Ilona Andrews - On the Edge

Probably longer than that, Rose thought with a small sense of satisfaction. Yesterday, after the fight with Declan, she’d spent nearly all of the minutes remaining on her cell phone. Her words didn’t carry much weight in the Edge, but Grandma’s did, and now they knew the name of their menace and what he wanted. It would be difficult for Casshorn to find prey in East Laporte come nightfall.

“So he’s vulnerable now,” she said. “Why don’t we go after him?”

Icy green eyes fixed her. “ I would go after him. But I have no idea where he is, and your brother was unable to find the scent trail during our last excursion.”

“Of course. Blame the child for your failure.”

“I blame no one. How would you feel about a side bet on this challenge?”

“No more deals, Lord Camarine. You can’t be trusted.”

He seemed unfazed by her snippy remark. “If I win this challenge, I’ll remain in your house and your family will assist me in my efforts to dispatch Casshorn. If I lose, I’ll sign writs of citizenship for the three of you. The writs would make you legal citizens of the Weird. You could seek employment there. The children could attend school.”

She clamped her mouth shut, biting a caustic reply. Her mind spun through the possibilities. “That will just put us in a place where you have the most power.”

“On the contrary. First, I have sworn to leave you alone if I fail. Second, the laws of the Weird will protect you, given that you’ll be a citizen, and you can have me arrested on stalking charges if I show up on your doorstep. Think about it, Rose. You’ve lost your job, and you aren’t likely to find another. And no matter how much you force the boys to pretend that they have no magic, they do. They can’t live in the Broken; they would slowly suffocate without magic. Look behind you.” He raised his arms, encompassing the house. “This is what you’ve settled for. Do you actually want to make something of yourself?”

He pushed all the right buttons. “What guarantee do I have that this writ isn’t a worthless piece of paper?”

“I’ll affix the Camarine seal to it. As an earl, I have the authority to do so.”

“You’re not a real earl. The Earl of Camarine is a courtesy title.”

He stared at her. “And where did you come by that little tidbit?”

“I read it in a book,” she said, trying to freeze him with her voice. “Even us ignorant types do read occasionally.”

“Apparently not very well,” he said. “A courtesy title is awarded for meritorious service and a couple of other things. A peer titled by courtesy has the same executive peer powers as a full peer. Check your book.”

“Don’t move.”

She stomped into the house and almost ran over her grandmother.

“Is everything all right?” Grandma asked.

“Everything is perfect.” Rose climbed to the attic, grabbed the enormous Encyclopedia , and wrestled it down. If he was lying, she would rub his nose in it.

She dragged the dusty tome onto the porch and dropped it on the boards.

For the first time this morning, Declan displayed some emotion besides stony determination. “Good God, where did you find that antique?”

“None of your business.” She had traded a Rand McNally Atlas, two jars of saffron, and a three-liter bottle of Pepsi for it. Rose flipped the pages to the index and found “Writ of Citizenship, Adrianglia, 1745.”

“It looks over two centuries old,” Declan said.

Rose turned to page 1745 and read out loud. “ ‘ Writ of Citizenship—a document legally conferring all rights and obligations of Adrianglian citizenship. A Writ of Citizenship may be issued by the following authorities: the Office of Census, secured by the Seal of the Minister of Population; the Office of Domestic Affairs, secured by the Seal of the Minister of the Realm; or a Peer of the Realm, secured by that Peer’s House Crest. Only peers of rank Earl or above have the right to issue a Writ of Citizenship. The following is the list of peers possessing such authority as known to the publisher on the date of publication of this volume.’ ” She scanned the list and ran into “Earl Camarine.”

“Satisfied?” Declan asked dryly.

If she passed on this chance, she would be forever kicking herself. Was there a downside to this?

“Do we have a deal?” he asked.

“We have a deal.” It nearly killed her to say it. Rose forced herself to smile. “You’ll never win this one.”

Georgie chose that moment to step out onto the porch. He saw Declan, walked over, and simply hugged him without saying a word. Declan’s eyes went wide. Slowly he put his arms around the boy.

It was an odd moment, a thin, fragile, blond child in the arms of a much larger, stronger blond man. A vision of the future that could have been Georgie’s if his magic didn’t betray him.

Rose sighed and headed to the shed. “Georgie, tell the blueblood about Grandpa Cletus.”

Declan let go, and Georgie sat on the porch next to him.

“He’s very tall,” Georgie said. “He was good with swords. He had several.”

“Like mine?” Declan asked.

“No. His were long and thin. Mémère still has them.”

“Rapiers,” Declan guessed.

Georgie nodded. “He used to laugh a lot and tell us stories. He was a pirate.”

“A privateer,” Rose corrected, nudging the last ward stone out of the way. “Georgie, are you up to holding Grandpa?”

Georgie nodded.

Rose grasped the heavy dead bolt with both hands and jerked it aside. The door flew open, and Grandpa Cletus charged out, dragging the chain behind him.

Declan leapt to his feet and over to Georgie, a knife in his hand.

Grandpa reached the end of the chain. The collar jerked him back, and Grandpa flew off his feet. Instantly he rolled over and snarled like an animal, clawing at the empty air with his long fingers. His tangled beard trembled as he strained on the chain and bit the air with yellowed fangs.

Rose sighed.

Grandpa’s pointed ears twitched. He spun and lunged at her. She stood her ground. A foot away from her, he ran headfirst into an invisible wall and crumpled to the ground.

“No,” Georgie said.

“But I want my pint money,” Grandpa moaned.

“No,” Georgie repeated sadly. “You better sit down.”

Grandpa sat cross-legged, rocking back and forth.

Declan jumped off the porch and approached them, peering at Grandpa. “Were his ears always pointed?”

“It happened after,” Rose said. “The beard and hair also. He was clean shaven when he died. And the claws. Those also grew after death.”

“What’s your name?” Declan asked.

“Please answer Declan,” Georgie said.

“Caedmon Cletus Drayton,” Grandpa said sadly. “Caedmon from the British caed , meaning ‘battle.’ Cletus from the Greek kleitos , meaning ‘illustrious.’ ”

“He retains his memories?” Declan asked, his voice neutral.

“Bits and pieces.” Rose reached out and patted the matted mane of Grandfather’s hair. “Mostly he wants to go down to the pub. Sometimes it’s the tavern and he has to meet his friend Connor before their corvette, Esmeralda , sails from the harbor. He remembers who we are and he remembers . . . the woman you saved with Georgie. He’ll cry if he sees her or if I mention her name.”

She felt close to tears herself and swallowed a clump that blocked her throat. “Georgie doesn’t like to let things die.”

Declan’s green eyes studied her. “There are others?”

“No humans. Birds. Kittens. Little creatures he felt sorry for.”

Declan’s face darkened. “How many?”

“We don’t know. He hides them.”

Georgie looked away to the grass.