On the Edge te-1

by Ilona Andrews

  “Your new man’s a pushover.” Brad sneered.

  He was backing down. Rose waved her hand, trying to hide relief. “Keep on walking, Brad.”

  Brad turned on his heel and stalked off. Must’ve decided the odds were against him.

  William smiled, looking nice and pleasant, that same flat smile glued onto his lips. “Old boyfriend?” he asked.

  She nodded. “Something like that.”

  “Back to what we were talking about,” he said. “I appreciate that you leveled with me. But I think if you gave me a chance, I’d change your mind.”

  “I doubt it,” she murmured.

  The door of the office swung open, and Teresa emerged into the sunlight. Short, stocky, and dark, Teresa took one look at William and stopped, drinking him in.

  “I have to go,” Rose said.

  “Till next time then.” William took a step back and strode off.

  Teresa raised her eyebrows at her. Rose shook her head and climbed into the van. She had enough trouble as it was. She needed to get through the day, get home, make sure the boys were okay, and think up some challenge for the blueblood. She felt bad about cutting William’s wooing short, but it was best this way. It wouldn’t go anywhere between them. Concentrate on important things, she told herself.

  THE day slowly cooled down to evening. Jack slipped outside the door and sat on the porch. The old wood was warm under his legs, heated by the late afternoon sun. He squinted at it, a bright yellow coin in the sky. Shiny.

  Rose said to stay inside, but inside was boring. He stayed inside the whole day, in school, and he was good and didn’t fight with anybody, didn’t even scratch Ayden when he tried to steal his eraser. He ate the nasty fried fish sticks without complaints, even though they tasted like dirt mixed with some kind of mystery meat. He didn’t get any warnings or yellow tickets, and now he wanted to be outside. What’s the point of going to school if you can’t go outside after? Besides, it was only four, and Rose wouldn’t be home until five-thirty or even six.

  He sat silent, watching the woods with wide-open eyes. Listening. So many little sounds. A bird, somewhere far to the north, screaming at an intruder to its tree. Angry, feisty squirrels swearing at each other in their squirrel chatter. He watched them play chase up the blue spike pine. The skin between his knuckles itched, wanting to split under his claws, but he sat still—the pine’s branches were too skinny. He couldn’t climb them. He’d already tried twice, and they’d broken under him both times, leaving him scratched and smudged with sticky tar.

  A big bug landed on the board next to him. It was dark blue and glossy. Jack held absolutely still.

  The beetle waddled along the wooden plank on black chi tinous legs. Jack tensed, following it with his gaze. Pretty, shiny bug.

  Footsteps approached from inside the house. Georgie, about to ruin the fun.

  The beetle’s back split, releasing a light fan of shivering, gently unfurling wings. The bug waddled on across the porch. Jack crept after it, soundless and slick.

  “Jack, we’re supposed to stay inside,” Georgie scolded through the screen door.

  The bug stopped at the end of the wooden plank, as if considering the plunge to the green grass below.

  “Go away!” Jack mumbled through his teeth.

  The beetle’s wings trembled again. The two halves of its back rose, like another pair of hard blue wings above its insect shoulders.

  “Jack, get back inside! Rose said . . .”

  The beetle’s wings sped into a blur, and it launched itself into the air.

  Jack pounced.

  He cleared the porch in a single leap, snapping at the beetle with his fingers, and landed in the grass, empty-handed. Missed!

  Georgie jumped out onto the porch. “Come back here!”

  Jack chased after the beetle. It flew left, then veered right, a fat bright buzzing thing on a whirl of cream wings. He leaped, so high for a second he was flying, and caught the beetle between his palms. “Gotcha!”

  Sharp legs pierced his skin. He laughed and peeked between his fingers.

  “Jack!” Georgie’s voice rang like broken glass.

  A stench lashed his nose, bitter and harsh, followed by a creepy feeling that something cold and slimy had dripped on the back of his neck. He whirled.

  A beast stood on the grass. Five feet tall, it balanced on four skinny legs, its body turned at an angle, its head facing Jack. Its chest was deep, and past it, its body slimmed down, each of its ribs clearly visible, before terminating in powerful hindquarters. It looked like a racing dog. At first glance, the beast’s hide seemed almost black, but when the sun touched its spine, the thick skin stretched over the beast’s back turned a dark smoky purple tinted with black and green, like a bad bruise. It had no fur, only a row of short, sharp spikes running down the backs of its legs and along its spine.

  The beast’s head was long, very long, but without any ears. Two pairs of long slanted eyes stared at Jack with dull, weakly glowing gray, like fog backlit by headlights.

  In his adventures in the Wood, Jack had looked into the eyes of a dire wolf, a fox, a bear, and countless other things for which he had no name, but none of them had eyes like that. They were cruel eyes. Cruel and merciless like the eyes of a gator.

  The wards would keep it away. The wards . . . Out of the corner of his eye Jack saw the lines of ward stones—several yards away.

  Jack froze.

  He was vaguely aware of Georgie on the porch. His brother took one small step back. The beast raised its front leg, with a huge paw made of long clawed fingers, and stepped forward.

