A faint scent of cinnamon fluttered on the wind. Placard Man. Declan smelled like a pie, but this man’s scent was slightly bitter, spiced with cloves. It wasn’t that Placard Man was that powerful or had that much magic, but he’d definitely been around it.
The man stopped a few feet away, hands in plain view. “Hey there.”
Showtime. Jack gave him the kind of look bluebloods unleashed when they first found out he was a changeling: half suspicion, half derision.
George just stared at the man, his face flat and unfriendly, tense as if ready to bolt any second. Kaldar had explained the street-prostitute thing to them. He said it was the easiest way to go, and they both agreed they could do that.
“I saw you standing here,” Placard Man said.
Jack bared his teeth at him. “We can stand here.”
“It’s a public street,” George said.
“That’s an interesting accent,” the man said. “You boys are English?”
Aha, they had practiced that one. “Canadian,” Jack said, while George said, “None of your business” at the same time.
“Canadian.” The man nodded in appreciation. “You’re a long way from home. Does your family know where you are?”
“What do you want, dude?” George asked.
“I want to help,” the man said.
“Right.” George laughed, cold and bitter.
“We don’t need any,” Jack told him.
“From what I’m looking at, you do. Do you boys know about Jesus Christ, our Savior?”
“I don’t know, does Jesus have food?” Jack smirked.
“Yes,” the man said. “Yes, he does. When’s the last time you two ate?”
“Look, why don’t you bugger off,” George told him. “We aren’t bothering you.”
Placard Man smiled. “I tell you what, I’m shorthanded today. If the two of you give out flyers for me for the next two hours, there will be a sandwich and a bottle of water in it for each of you. And a cookie.”
“What kind of cookie?” Jack asked.
George put a restraining hand over him. They didn’t practice that, but Jack went along with it. “What else do we have to do for the food?” A warning note crept into his voice. Heh. George was kicking ass and taking names.
Placard Man sighed. “Nothing else. Definitely nothing like what you’re thinking of. Nobody will touch you or force you to do something you don’t want to do. Just simple payment for two hours of honest work. And the cookie is chocolate chip, by the way.”
George pretended to think it over.
“I’m starving,” Jack said.
“We just hand out flyers,” George said. “Nothing else.”
“Nothing else.”
“We’re not going into any buildings with you, dude.”
“That’s fine,” Placard Man said. “No buildings.”
George hesitated for another moment. “What sort of sandwich?”
“Ham or turkey. You get your pick.”
“Come on.” Jack let a little whine into his voice.
“Okay,” George said.
“THEY’RE in,” Audrey murmured. On the street, the two boys accepted a stack of flyers each. Look at George go. The kid did everything right: the weary, suspicious look, the distrust, the jumpiness. George was a born actor, and Jack wasn’t bad himself.
“Go,” Kaldar said.
Gaston slipped out of the car. He wore a tattered trench coat and a filthy panama hat that hid his face and most of his hair, which Kaldar had sprinkled with white powder. His face and hands, what little could be seen of them, had been dyed brown with one of the plant dyes from Kaldar’s collection. As she watched, Gaston slipped a small glass vial from his sleeve and splashed some liquid on his coat.
She glanced at Kaldar.
“Cat urine.”
Ugh. Cat urine stank to high heaven. Nobody would come within six feet of Gaston.
All this trouble so they could get an invitation to the auction of the man who had bought the bracelets. And to think Audrey had the stupid things in her hands a week ago. She should’ve never taken that job. But whatever regrets she had, she would have to live with them. Regrets never did anyone any good. She would fix this mess. She was smart, good at what she did, and she had Kaldar, who was possibly the best conman she had ever met.
The glass vial vanished into Kaldar’s nephew’s sleeve. Gaston slumped against the wall in the corner of the parking lot and slid down to the ground. He looked like an old Hispanic homeless man.
“Nice job,” she approved.
“One of the first things the Mirror teaches field agents,” Kaldar said. “The best way to hide is to do it in plain view.”
