Ilona Andrews - Fate's Edge

Her eyes picked out a dart lying on the floor. Another. Another. At least a dozen darts lay in a circle around a wet spot on the floor. A single dart packed enough charge to explode an average-size carriage.

Helena’s gaze slid up. Cotier’s body hung from the rafters, upside down. A large hole gaped in the crown of his head. A matching smaller hole pierced the back of his head near the neck. He must’ve seen the shot coming and curled up to avoid it. The bullet caught him in the back of the skull, scrambled his brain, and exploded out of his forehead. In the next hours, the brain matter and blood had dripped out of him onto the floor.

Helena looked down on the floor. Twelve, thirteen, fourteen darts. Any physical barrier would’ve been demolished. Only magic could withstand an assault of such magnitude. Someone in Kaldar Mar’s party could create a blisteringly potent flash shield.

Helena turned. A leg with telltale orange skin stuck out from behind a clump of benches. She approached. An orange body lay in two pieces, cleanly severed at a diagonal and peppered with dead flies, poisoned by the Mura’s toxic blood. The sword stroke—if that’s what this was—cleaved her from left shoulder, through the ribs, through the heart, through the stomach, and through the right side of her ribs. The cut was perfectly clean, the severed bones flat. Karmash had mentioned that the Mars possessed an ancient art of sword fighting, but this was beyond her experience. Swords didn’t do this.

Behind her, a foot scraped on the ground. She turned. Sebastian bowed his head. “You should see this, my lady.”

She followed him to a break between the benches. A shapeless mass of flesh sat in the stretch of open floor, hidden from her view by the demolished vehicle. It resembled a pile of meat that had been shredded and dumped in a heap. Emily, her tracker, knelt by it, sampling the air.

“What is this?”

“I believe it’s Soma, my lady.” Sebastian bowed his head.

“Did they put him through a meat grinder?”

“This was done by one person,” Emily said. “A boy.”

Helena knelt by her. “What makes you think this?”

“Only one scent with the body. Young scent. Male. And also this.” Emily pointed at the floor. Two bloody shoe prints clearly visible. Sebastian put his foot next to them. The shoe print was an inch and a half shorter than his foot.

Helena rose and saw a giant headless body slumped against the far wall. A wrought-iron inch-wide beam protruded from his chest. It took her a moment to recognize it as one of the church’s candelabras.

Her magic whipped around her in a furious frenzy. Sebastian and Emily backed away. Helena whirled, her cloak flaring around her, and strode out of the church.

Sebastian trailed her.

“One man, a woman, and a boy against four operatives.” Helena bit off words with diamond-cut precision. “Why are they still alive? Why don’t I have Kaldar’s head?”

“I don’t know, my lady.”

Four operatives. Each a veteran, each an expert in death. Taken out by an Edge rat. Shame gripped her. When Spider had spoken of the Mars, his face was ice, and his eyes boiled with fury. Now she understood why.

A vehicle climbed up the narrow road and entered the camp.

Sebastian growled under his breath.

The doors opened. Three men stepped out, two older, one young and bruised, followed by an older blond woman.

The larger of the older men clamped his hand on the younger male and half led, half dragged, him forward.

The blond woman and the smaller of the older men walked up to them. The man spoke. “We represent the local Edge families.”

“I’m Helena d’Amry.”

“You are the Hand,” the woman said.

“Yes.” Helena didn’t feel the need to correct her. The Edgers knew the Hand and feared it.

“You are looking for a man and a red-haired woman,” the woman said.

“Yes.”

“We don’t like problems,” the smaller of the older men said. “We want the violence to end. There has been too much upheaval lately. Things must go back to normal.”

Ah. “Help me, and I swear on the throne of Gaul, I will leave in peace.”

The larger of the men pulled the younger closer. “This is Adam. He will tell you everything you want to know.”

THE continental breakfast buffet ran from six until eight thirty. When Audrey finally awoke, the clock by the bed said 8:09, and so she dragged herself downstairs to find the trays of bagels and doughnuts mostly picked over. She loaded her paper plate with fruit, snagged a yogurt and a cup of orange juice, and went upstairs to check on the boys.

She paused by the door. Kaldar would be inside. Her throat constricted. Audrey stepped away from the door and walked down the hallway, trying to calm herself. Last night she’d lain in bed, thinking of Kaldar. He’d gotten deep under her skin. She’d thought about the wicked look in his eyes. She’d thought about his smile. She had imagined him touching her. She’d entertained improbable scenarios, where Kaldar decided to fall madly in love with her, and they went off on wild adventures. In her fantasies, they made love in the house where they lived together. It had gone on and on. All attempts of not thinking about Kaldar had led back to Kaldar.

Audrey reached the end of the hallway and leaned with her back against the wall, holding her plate and her drink.

One moment, she wished she hadn’t told him no; the next moment, she’d reasoned that it was the right thing to do, the best thing for them both. Would it be awkward now? Would he be angry, hurt? Would he act like nothing happened? The only way to find out would be to open that door.

Knowing Kaldar, it could only go two ways from here. Either he cut his losses, or he would try even harder.

She couldn’t stand here forever.

Audrey made her way back to the suite. Her hands full, she banged her toes against the door. The door swung open, and Audrey almost dropped her plate.

A trim man stood in the doorway. He was clean-shaven, meticulously groomed, but still distinctly masculine. His short hair, the color of dark brown sugar, was brushed back from his face. His long sideburns, shaped with surgical precision, made his face appear more narrow. He wore black leather pants of complex construction, with ornate Weird stitching and a wide-sleeved white shirt, with an embroidered high-necked collar. A vest clasped his narrow waist and wide chest, swirls and elaborate flourishes of pale gray leather over black. His hands, with perfectly clean, trimmed nails, were bare. He wore no jewelry except for a single silver earring.

“Good morning, my lady,” he said. His smooth, cultured voice exuded quiet competence.

It was Kaldar. Somehow, it was Kaldar.

“Would you care to come in, my lady?” The new Kaldar stepped aside, holding the door with a slight bow.

She stepped inside on autopilot. He shut the door behind her.

“Your hair,” she said.

“It was too dark before,” he said, his brown eyes solemn. “People tend to notice the extremes: hair color that’s too dark or too light stands out. By the nature of my role, I shouldn’t draw attention to myself.”

He’d cut at least three inches off too, trimming his wild mess into a structured, functional haircut.

She landed in a chair. Gaston was packing their bags. He wore dark brown leather, from his head to the toes of his tall boots. His hair had been brushed until it shone and braided away from his face. He put a wide-brimmed leather hat on his head and grinned.

“You look like a highwayman.”

“He’s our groom,” Kaldar said. “He’s meant to look menacing.”

Gaston raised his eyebrows and bared his teeth. “Grrr.”