  “Don’t move!” Jack breathed.

  Georgie became still as a statue.

  The beetle slid from Jack’s open fingers and crawled up the back of his hand to take flight. Jack didn’t move, didn’t even blink. His every instinct screamed at him that to move was to die, and so he stood petrified, caught in his terror.

  The beast opened its mouth. Its lips drew back, revealing black jaws filled with terrible bloodred fangs. The gaze of the four eyes pinned Jack in place.

  Jack swallowed. The bracelet on his wrist grew hot, but he knew that if he took the bracelet off and changed shape, the beast would get him for sure. He had to get behind the wards. That was his only chance. If he ran, the beast would chase him. He knew by the way it was built, lean and long-legged, that it was fast. It would catch him and rend the meat off his bones.

  He shifted slightly, sliding a mere inch back along the grass.

  “Right,” Georgie’s trembling voice called.

  Jack turned a little, terrified to take his gaze off the four eyes, and saw the second beast padding slowly along the ward line. The second beast caught him looking and stopped to show him a forest of narrow red fangs. It would catch him if he moved. There was no escape. He was cut off.

  Jack’s heart hammered in his chest, as if trying to break free. The loud beat of his pulse filled his ears, pounding in his head. The world turned crystal clear. Jack inhaled deeply, trying to keep from getting dizzy.

  “Don’t move,” commanded a quiet voice.

  Jack turned his head. A few yards away the blueblood stood at the edge of the lawn. The giddy relief that had filled Jack vanished. The blueblood was an enemy, too.

  The man stepped forward. His fur cloak lay behind him in the grass. Smoothly he pulled a long, slender sword from the sheath at his waist. His eyes looked past Jack, at the two beasts.

  “Back toward me very slowly,” the blueblood said.

  Jack remained put. The blueblood wanted Rose. He couldn’t be trusted.

  The beasts advanced.

  “I won’t hurt you,” the man promised. “You must come closer. Now.”

  A scent drifted down from him, a light, spicy aroma of cloves.

  The blueblood was human. The beasts were not.

  Slowly, as if underwater, Jack took a step back.

  The beasts stepped forward in unison.

  “That’
s it,” the blueblood said. Jack clenched on to that voice and took another slow step.

  The beasts moved closer.

  A third step.

  He saw the muscles bunch on their legs and knew they were about to charge.

  “Run!” the blueblood barked and sprinted to him.

  Jack dashed. He flew across the grass like there were wings on his feet. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw the dark shapes veering to flank him. They would catch him, they would . . .

  A hand grasped his shoulder and pulled him forward, past the man into the grass. Jack rolled, coming to a crouch.

  The left beast leapt into the air. The blueblood slashed with his sword, and two halves of a dark body fell into the grass, twitching. The blade shone again like a sliver of moonlight, and the second beast’s head bounced off the lawn.

  The blueblood raised his hand and sank a short burst of white into the left beast, first one half, then the other. Acrid smoke rose, scratching the back of Jack’s throat. The beast’s legs stopped quivering.

  The blueblood put another shot of white into the head of the second beast, turned, and bent down. Jack felt himself scooped off the ground, and he clutched onto the man’s neck. Enemy or friend, he didn’t care. The blueblood was warm and human, and he had a big sword.

  “You did well,” the blueblood said.

  Jack held on tighter. His body shook and shivered, as if he were freezing.

  Georgie ran off the porch and halted at the ward line, looking white enough to be dead.

  The blueblood carried Jack to the line of wards and nodded at Georgie. “Move the rocks.”

  Georgie hesitated only for a minute.

  FRIDAY, Rose murmured to herself, striding up the road to the house. Tomorrow was Friday, payday. She’d get her three hundred bucks and put some gas into the damn truck. Kitty ears or not, she wouldn’t go without gas again.

  All afternoon she had been plagued by anxiety. It started the moment she watched the kids board the bus and kept building and building, until it blossomed into a full-blown dread. The kids were well equipped to handle two hours at home by themselves. They knew how to shoot both the rifle and a crossbow, and they were safe behind the wards. But the worry spurred her on, and a mile from the house, she shouldered her tote and broke into a jog. She turned onto their narrow dirt path and ran past the bushes and into the yard.

  Three dark stains dotted the grass, smoking, spreading foul magic into the air. The smell hit her like a punch to the gut: the thick rotten stench of greasy roast burned over a fire and left to rot. Rose gagged and sprinted up the steps to the house. She tore the door open, cleared the living room, and burst into the kitchen.

  The boys sat at the table, watching the blueblood noble at the stove. He held a frying pan in one hand and a kitchen towel in the other.

  Rose barely noticed as her tote slipped off her shoulder and fell to the floor, the gun making a dull clang.

  The four of them stared at each other.

  The blueblood flipped a pancake with a short toss of the pan.

  FIVE

  “YOU let him in?”

  The boys cringed.

  “Inside? Into our house?”

  Georgie ducked as if she had thrown something at him.

  “I’ll deal with you later.” Rose fixed the blueblood with her gaze. “You—leave now.”