If anything happened to the kids, Gaston would get them out. It didn’t make her feel any better. The whole plan was made of bubble gum and lint and hinged on luck. When she told Kaldar that, he grinned, and said, “Trust me,” as if that was supposed to make everything okay. She argued against it until Kaldar suggested a vote. All male members of the party voted against her, which meant everyone. She had a feeling that if the wyvern and the cat could’ve understood what was going on, they would’ve voted against her, too. She was surrounded by fools with too much testosterone, and there wasn’t a thing she could do about it.
“Why the sour face?” he asked. “Still worried about the kids?”
“You know they need to simmer for at least a week.” She merged into traffic, heading toward the nearest mall. “We’re rushing this.”
“We have no choice. The Hand won’t keep spinning its wheels forever.”
Audrey shook her head. They were moving too fast. They had cash, that was true, but some things couldn’t be fixed with money alone.
They’d taken $187,000 from Arturo Pena’s safe. They had also taken the stack of maps that showed his slave routes, which maps Kaldar had delivered in a neat bundle to the doorstep of a friend of a friend, whose business car seemed to have government plates. Even if Arturo Pena managed to pull himself back together, he would never regain the respect of his crew. They had effectively put him out of business. It was the least he deserved. And now they would spend his blood-soaked bill.
“How long will you need at the mall?” Kaldar asked.
“At least four hours.”
He blinked.
“Manicure, pedicure, wax, hair, makeup, clothes, jewelry. You’ll be lucky if I’m out of there by three in the afternoon.”
“I’ll count my blessings,” he said. “Don’t buy anything tasteful.”
“Shut up. Do you think this is my first time?”
THE buzzer on the intercom sitting on Kaleb Green’s desk chimed with a silvery note. Kaleb Green opened his eyes. His head throbbed with the beginnings of a spectacular migraine. He could take the pills, which would turn him into a zombie for the rest of the day. Unfortunately, he had to stay lucid and upright.
The Bosley deal was going down today, which, if the die fell right, would net him a quarter of a million dollars in the Weird’s gold. Personally, he could see no point in arming anyone in the Weird with AK-47s. Any blueblood with a decent flash would simply deflect the bullets and mince the troops into sushi. But the robber baron wanted the guns, and Kaleb would deliver and endure. He’d taken three Excedrins and four Advils, but the migraine persisted, so he had retreated into his private office and told his secretary he wasn’t to be disturbed.
The intercom chimed again. For a moment, he considered throwing it against the wall. But then, his curiosity won. Perhaps there was a deal of the century waiting on the other line. Kaleb reached over and pressed the button. Tamica’s voice came through. “Mr. Green?”
Kaleb sat up. His secretary had worked for him for six years. They were on a first-name basis. “Mr. Green” meant a client or trouble. Considering that they were currently in the Edge part of the building, the latter was more likely.
“Yes?”
Tamica’s voice shook slightly. “You have visitors.”
&nb
sp; He pulled a Colt .45 from the desk drawer and let his magic cloak him in a pale sheen of green. His wasn’t the strongest of flashes, but it would shield him from a hail of bullets.
“Can they wait?”
“No, sir. They would like to see you now.”
She hadn’t used the code word, or he would be already gone, out through the back.
“Very well. I’ll see them.”
The door swung open, and a blueblood woman entered, her cloak flaring behind her. Tall, gorgeous, lithe like a cat, with hair the color of golden silk and radiant eyes of such pure intense green he forgot to breathe. A short, muscled man who looked like he could bench-press a car moved to her left. His dark hair had been cropped short, and a long line of tattooed symbols wound about his neck, like a snake, looping over his bare arms only to disappear under his clothes. Long, black claws protruded from his fingers.
To the right, a giant of a man, pale like an albino, loomed over the blueblood’s head. A woman came to stand next to him, slender, dark-haired, with pale gray eyes and skin the color of orange peel. A bald man stepped forward, carrying Tamica, one hand around her waist, the other on her throat, carrying her horizontally, like she weighed nothing. Tamica’s hazel eyes stared at Kaleb in silent panic.
