

"Not for us, you dolt. She shopped for herself. You don't remember because you were seven."

Jack bared his teeth. "I remember just fine."

"Another word, and it's back to Adrianglia for both of you," Kaldar said. His mouth smiled, but his eyes were dead serious.

Jack turned around and shut up.

"A thrift shop is the place where people shop when they don't have money or when they're looking for a bargain. Men of doubtful legality, such as ourselves, shop there for three reasons. First, the clothes will be clean, but they'll look worn, which is what we need. Fresh-off-the-rack stuff draws attention, and that must be avoided at all costs. The idea is to blend in. Be one of the guys. Second, the regular stores have surveillance cameras. They record your image, which means someone can track you down. For the same reason, we will stay away from any shop that has a camera in the window, TV screens, electronics, convenience stores, ATMs . . ."

"What are those?" Jack asked.

"Small automated banks that give out money."

"Why doesn't anyone steal the banks?" Jack asked.

"They are very, very heavy."

Jack grinned. "You tried?"

"Yes, and I don't recommend it. You need a sturdy truck with a wheelchair lift and a dolly. A rental truck with a ramp is good, too. And that's if said ATM isn't bolted to the ground. Anyway, we want to find a thrift shop like that one, for instance." Kaldar made a left and parked in front of a plain concrete building. The sign above the door said MISSION STORE.

"When we go in, keep your heads down. Don't stare at anyone, don't make eye contact, and shuffle a little. This is the third reason to shop here: people who work in these stores are either kindhearted or recovering from their former life: ex-addicts, ex-drunks, ex-homeless. They know what it's like to be on the wrong side of the poverty line. All they will see is a man down on his luck trying to find his sons some clothes. They take cash and don't look too closely at the faces. If cops come asking, they won't remember seeing you. Remember: heads down, think humble, and don't draw attention. Jack, no getting excited and running down the aisle like a damn idiot because you saw a cat or a mouse or some such. George, try to remember what it's like to be poor. One sneer, and I'll tan both of your hides. This is your test, boys."

Kaldar got out of the car. Jack followed. Humble, right. He could do that.

Thirty minutes later, they were on the road again. Jack sniffed at his new clothes. His faded black hoodie smelled of one brand of soap, his jeans of another. At least Kaldar let him keep his own boots. In the backseat, George wore a gray hoodie with a pocket in front and ripped jeans that needed to be thrown away. Kaldar had also bought him a used skateboard, a plank of wood on four wheels.

George caught him looking. "What?"

"You look ridiculous," Jack told him.

"This from a guy who strips naked and runs around in the woods."

"I'm not ashamed of my human or my lynx form. I wear clothes because people force me to. I don't need to put on a costume every morning to feel better about myself."

"That's right. You're a simple creature, aren't you?"

"Simple" in the human world usually meant "stupid." Jack grinned. "Why don't you lean closer, so I can explain to you exactly how simple I am."

"So help me Gods, I will turn this car around," Kaldar said. His face was relaxed, but his stare had gained a sharp, dangerous edge. Not good.

"You're different," Jack told him.

"Different how?"

"You're a lot more easygoing when you come to visit Cerise."

"That's because when I visit Cerise, I'm her funny, charming, favorite cousin. The hardest challenge I face there is how much I can annoy my dear cousin-in-law before he turns into a wolf and tries to rip my throat out. Right now, I'm an agent of the Mirror, saddled with two children, which means if someone jumps out in front of this car and tries to kill you, I will shoot him through the heart before he has a chance to blink."

Jack clicked his mouth shut and sat straighter.

"I understand, believe me," Kaldar said. "I have an older brother, and I make it a point to disappoint him at least once every month. But you are on my time now. You need to get out of this childish mind-set, because it will get you killed. You can do this stupid sibling-rivalry bullshit on your own time."

