Ilona Andrews: Fate's Edge

Gnome, a huge bear of a man, sat slumped over in his stuffed chair, an open book on a desk in front of him and a shotgun by his chair. Flushed skin, tangled hair, feverish eyes, all hunkered down in a blanket. He looked like a mess.

“There you are.”

He peered at her with watering, bloodshot eyes. “What the hell are you—” Another fit of coughing shook his large frame.

“That sounds awful.”

“What are you—” Gnome sneezed.

“I brought you goodies.” She pulled a box of decongestant pills out of the bag and put it on the desk. “Look, I’ve got canned chicken soup, Theraflu, and here are some cough drops, and here is a box of Puffs tissues with lotion, so you don’t scrub all of the skin off that big beak of yours.”

He stared at her, speechless. Now that was something. If she’d had a camera, she would’ve taken a picture.

“And this here, this is good stuff.” Audrey tapped the plastic cup of Magic Vaporizer. “I had to hunt it down—they don’t make it as much anymore, so I could only get a generic version. Look, you boil some water and put these drops in here and inhale—clears your nose right up. I’ll fix you one, then you can yell at me.”

Five minutes later, she presented him with a steaming vaporizer and made him breathe it in. One, two, three . . .

Gnome sucked in his first breath. “Christ.”

“Told you.” Audrey set a hot bowl of chicken soup on his desk. “Works wonders.”

“How did you know I was sick?”

“Patricia came down the mountain yesterday, and we ran into each other at the main road. She said you had a cold and mentioned that you undercharged her for the lanterns by twenty bucks.”

“What?”

Audrey smiled. “That’s how I knew it was bad. Besides, I was tired of hearing you hack and cough all night. The sound rolls down the mountain, you know. You’re keeping Ling awake.”

“You can’t hear me all the way down there.”

“That’s what you think. Take this generic or Theraflu before bed. Either will knock you out. The red pills are daytime.”

Gnome gave her a suspicious look. “How much is all this gonna cost me?”

“Don’t worry about it.”

Gnome shrugged his heavy shoulders and put a spoonful of soup into his mouth. “This doesn’t mean you’re getting a discount.”

Audrey heaved a mock sigh. “Oh well. I guess I’ll have to ply you with sexual favors, then.”

Gnome choked on the soup. “I’m old enough to be your grandfather!”

Audrey winked at him, gathering the empty bags. “But you’re not.”

“Get out of here, you and your craziness.”

“Okay, okay, I’m going.” He was fun to tease, and she was in such a good mood.

“What is with you anyway?” he asked. “Why are you grinning?”

“I’ve got a job. With benefits.”

“Legit?”

“Yes.”

“Well, congratulations,” Gnome said. “Now go on. I’m sick of looking at your face.”

“I’ll see you later.”

She left the house and slogged her way through the mud down to her car. Gnome was a gruff old bear, but he was kind in his own way. Besides, he was the only neighbor she had within two miles. Nobody was around to help them. Either they took care of each other, or they toughed it out on their own.

Backing the Honda down the mountain in the gloom turned out to be harder than Audrey thought. She finally steered the vehicle to the fork where the narrow road leading to her place split off and took the turn. Thick roots burrowed under the road, and her Honda rolled over the bulges, careening and swaying, until it finally popped out into the clearing. On the right, the ground dropped off sharply, plunging down the side of the mountain. On the left, a squat, pale building sat in the shadow of an old spruce. It was a simple structure—a huge stone block of a roof resting on sturdy stone columns that guarded the wooden walls of the house within like the bars of a stone cage. Each three-foot-wide column bore a carving: dragons and men caught in the heat of a battle. A wide bas-relief decorated the roof as well, showing a woman in a chariot pulled by birds with snake heads. The woman gazed down on the slaughter like a goddess from Heaven.

Nobody knew who had built the ruins or why. They dotted that part of the Edge, a tower here, a temple there, gutted by time and the elements, and covered with moss. The Edgers, being poor and thrifty, knew better than to let them go to waste. They built wooden walls inside the stone frameworks, put in indoor plumbing and electricity illegally siphoned from the neighboring city or provided by generators, and moved right in. If any archaic gods took offense, they had yet to do anything about it.

Audrey parked the car under an ancient scarred maple and turned off the engine. Home, sweet home.

A ball of gray fur dropped off the maple branch and landed on her hood.

Audrey jumped in her seat. Jesus.

The raccoon danced up and down on the hood, chittering in outrage, bright eyes glowing with orange like two bloody moons.

“Ling the Merciless! You get off my car this instant!”

The raccoon spun in place, her gray fur standing on end, put her hand-paws on the windshield, and tried to bite the glass.

“What is it with you?” Audrey popped the car door open.

Ling scurried off the car and leaped into her lap, squirming and coughing. Audrey glanced up. The curtains on her kitchen window were parted slightly. A hair-thin line of bright yellow light spilled through the gap.

Somebody was in her house.

Audrey slipped from the seat, dropping Ling gently to the ground, circled the car, and opened the hatchback. A tan tarp waited inside. She jerked it aside and pulled out an Excalibur crossbow. It had set her back nine hundred bucks of hard-earned money, and it was worth every penny. Audrey cocked the crossbow and padded to the house, silent and quick. A couple of seconds, and she pressed against the wall next to the door. She tried the handle. Locked.

Who breaks into a house and locks the door?

She peeled from the wall and circled the building, moving fast on her toes. At the back, she slipped between the stone framework and the wooden wall of the house and felt around for the hidden latch. It sprang open under the pressure of her fingers. She edged the secret door open and padded inside, into the walk-in closet, and out into her bedroom. The house had only three rooms: a long, rectangular bedroom, an equally long bathroom, and the rest of it a wide-open space, most of which served as her living room and kitchen, with the stove, fridge, and counters at the north wall.

Audrey peeked out of the doorway. An older man with curly reddish brown hair stood at the kitchen stove, mixing batter in a glass bowl, his slightly stooped back turned to her.

She would know that posture anywhere.

Audrey raised her crossbow and took a step into the living room.

The man reached for a bag of flour sitting on the counter. Audrey squeezed the trigger. The string snapped with a satisfying twang. The bolt punched through the bag inches from the man’s fingers.

The man turned and grinned at her, his blue eyes sparking. She knew the smile, too. It was his con smile.

“Hi, munchkin.”

Audrey let her crossbow point to the floor. “Hi, Dad.”

“A good shot.” Seamus Callahan bent down, looking at the shaft protruding from the bag of flour. “I’d say you killed it. Bull’s-eye.”

Audrey set the crossbow down and crossed her arms. Inside her, a tiny pissed-off voice barked, Get out, get out, get out . . . He was in her house, and she had to clench her fingers on her arms just to keep herself from attacking him and pushing him out.

But she was Seamus’s daughter, and twenty-three years of grifting made her voice calm and light. “How did you find me?”