For the first time in his life, Kaleb seriously considered prayer.
The blueblood woman looked at him. He saw the slit pupils contract in her emerald irises. An enhanced blueblood. This was bad. This was extremely bad.
“Are you Kaleb Green, the fence?”
His throat had gone dry like a shriveled-up leaf. Somehow, he made the words come out. “I am much more than a simple fence.”
The blueblood arched her perfect eyebrows. “Are you familiar with your competitors?”
“Of course.”
She reached into her cloak and pulled out a purse. For a moment, she let it dangle from her long fingers, sheathed in leather gloves, and Kaleb wondered what her hands looked like. Then the purse landed on his desk with a telltale metallic clink, and he focused on it.
The woman raised her hand. “Killian.”
The bald man jerked Tamica up. His mouth gaped open, the lower jaw unhinging like the gaping maw of a snake. His lips circled back, baring huge triangular teeth.
“No!” Kaleb gasped.
Tamica screamed.
The man bit Tamica’s throat, ripping out half of her neck with his teeth. Blood drenched the floor. Her scream died in mid-note. The man bit again, tearing out red flesh and shreds of muscle, and dropped Tamica’s body on the floor. It dropped with a soft thud onto his prized carpet.
“I require your services,” the blueblood woman said. “If you agree, the money is yours. If you refuse, I’ll skin you alive.”
He was still frozen. Move, you moron. Do something, or you’ll be next.
The blueblood woman watched him, waiting.
Kaleb licked his lips. His voice came out hoarse. “What can I do for you, my lady?”
The albino giant stepped aside. A woman with pale skin tinted with a sickly shade of green approached his desk, carrying an enormous book. She flipped the pages, and he stared at the photograph of himself, complete with his name, contact information, and a short list of his accomplishments. Kaleb’s heart hammered faster. He’d never seen it, but he’d heard of it. This was Gnome’s book. If the Hand had it, that meant the old bastard was dead, and if Kaleb wasn’t careful, he would be joining him. Just like Tamica.
“This book contains profiles of your major competitors,” the blueblood woman said. “A page has been torn from it. I need you to tell me who is missing.”
OUTSIDE, the night air felt cool against Helena’s skin. The Mar had torn out more than one page. The book was missing Magdalene Moonflower from the south and Clive Keener from the north. The two Edgers lived a thousand miles apart. Clever, Helena reflected. It won’t save you, swamp rat. The Hound of the Golden Throne is coming for you. Dogs killed rats, and she would crush this one and take his head to Spider. It would make a fitting tribute.
Karmash and Sebastian waited for her. The situation mandated only one possible solution. She had to split her team. They both knew it, and each waited to see who would be chosen.
Clive Keener operated only a few hundred miles from their last encounter, while Magdalene Moonflower made her den all the way in the south of the continent. Of the two, Clive was a better bet.
“Karmash.”
The large man stepped forward and dropped to one knee, his head bowed, his white hair dripping down. Sebastian’s face was carefully impassive.
“Take Soma, Mura, and Cotier and pay a visit to Magdalene Moonflower. You may have the smaller wyvern. If you find this Mar, inform me immediately and do not engage. Observe only and do not let him know he’s been found. Am I clear?”
“Yes, my lady.”
“You may go.”
Karmash rose, spun, and walked away, barking orders. The three agents she had named followed him into the night.
Sebastian said nothing.
“You are more capable,” she said quietly.
“Thank you, my lady.” Sebastian’s voice was a deeper snarl than usual.
She didn’t often condescend to explain her reasoning, but fostering resentment in her second-in-command would lead to a disaster. “It doesn’t matter who scouts an enemy. It only matters who apprehends him. Kaldar Mar is a snake, and like a snake, he’s smart and calculating. If Karmash manages to find him and stay undetected, he will wait until we arrive to capture. If the Edger outsmarts Karmash, your reputation with our people will remain untarnished by failure.”
