Fate's Edge (13 page)

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.”

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.