It seemed like a really good time to be quiet, so Jack did just that. The city rolled by his window. On the way from the boundary, they had passed through some woods. Old, scarred trees that looked like they belonged in the Weird rather than the Broken. The woods had encroached on the city - he could see places where they had snuck in - patches never cleared between the groups of houses, a huge tree somebody forgot to cut down growing from a small patch of dirt left bare by the pavement, parks . . . It seemed strange that people would want to live here, in a place where it always rained, fighting free of the woods.

Kaldar kept driving: right, left, turning down the gradually widening streets until he finally pulled the car into a large parking lot in front of a tall tower of glass and stone.

"Audrey Callahan works in that building."

"How do you know?" George asked.

"While you were getting pretty and picking out clothes, I made some calls to local PI firms listed in the phone book. I asked for Audrey. This firm transferred me to her office answering machine." Kaldar looked pleased with himself, like a cat who'd gotten into some sweet cream. "Here's the plan: I go in. The two of you wait here. Look like you're loitering but watch the doors. I doubt Audrey will be happy to see me."

"Are you going to torture her?" Jack asked.

Kaldar stopped and gave him an odd look. "No. If you see us come out together, you wait until we get to the car. If you see a young woman with red hair come out alone, like she is in a hurry, that means things didn't go smoothly."

Kaldar reached into his bag and pulled out a small metal box with a flower engraved in its top. He pushed the center of the flower. The metal petals sprang up with a click. Jack inspected the edges. Razor-sharp and serrated at the bottom.

"This is a magic tracker. It works only in the Weird or in the Edge. It's designed to attach to carriages, but it's magnetic and should stick to a car as well. George, take this tracker. If Audrey comes out alone, follow her and stick the tracker to the back or bottom of her vehicle. Use the skateboard as a diversion." Kaldar looked at Jack. "While he is doing that, you will follow my scent into the building, find me, and . . ."

"Save you?" Jack asked.

"Assist me. Don't get ahead of yourself, there."

"Assist." That was a nice way to put it.

"Are we clear?" Kaldar asked.

Jack nodded.

"Off we go, then."

002

ANY day that started with a check was a good day. Audrey grinned and checked the folder in her hands as she walked through the long, carpeted hallway of Milano Investigations. She wore a beige pantsuit that did lovely things for her skin tone, her hair was braided away from her face, and inside her folder a blue pay stub showed $822 deposited into her account. Honest money, honestly earned. She didn't even begrudge the government biting a chunk off in taxes.

In eighty-two days she would be eligible to apply for benefits. And today promised to be good. She would play second fiddle to Johanna Parker on an attorney case. She'd met Johanna yesterday - she was forty-five, dark-eyed, gray-haired and proud of it, and retired from the Seattle PD. Apparently when a defendant retained a private attorney in a criminal case, that attorney in turn often retained a PI, especially if that PI was a retired cop. The PI would do the legwork, talk to cops, talk to witnesses, review police reports, and so on. And Audrey would get to sit in on all of it and see how the other side worked.

Oh yes. Today would be good. If she wasn't trying to be professional, she'd run down the hallway squealing, "Wheeeee!" like a four-year-old who had just been told she would get to go to the water park. She reached for her office door.

"Audrey!" Johanna's voice called behind her.

Audrey turned on her heel. "Yes, ma'am?"

Johanna was leaning out of her office two doors down the hallway, half-in, half-out. "You have a client. Serena put him in your office because George has the conference room."

A client? Already? "Thank you!" Audrey took the door handle.

"He said he's a friend of your brother."

A little ball of ice burst inside Audrey and petrified her in place. Nothing connected with Alex could be good. It wasn't her father - Seamus was too vain. He would've said he was her father. No, this was either some drug dealer or someone who had gotten wind of the heist and wanted his money.

She stared at the door. Her instincts said, "Walk away." Let go of the door handle, turn around, walk away, and keep walking.

"Anyway, I need you at ten, so you have about an hour," Johanna said. "Do you think you can wrap it up by then?"

Audrey heard her own voice. "Yes, ma'am." Go into your office so I can escape. Go into your office.

Johanna laughed. "You can stop calling me 'ma'am.' We're less formal here on the West Coast. Just 'Johanna' will do."

