Ilona Andrews: Steel's Edge

Healing magic was really rare, almost unheard of. Éléonore frowned. What in the world was she doing here in the Edge?

Melanie popped in the doorway with a first-aid kit. “If you can heal, why don’t you fix the hole in your leg?”

“Can’t heal myself,” the girl told her.

“I think you’re lying,” Melanie said, passing the kit over.

The girl raised her hand. Her fingers brushed Melanie’s age-stained arm. A faint stream of golden sparks flared from her fingers, sinking into Melanie’s skin. The dark liver spots melted.

Éléonore gasped. Melanie stood frozen.

The girl smiled, a sad, sagging curving of lips. “Can I please have some water?”

Her leg was still bleeding.

“Get her some water, Melanie.”

“What am I, a servant?” Melanie went into the kitchen.

Éléonore unscrewed a bottle of rubbing alcohol, poured some on the gauze from the kit, and pressed it to the wound. The girl jerked.

“You’re from the Weird, aren’t you? What are you doing here in the Edge?”

“I had to leave,” the girl said. “I had a horse and money. Somebody stole it. I tried to earn more, but nobody will let me heal them. I tried to help this man’s child, and he shot me. He shot me! What kind of insane place is this?”

“That’s the Edge for you.” Éléonore squeezed some Neosporin from a tube onto the wound. “We don’t take kindly to outsiders.”

Melanie reappeared with a cup. The girl drank in big, thirsty swallows. “Thank you.”

“Who shot you?” Melanie asked. “What did he look like?”

“Tall man, red hair . . .”

“Face like a weasel?” Melanie asked.

“More like a stoat,” the girl offered, her voice weak.

“Marvin,” Éléonore and Melanie said in one voice.

“He’s our resident paranoid nut,” Éléonore continued. “The man can’t sit still in church because he’s scanning the ceiling for black helicopters.”

“What’s a helicopter?” the girl asked.

“It’s a big metal contraption with a propeller on top. The police in the Broken use them to fly around.”

“What’s the Broken?”

“Oh, boy.” Melanie sighed.

“The place you came from is called the Weird,” Éléonore said. “You passed through the boundary to get here, a magic barrier, right?”

“Yes.”

“Well, now you’re in the Edge, between the worlds. On the other side of the Edge, there is another magic barrier, and past it there is another place, just like the Weird, except that world has no magic.”

“That’s why it’s called the Broken,” Melanie said. “If you go there, it strips the magic off of you.”

“What do you mean, it has no magic?” the woman asked.

Éléonore continued working on the wound. The bullet had entered the thickness of the girl’s outer thigh and exited two inches later. Barely more than a graze. Marvin couldn’t hit a herd of elephants if they were coming straight at him. “What’s your name?”

“Charlotte.”

“You sleep now, Charlotte. Don’t worry. You’re safe. You can stay here until you feel better. Nobody will shoot you here, and we’ll have plenty of times to talk about the Broken and helicopters.”

“Thank you,” Charlotte whispered.

“You’re welcome, dear.”

The girl closed her eyes. Her breathing evened out. Éléonore finished dressing the wound.

“Found yourself another bird with a broken wing,” Melanie said. “And you wonder where George gets it.”

“Look at her. How can I turn her away?”

Her friend shook her head. “Oh, Éléonore. I hope you know what you’re doing.”

IT was the evening of the next day. Éléonore sat on the porch of her house, drinking iced tea from the Weird glass and watching the Edge swallows glide back and forth, snacking on mosquitoes.

The screen door swung open behind her. Charlotte stepped out onto the porch, wrapped in the blanket. Her hair was a mess, and her face was still pale, but her eyes were clear.

“Feeling better?” Éléonore asked.

“Yes.”

“Come sit by me.”

The girl lowered herself in the chair carefully. That wound must’ve still hurt.

“How’s that leg?”

“It’s just a graze,” the girl said. “I’m sorry I went all to pieces. It was shock and dehydration more than anything.”

“Here.” Éléonore pushed the platter of cookies toward her. “You look like it’s been a while since you ate.”

Charlotte took a cookie. “Thank you for helping me. I don’t know how to repay you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Éléonore said. “Where are you from? In the Weird, I mean. What country?”

Charlotte paused for a second. “Adrianglia.”

“My granddaughter married a man from Adrianglia,” Éléonore told her. “Earl Camarine.”

“The Marshall of the Southern Provinces,” Charlotte said.

Maybe she knew Rose. “Exactly. Do you know him?”

“I’ve never met him,” Charlotte said. “I do know the family by reputation.”

She looked at the woods. Exhaustion showed on her face in a weary, slack mouth and dark circles under the sad eyes. There was clearly a “past” there, Éléonore reflected. The girl didn’t seem like an escaped criminal. More like she was a victim, running from something, alone but determined. She’d seen that precise look on her granddaughter’s face when Rose ran out of money or the boys came up with some unexpected emergency. It was a “Life kicked me again, but I’ll make it work” look.

“So where are you headed?” Éléonore asked.

“Nowhere in particular,” Charlotte said.

“Well, you’re in no shape to go anywhere.”

Charlotte opened her mouth.

“No shape,” Éléonore said. “My granddaughter left a house behind. I meant to rent it out but never found anyone trustworthy enough not to destroy the place. It’s full of cobwebs now, but if you’re not scared of soapy water and a broom, you should be able to put it back together. You can stay there for a while. And if you want to practice healing, we can do that, too. You just need a proper introduction to people. Things are done a certain way here.”

Charlotte was looking at her, her eyes wide, looking stunned. “Why? You don’t even know me. I could be a criminal.”

Éléonore sipped her tea. “When Earl Camarine first showed up in the Edge, I wasn’t happy with his arrival. My granddaughter is special, Charlotte. All grandmothers think their grandchildren are special, but Rose truly is. She is kind, smart, and determined. She practiced for years and taught herself to flash white, just like the best of the bluebloods. And she is beautiful. Her mother died, and her father . . .”

Éléonore grimaced.

“I didn’t make good choices during my life. I didn’t marry wisely, and I’ve managed to raise a son who ran out on his own children. John left Rose and her two brothers without a dollar to their name. At eighteen, Rose was a mother to two toddlers. She was stuck here in the Edge, working a dreadful job in the Broken and trying to raise her brothers. I wanted so many wonderful things for her, and instead I watched her wither slowly, and there wasn’t a thing I could do about it. And then Declan Camarine came, and he promised her everything: that he would love her, and care for her, and take care of George and Jack. I warned her it was too good to be true, but she went with him anyway. Turned out that I was wrong. She lives like a princess now. Her husband loves her. They are talking about children, when the boys get older.”

A brief flash of pain reflected on Charlotte’s face. So that was it. She was running from a broken marriage or a dead child. You poor girl.

Éléonore smiled. “My granddaughter is happy, Charlotte. She has everything I ever wanted for her. When she first left, I worried about her fitting in with the bluebloods, but her mother-in-law stepped right in and took her under her wing. I’m no duchess, but now I have an opportunity to do the same. I want to pay Providence back for the blessings of our family. We Draytons are many things: pirates, witches, rogues . . . but nobody ever accused us of being ungrateful. A family has to have standards. Even in the Edge. You’re welcome to stay as long as you need.”