Fate’s Edge (The Edge #3)(57)
Author: Ilona Andrews

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."

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?"