"Okay, Johanna." Audrey forced a smile. Go away.

Johanna turned to stop into her office and paused.

Now what?

Serena was walking down the hallway with a pack of folders. Oh no. Keep walking. Keeeep walking.

Serena stopped by Johanna's doorway and held out a file. She would have to go by them to get outside. Her escape route was gone.

Why now? Why when everything is going so well? Am I cursed or something?

Audrey swallowed. That was fine. She was a Callahan. She would handle it.

Audrey opened the door. A man stood by the window, looking out. He wore faded jeans, tan leather work boots, and a charcoal hoodie. She could walk outside and find ten men wearing a variation of the same thing. People on the West Coast took it easy and didn't bother with too much formality. Out here, he could be anyone: an older college student, a college professor, or the CEO of a multimillion-dollar company.

His hair was neither too long nor too short, tousled, and very dark, almost black. His shoulders were wide, his waist mostly hidden by the sweatshirt, but his butt looked like he'd spent a fair amount of time running. Hair and butt said younger than forty, shoulders said older than teens. Probably late twenties. Her entire assessment took about a second.

Audrey beamed a bright, pretty-girl smile, and said, "Hi!"

The man turned.

Oh sweet Jesus.

He had a narrow, strong face, good cheekbones, and a full mouth. If she covered the top half of his face, she'd say he was a very handsome man. But his eyes, they were devil eyes. Light brown like clover honey, smart, and framed in long eyelashes, the man's eyes brimmed with wicked humor. They lit his whole face, changing him from a handsome man to the kind of man any woman with a drop of sense would stay away from. He toned it down almost right away. The only reason she saw it at all was because she had caught him off guard, but it was too late. Nice try. She'd spent her life in the Edge, among con artists, thieves, and swindlers. Don't you worry. I've got your number.

This man was a rogue, not because circumstances forced him to be a criminal but because he was born that way. He was probably conning his mother out of her milk the moment he could grin. He'd charm the clothes off a virgin in twenty minutes. And if the poor fool took him home, he'd drink her dad under the table, beguile her mother, charm her grandparents, and treat the girl to a night she'd never forget. In the morning, her dad would be sick with alcohol poisoning, the good silver would be missing together with the family car, and in a month, both the former virgin and her mother would be expecting.

Whatever he wanted, it was bad. She had to get the hell away from him. He wasn't one of Alex's junkie buddies, and he wasn't one of her father's "friends." Seamus Callahan knew his limits. This man would run circles around him, and Seamus never partnered with anyone smarter than himself. Well, except for the family.

No, this man was too dangerous to be a common Edge rat. He was working for someone in the Edge or, more likely, in the Weird, and he probably wanted the box she had stolen from West Egypt. If he had found her, others would follow. They would never leave her alone, and they wouldn't think twice about killing her.

She was finished. Her job, her life, it was all over.

003

THE girl was beautiful.

Kaldar had expected a junkie or a long-suffering victim, a woman with a haggard face, toughened by life, and bitter. He'd seen some pretty girls in his time, a lot of them in their entirety, but Audrey was in a class by herself. She was golden. Her tan skin almost glowed. Her dark eyes sparked under narrow eyebrows. Her hair, pulled away from her face, was that particular shade of dark red, more brown touched with gold rather than orange. And when she smiled at him, showing white teeth, it was infectious. He wanted to smile back and do something amusing so she would smile at him again.

She walked up to him. Big smile, wide eyes, no hesitation. Nice outfit too; professional, true, but tight enough to show off her long legs and hug her butt, and her red shirt under the jacket was cut just low enough to pull the gaze to her breasts, which were very nice to look at. He'd bet there were men in this building who spent too much time picturing themselves peeling off her clothes and pondering the color of her panties. The question was, did she know it, and if she did, how did she use it?

"Hi!" she repeated, all sunshine and roses. "My name is Audrey. How can I help you?"

Her voice was golden too - smooth with a light touch of the South. He should've gone for a different type of disguise, something warmer and more folksy, instead of Seattle grunge. But too late now. Either she was really good, and he was in trouble, or she was an airhead, and he was unbelievably lucky.

