Fate's Edge by Ilona Andrews Page A

on the shelf somewhere.”
    Gaston whistled. “That’s serious money.”
    “One has to wonder how Alex’s family came by it. If I had time, I would knock on some doors in the Edge around Macon where he first blazed a trail, but we don’t have that luxury. We know where he is, so we go to him and we ask him how his crack pipe ended up in the town square in the Weird next to the bits and pieces of the Hand’s agent.”
    None of it made a lot of sense, and now everyone was quiet.
    Jack fidgeted. It would’ve been much cooler to sit up front, where he could see the sky and the clouds and the ground far below. The heat rising from the wyvern’s back and the blankets Gaston had given them kept the cabin warm, but it wasn’t exactly toasty. He fidgeted again. Bored. Bored, bored, bored. He’d slept, he’d read through the book he’d packed in his bag—it was all about the Weird’s nobles on the Old Continent fighting against the ancient raiders. The book was okay, and the hero got to cut the bad guy’s head off at the end, which was fine.
    They had stopped a few times, and Gaston snuck them out to relieve themselves, but that was hours ago.
    Jack stretched his legs, bumping his brother. George opened his eyes, and mouthed, “Stop it.”
    “You stop it,” Jack mouthed back.
    George raised his arm and pretended to scratch his armpit. “Ape.”
    Jack kicked him. George kicked back, and his heel landed on Jack’s thigh. So that’s how it is? Fine. Jack lunged across the space and grabbed George by his arm. George elbowed him in the gut. Jack rammed his fist into his brother’s side.
    “Did you hear that?” Kaldar asked.
    “I’ll check on it.”
    George sank a fist into Jack’s ear. Pain exploded in his head. Ow. Jack punched him in the ribs.
    A huge fist landed on his head. The world got fuzzy for a second, and Jack went down. Half a second later, George sprawled next to him, clutching the back of his head. “Nothing, just some crates shifting,” Gaston called out.
    Jack pointed to the front of the cabin and put his fist into his palm. George nodded. When they got out of here, Gaston would be in for a treat.
    “How long till we land?” Gaston asked up front.
    “A couple of hours. Almost there,” Kaldar said.
    “So what’s the plan?”
    “The plan is for me to visit Mr. Alex Callahan and ask him some questions.”
    “Do you think he’ll answer?”
    “Not without some persuasion,” Kaldar said. “As it happens, persuasion is my specialty.”
    “I take it I’ll be staying with the wyvern?”
    Kaldar laughed. “Unless you want to panic the entire city of Red Grove with your serrated teeth.”
    “Are you sure? One look at me, and Alex will spill his life story. If that fails, I could always be convincing.”
    “By breaking one of his limbs?”
    “If necessary.”
    “It may come to that.”
    “Is something bothering you, Uncle?” Gaston asked.
    “This guy. Alex Callahan. He’s a junkie. A rap sheet a mile long, all of it with drug charges over the last six years.”
    “Aha.”
    “The Pyramid of Ptah is a tough nut to crack even for the best picklock. These guys walked in and out. Popped fourteen locks in record time. It would take me days.”
    “You’re thinking magic?” Gaston asked.
    “Probably. That means if Alex is the picker, he would’ve never done the job.”
    “How do you figure?”
    “Anytime he wants a hit, he can break into anything in the Edge or in the Weird, sell it, and get high. If this lock-picking talent is magic, then it only works in the Edge and the Weird. So why does Alex Callahan have a trophy wall of theft charges in the Broken? Why steal where you’re at a disadvantage?”
    “Maybe he’s stupid.”
    “Junkies are clever; they have to be to keep the addiction going, and long-term junkies are too far gone to plan ahead. They’re only thinking of the next high. An addict will steal anything, and he will sell it to you for twenty bucks. That’s the going