Sebastian stared at Karmash disappearing into the Edge. A low, half-suppressed growl reverberated in his throat. “I don’t trust him. He doesn’t care about the security of the country or the mission. He thinks only of himself.”
Helena glanced at him. “He’s one of my uncle’s lieutenants. Do you question Spider’s judgment?”
“No, my lady.” Sebastian bowed his head.
She smiled at him. “You should. I question everyone’s judgment, including my own. You must remember, Sebastian, Karmash is part of the Hand, which protects the colony. We’re the Hounds, who defend the throne. We have a more refined sense of purpose and duty. That’s why I am here, stepping into my uncle’s place until he can return to active service. I must uphold the honor of our family name and do my duty to the Empire. I count on you to fight by my side.”
Sebastian bowed his head. “Always, my lady.”
She had expected nothing less. “Come. We travel north.”
ELEVEN
KALDAR sat in a Starbucks across from the mall’s Sears entrance, sipped coffee—it was slightly burned and bitter—and contemplated his sanity. Or rather, the lack thereof.
Audrey was right. They were rushing the scheme. They needed ten days. Two weeks would have been better. But the Hand wouldn’t be delayed for long. In every con, there came a time when the plan fell apart, and one had to improvise. This was no different. He was used to flying by the seat of his pants; he welcomed it most of the time. Often, when he was under pressure, things miraculously snapped into place. But he wasn’t flying solo.
First, there were the kids. As much as he reassured Audrey, there was a small chance one of them would stumble. True, both of them could defend themselves, but having the potential didn’t always mean guaranteed results.
Then there was Audrey herself. Beautiful, sweet Audrey. Distracting Audrey. Audrey who monopolized his brain when it should be concerned with other things, like planning and calculating. Leaving her father and brother he understood, but walking away from a talent of that caliber to chase cheating husbands and insurance frauds in the Broken? She loved what she did; back in Pena’s house, she had enjoyed every moment of it. The memory of her, cool, collected, and smooth as silk, popped into his head. Mmmm.
Audrey, Audrey, Audrey . . .
Why had she stopped stealing? If there was ever a woman born to be a cat burgl
ar, she was one. She could live like a queen in the Broken or in the Weird. But something had made her stop cold. The violent episode with the drug dealer damaged her, but it didn’t break her. She’d made a conscious choice to walk away from her talent. Curiosity was once again killing him.
He’d tried to steal a kiss again before dropping her off, and she gave him a flat stare that slammed the door in his face.
In his experience, women fell into two categories: those who were too old or taken, and those who were up for some fun. With the right approach, most available women could be seduced. It had nothing to do with their character or their gender and everything to do with the basic human need for recognition and attention. He was a grifter. Seducing, whether it was to separate people from their money or to entice them into friendship or an affair, was his art. He was expert in it.
He wanted Audrey. He’d used the correct combination of flattery and playfulness. He complimented her. He said all the right things and employed all the right touches, and yet here they were in the exact same place they had been the moment they’d met. She still wouldn’t give him the time of day. He won a battle here and there, but mostly he lost. He was tired of losing. He was tired of obsessing about her. It left him irritable and off-balance. And worst of all, Kaldar knew that the moment she reappeared on his horizon, his irritation would evaporate, and he’d be all wrapped up in trying to earn a smile. Like some puppy.
He was thirty-two years old. Way too old to be thinking in circles about some redhead with a plump cleavage.
His mug was empty. Kaldar looked up, considering if he should get another coffee. A brunette in oversized shades smiled at him from two tables away. Hmm. Denim shirt, baring toned arms; low-cut white pants, secured on her narrow hips by an expensive belt; Ariadna Alto shoes with a sky-high heel—he’d seen them on the cover of a tabloid when he went to a store to pick up a few things to complete his own transformation. A chunky necklace of caramel glass beads completed the look. She had money, and she was unsuccessfully trying to pretend to be carefree and casual.
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