"Hi, Audrey." Kaldar smiled back, dropping a hint of his own South into his voice as well. "My name's Denis Morrow."

"So nice to meet you, Denis."

"The pleasure's all mine."

Audrey shook his hand, and he caught a whiff of her perfume: citrus, peaches, and sandalwood, fresh, sensual, but not overpowering.

Her fingers squeezed his for a second and slipped out of his hand. He'd expected it, but his pulse sped up all the same. She was good.

"Please sit down."

"Don't mind if I do."

Kaldar sat in the wooden chair in front of her desk. She went to her desk, sashaying a little, sat, and smiled at him. It was a sweet and completely innocent smile. He half expected flowers to sprout from the carpet and small birds to spring into song.

Audrey slid the top drawer of her desk out. Kaldar tensed. She took a small box of Altoids out and set it on the desk. "Mints?"

Probably poisoned. "No, thank you."

Audrey pried the box open with her slender fingers. "Sorry, I just had coffee. My breath is . . . phew!" She waved her hand in front of her face.

"I don't mind. Go right ahead."

She plucked a mint out, put it on her pink tongue, and closed her mouth. "Mmm. I love Altoids."

Aaand his thoughts went off the map. Nicely done again. He wondered how often she'd used that little trick. He could picture a conference room full of men simultaneously shutting up to watch her eat Altoids. No sister of Alex Callahan could be a complete innocent, but he didn't expect this.

She leaned forward, her face earnest. "So, how can I help you, Denis?"

"I've visited your brother," he said, testing the waters. "Alex."

"Alex?" Her eyes went wide. "How is he? Is he okay? Did something happen?"

Her face showed genuine concern, even.

"Did he OD?"

And that was genuine fear. If he were a little less jaded, he would've bought it. Callahan wouldn't be the first addict to have a persecution complex. Maybe Audrey was Daddy's little girl, and Alex was the family's bitter black sheep, who was lying through his teeth.

And maybe pigs would fly and rich men would grow a conscience.

"Papa said he was in a nice place. The doctors were supposed to take care of him!"

Moisture wet her eyelashes. Crying on cue. Adorable. Kaldar had to say something before she teared up, or things would get messy. He held out his hand and put on a guilty smile. "Audrey, please, you misunderstood. It would break my heart to see such a lovely woman upset. Your brother's fine."

Audrey drew back. "That wasn't nice. You scared me."

Now he was a mean, rotten man, yes he was. He almost clapped.

She drew herself upright. "What is it that you would like from me, Mr. Morrow?"

Well, it was a great performance, but all good things had to come to an end. Kaldar leaned forward, and said in an intimate, quiet voice, "I want you to cut the bullshit and tell me what your daddy has done with the device you stole from West Egypt."

She jerked her hand toward him, blindingly fast. A sharp jolt exploded in his chest, as if he had hit his funny bone, and the shock overwhelmed his whole body. Kaldar's muscles locked. He willed himself to move, but he remained trapped in the chair, rigid like a board. The words gurgled in his mouth.

A Taser! She had Tasered him! Damn it all to hell.

Audrey slipped from behind her desk. He felt his arms yanked, then the pain was over. His body snapped back to normal, all functions restored, and he spat the first word that popped into his mouth. "Fuck."

Audrey slapped a piece of duct tape over his lips. He growled and lunged at her, but his arms didn't move.

She'd zip-tied him to his chair.

He'd been had. She'd tricked him like he was a sucker. Like he was a child. The moment he got free, she would regret it. He would make her deeply regret it.

Audrey bent over him, running her fingers through his clothes with practiced quickness, and pulled his knife from the inner pocket of his hoodie. The slightly curved black blade was almost six inches long and razor-sharp, but thick enough to parry one or two sword strokes.

"Nice knife."

The point of the black blade pricked the skin just below his eye. She bent over him, her voice shaking with quiet rage.

"You have no idea what you've cost me. I worked for months to get this job, and you ruined everything. Do you know what it's like to have to start over? Do you know how hard it is to get legal in the Broken?"

