Magic Graves (Kate Daniels 0.5)(29)
Author: Ilona Andrews

A mile and a half ahead a lonely subdivision of identical houses waited, cradled in the fold of the hill, but meanwhile the road was empty. Nothing but the trees.

Audrey glanced at the clock. Thirty two minutes so far, not counting the time it took her to stop at a convenience store to get some teriyaki jerky for Ling and the time she spent driving around to different pharmacies. Getting to work would mean an actual commute.

She loved the job with Milano’s investigative agency. She loved every moment of it, from quietly hiding in a car to watch a suspect to running a con on the conmen. They thought they were slick. They didn’t know what slick was.

To be fair, most of the suspects she ran across were conmen of opportunity. They got hurt on the job and liked the disability, or they got tangled in an affair and were too afraid or too arrogant to tell their spouses. They didn’t see what they were doing as a con. They viewed it as a little white lie, the easiest path out of a tough situation. Most of them went about their deception in an amateur way. Audrey had been running cons since she could talk. It wasn’t a fair fight, but then in the world of grifters "fair" had no meaning.

Ahead the road forked. The main street rolled right, up the hill, toward the subdivision, while the smaller road branched left, ducking under the canopy of trees. Audrey checked the rear view mirror. The ribbon of pavement behind her stretched into the distance, deserted. The coast was clear.

She smoothly made the turn onto the smaller road and braced herself. Panic punched her in the stomach, right in the solar plexus. Audrey gasped. The world swirled in a dizzying rush and she let go of the wheel for a second to keep from wrenching the vehicle off the pavement. Pain followed, sharp, prickling every inch of her skin with red hot needles, and although Audrey had expected it, the ache still caught her by surprise. Pressure squeezed her, and then, just like that, all discomfort vanished. She had passed through the boundary.

A warm feeling spread through Audrey, flowing from her chest all the way to her fingertips. She smiled and snapped her fingers. With a warm tingle, tendrils of green glow swirled around her hand. Magic. Also known as flash. She let it die and kept driving.

Back on the main road, in the city of Olympia, in the state of Washington, magic didn’t exist. People who lived there tried to pretend that it did. They flirted with the idea of psychics and street magicians, but they had never encountered the real thing. Most of them wouldn’t even see the side road she took. For them it simply wasn’t there – the woods continued uninterrupted. Every time Audrey crossed into their world, the boundary stripped her magic from her in a rush of pain. That’s why people like her called that place the Broken – when you passed into it, you gave up a part of yourself and it left you feeling incomplete. Broken like a clock with a missing gear.

Far ahead, past mountains and miles of rough terrain another world waited, a mirror to the Broken, full of magic but light on technology. Well, not exactly true, Audrey reflected. The Weird had plenty of complex technology, but it had evolved in a different direction. Most of it functioned with the aid of magic. In the Weird, the power of your magic and the color of your flash determined the course of your life. The brighter you flashed, the better. If you flashed white, you could rub elbows with blueloods, Weird’s aristocratic families.

The Weird, like the Broken, was a place of rules and laws. That’s why Audrey preferred to live here, in the no-man’s land between the two dimensions. The locals called it the Edge, and they were right. It was on the edge of both worlds, a place without countries or cops, where the cast-offs like her washed ashore. Connecting the two dimensions like a secret overpass, the Edge took everyone. Swindlers, thieves, crazed separatists, clannish families, all were welcome, all were dirt poor, and all kept to themselves. The Edgers gave no quarter and expected no sympathy.

The road turned to dirt. The trees had changed too. Ancient spruces spread broad branches from massive buttressed trunks, their limbs dripping with long emerald-green beards of tangled moss. Towering narrow hemlocks thrust into the sky, their roots cushioned in ferns. Blue haze clung to narrow spaces between the trunks, hiding otherworldly things with glowing eyes who prowled in search of prey.

As Audrey drove through, bright yellow blossoms of Edger primrose sensed the vibration of the car and snapped open with faint puffs of luminescent pollen. By day the flowers stayed closed and harmless. At night, it was a different story. Take a couple of puffs in your face and pretty soon you’d forget where you were or why you were here. A couple of weeks ago, Rook, one of the local Edger idiots, got drunk and fell asleep near a patch of those. They found him two days later, sitting up on a tree stump butt naked and covered in ants. This was an old forest, nourished by magic. It didn’t suffer fools, gladly or otherwise.

She steered her Honda up the narrow road, past her driveway, forcing it to climb higher and higher up the mountain. A shadow loomed ahead, blocking the way. She flicked on her brights. An old pine had fallen across the road. She’d have to hoof it to Gnome’s house. The road was muddy with recent rain and she had new shoes on. Oh well. Shoes could be cleaned.

Audrey parked, pulled the emergency brake as high as it would go, swiped the plastic bags off the seat, and climbed out. Mud squished under the soles of her shoes. She climbed over the tree and trudged up the narrow road, following it all the way up to the top of the mountain. By the time she made it to the clearing, the sky had grown dim. Gnome’s house, an large two story jumble of weird rooms sticking out at random angles, was all but lost in the gloom.

"Gnome!"

No answer.

"Gnooome!"

Nothing.

He was inside. He had to be – his old beat up Chevy sat on the left side of the house, and Gnome rarely left the top of the mountain anyway. Audrey walked up to the door and tried the handle. Locked. She put her hand to the keyhole and pushed. The magic slid from her fingers in translucent currents of pale green and wove together, sliding into the keyhole. That old ornery knucklehead would probably kill her for this. The lock clicked. Audrey eased the door open smoothly, making sure it didn’t creak more out of habit than real need.

Flash was a pure expression of one’s magic. But most people born with it had a talent or two hidden up their sleeve. Some Edgers were cursers, some foretold the future. She opened doors.

Audrey passed through the narrow hallway into the main room, sectioned off by tall shelves filled with Gnome’s knickknacks and merchandise. Being a local fence, he had enough inventory to put Costco to shame. He also functioned as an emergency general store. If Edgers needed deodorant or soap in a hurry and didn’t want to drive all the way across the boundary, they stopped at Gnome’. And ended up paying ten bucks for a tube of toothpaste.