Roadkill by Rob Thurman Page B

it well. If the buyer is a fool, that is no fault of mine if they end up with less than they expected.”
    True enough. But I wasn’t a fool and I’d still ended up with something I hadn’t expected when she’d sold us the Calabassa—the near sacrifice of my brother.
    I pulled out my knife and balanced it on its tip in the center of the table, then rotated it slowly with a lazy back-and-forth twist of my wrist. I’d told Nik that I wouldn’t use it; I didn’t say I wouldn’t show it. “Against my better judgment,” I said casually, “and, oh, despite our general loathing and hatred of you, my brother and I have decided to take the job. It’ll cost you fifty thousand dollars.”
    She snorted, but it was a weak imitation of her usual snap. “Even a Vayash, even a gadje barters better than that—to start so impossibly high.” Idly I noticed that matching candy pink curtains were drawn over the tiny window. Petal pink and this poisonous centipede of a woman; it would make you think twice about that old saying about stopping to smell the roses. There was no telling what would scuttle out and bite you when you did.
    I smiled as the knife continued to turn . . . just as the gate began to turn behind me. I started it small, out of her sight hidden by my back, and let it grow until it was a full-sized mass of writhing gray light. “But I’m not gadje , at least not the kind of outsider you mean, am I?” I let my curved lips peel back to show my teeth. Some would’ve called it a grin, but only those like me—born in the world’s shadow.
    “Fifty thousand, take it or leave it.” I turned my head slightly, letting my eyes slide toward the tarnished light. “Or you could go through there. Trade instead of money. Would you like to see what’s on the other side, Abelia-Roo? Step through there and maybe we’ll take care of your ‘tiny’ problem for free. You won’t find a better deal than that.” I showed more teeth. “Go on. Aren’t you even curious?”
    Her wattled neck convulsed as she swallowed, blackbird eyes surrounded by white. She managed to look anywhere but at the gate . . . or at me. “That . . . that is more than half of everything we have.”
    “You almost cost me my brother, who is the whole of everything I have. It seems more than fair to me.” I stopped spinning the knife and slapped it flat on the table as the gate crept closer behind me. I could feel it. Eager but contained, and good; it felt damn good and nothing like before—no thirst for blood, no shredding of my control, no consuming hunger.
    All right. Maybe a little hunger.
    But mainly the feeling I could do anything; be anything; was everything. “You pay or we leave.” I stood but braced my arms on the table. “I really don’t give a shit either way. But when I do leave”—I looked at the gate again, thinking fondly what a good boy it was—“I’m leaving my friend behind.”
    I took my knife, slid it into its sheath, and headed for the RV door. “Enjoy. I opened it in the middle of a boggle nest. Have anything in your little bags for a boggle?” She didn’t move, frozen—the mighty Abelia-Roo, who ruled with an iron fist and hadn’t bothered to spare a word to save my brother’s life, finally facing something she couldn’t control, couldn’t curse, and couldn’t con.
    “I didn’t think so.” I swung the door open. “Tell Mama Boggle you’re a friend of mine when she comes through. She really loves me. I’m like the half- Auphe bastard son she never had.”
    I was letting the door swing shut behind me when she let out a strangled, “No, we’ll pay.”
    Because she thought I’d actually do it, and it could be she was right. My brother brought out the best in me. People who messed with my brother brought out the very worst.
    I caught the door. “Is that so? Damn. I’d been hoping you’d say no.” I let the gate thin to nothing. I thought about it first, a long moment, but finally I did let it go before