The knife cut his skin. He felt a drop of blood slide onto his cheek. Kaldar held very still. No need to agitate her.

"I've worked so hard. I've been so good. I like this job. I was supposed to get benefits in three months. And you and that pathetic excuse for a human being crushed it all. What did you give Alex to get to me, huh? Couldn't have been money. He doesn't care about money. No, it had to be drugs, didn't it? That bloody moron would sell me out for a dime bag of pot. If he told you, he'd tell anyone. The Hand, the Claws, anyone!"

Audrey raised his knife. If she stabbed him, he'd lunge right and hope she missed the heart. For a moment, she looked like she would plunge the knife into his chest, then she leaned over him, her face an inch from his and spoke, each word a furious promise.

"Don't follow me. If I ever see you again, I'll cut out your eyeballs and make you swallow them."

Audrey turned and marched out of the office, carefully closing the door behind her. The door clicked. She'd locked him in.

Kaldar surged to his feet, spun his back and the chair toward the heavy desk, and braced the chair's legs against it. If his luck held, the chair was as old as it looked. He strained. The wood groaned. He'd done this a couple of times before. The trick was enough pressure at the right angle.

The last thing he wanted was for Jack to find him tied up. He would never hear the end of it.

004

JACK crouched on the curb and surveyed the parking lot. The tall glass-and-concrete building rose in front of them. From his vantage point, the front door was clearly visible. Next to him, George kept messing with the skateboard. He had good balance from fencing, and if he pushed with one foot, he could stand on it while it rolled; but Kaldar had said there was a way to make it roll faster by rocking side to side. So far nothing George had tried worked, but he was entertaining to watch.

Jack inhaled the scents. The parking lot smelled of many things, but through it all he sensed the vivid trail of Kaldar's track. This was fun, Jack reflected. Even waiting was a lot more fun than school.

"Door," George murmured.

Across the parking lot the glass door of the building swung open. A pretty woman with copper-colored hair stepped out and started out down the sidewalk. She walked another ten feet, out of view of the door, and broke into a jog.

"Go!" George said. Jack shot across the parking lot at a dead run. He burst through the doors, following Kaldar's scent. An older man behind the counter yelled, "Where are you going?" Jack ignored him and turned right. The scent trail led him past the elevator to the stairs. Jack bounded up, taking the stairway two steps at a time. Smart of Kaldar to take the stairs. Can't track scent through the elevator.

Seven floors, eight, nine, ten. There! Jack slapped the door open and jumped out into the hallway. The scent said, "Left!" He turned left and dashed down the hallway. Doors punctured the walls. Not this one, not that one, no, no, no. This one. He gripped the door handle. Locked.

Jack took a step back and hammered the heel of his foot into the door. It popped open. Jack ducked inside and almost ran into Kaldar, who for some reason had pieces of wood dangling from his wrists. They looked like chair pieces. Kaldar jerked his arms up, exposing pale plastic things wrapped around his wrists. Jack pulled his knife out and slashed at the ties. Chunks of chair crashed onto the floor.

"Where is your knife?" Jack asked.

Kaldar's face was frightening. He grabbed a small sliver of wood and headed out of the office, "She took it."

"What do you mean, she took it?"

Outside in the hallway a woman with gray hair blocked their way. "What are you doing? Where is Audrey?"

Kaldar spun away from her and marched to the stairway. The woman chased them.

"She took it after she Tasered me and tied me to the chair."

They went through the doorway, and Kaldar slammed the door shut and shoved the piece of wood he was carrying under the door.

"Oh, so you gave her your knife so she wouldn't kill you."

Kaldar stopped and stared at him. The woman shoved the door from the other side and cursed.

"Too bad," Jack said. "It was a nice knife. I really liked it. But it was a good trade."

"You have an odd mind."

"Is that bad?" Jack asked.

"Not at all. It makes you unpredictable. That's an excellent quality." Kaldar shook his head and kept walking.

"So what now?"

"Now I get my knife back."