  He slid the pancake onto a three-inch-tall stack, dipped a spoon into the sugar bowl, sprinkled sugar onto the pancake, and looked at her brothers.

  “The first rule of etiquette a boy learns when he’s about to enter society is that civility is due to all women. No provocation, no matter how unjust and rudely delivered, can validate a man who fails to treat a woman with anything less than utmost courtesy.”

  The boys hung on his every word. He glanced in her direction.

  “I have met some incredibly unpleasant women, and I have never failed in this duty. But I must admit: your sister may prove my undoing.”

  Rose pulled the magic to her. “Get out.”

  He shook his head with a critical look on his face.

  She clenched her fist. “You have ten seconds to exit my house, or I’ll fry you.”

  “If you try frying me, I’ll be seriously put out,” he said. “Besides, pancakes taste much better fried, given that they are sweet and fluffy and I’m full of gristle. Would you like one?” He held the platter out to her.

  The magic vibrated in her, ready to be released.

  Jack slid off his chair and stood in front of the blueblood, blocking her.

  “Move!”

  “He saved me from the beasts,” Jack said quietly.

  “What beasts?”

  “The beasts outside. They attacked me.”

  “How do you know he didn’t conjure the beasts in the first place?”

  “To what purpose?” the blueblood asked.

  “To get into the house!”

  “And why, pray tell, would I want to do that?”

  Rose halted. She wasn’t sure why he would want to do that. If there was something he hoped to gain by entering the house, she couldn’t think of it. “I don’t know,” she said. “But I don’t trust you.”

  He nodded to the boys. “Start on the pancakes. Your sister and I need to have a talk.” He moved toward her.

  She raised her head. If he thought he could order her around in her own house, he was in for a hell of a surprise. “Fine. We’ll talk outside.” Where Jack couldn’t shield him.

  The blueblood nodded, sidestepped her with smooth grace, and held the front door open for her.

  “Don’t hurt him, Rose!” Georgie said.

  Jack looked like a wet kitten: miserable.

  Rose marched onto the porch, shut both the door and the screen door firmly behind her, and pointed to the path. “Road’s that way.”

  He descended the steps. Without the cape, he didn’t seem quite as massive. The light, supple leather of his black jerkin hugged his broad, muscular back, which slimmed to a narrow waist caught by a leather belt, and long runner’s legs in gray pants and tall dark boots. His movements had a sure but light quality about them. He wasted no gesture, economical yet adroit, and as he walked across the grass to the smoking stains, she was reminded of her grandfather. Cletus had moved like that, with the agility of a natural fencer. But where her grandfather had been lean and relied on speed, the blueblood, while probably fast, looked very strong. She had a feeling that if he hadn’t jumped onto her Ford, the old truck would have crumpled around him like an empty soda can.

  The blueblood stopped by the stain and glanced at her. She crossed her arms. He held out his hand, inviting her to join him. Fat chance.

  “Please grace me with your presence,” he said as if she were a lady at some ball and he was inviting her on a balcony for a private chat.

  He was mocking her. She bristled. “I can see everything from here.”

  “Do you care for your brothers?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Then I fail to understand why you take their safety so lightly. Come here, please. Or should I carry you?”

  She jumped off the porch and walked over. “I’d like to see you try.”

  “Don’t tempt me.” He knelt by the stain and held his hand above it. The power coalesced below his palm. He murmured something in a language she didn’t understand. The magic flowed, following his words, and the smoke condensed into a shape.

  An awful beast stared at her. It was tall and long, with the deep chest and hindquarters of a greyhound. Its head on a long neck was almost horse-like in shape, except for the four dull gray slits of the slanted eyes. The creature’s paws were disproportionately large, their fingers long and armed with three-inch claws. The thought of those claws ripping into Jack made Rose gulp.

  Obeying the wave of the blueblood’s hand, the beast opened his mouth. Its head nearly split in half, its maw gaping wide, wider, showing rows of triangular teeth, bloodred and serrated, designed to shred meat.
<
br />   “There were two of them,” the blueblood said softly. “One came from the left and the other from behind the house. They stalked Jack and meant to kill him. I understand that your education is lacking and you don’t trust me, so listen to your instincts instead: you know that this is an aberration. This isn’t an animal, but something else entirely. Put your hand into it.”

  “What?”

  “Touch it. You’ll feel the residual traces of its magic. It won’t harm you.”

  Cautiously Rose touched the smoke. Her fingers tingled with magic, and she felt it, an awful sensation of touching something slimy and rotting, yet coarse, as if she’d stuck her hand into a putrid carcass and found it filled with sharp grains of sand. She recoiled.

  That wasn’t enough. She had to learn more.

  Rose forced her fingers back into the smoke. The revolting sensation claimed her hand again, and she grimaced, looking away, but held her hand within the creature. Her fingers numbed, and then she sensed a distant echo of foul magic, pulsing like a live wire within the memory of the beast. It was an alien magic, impassive and cold like the blackness between the stars. Rose withdrew her hand and shook it, trying to fling the memory of the feeling from her fingers. He was right. This was no natural animal.

  The blueblood collapsed the smoke shape and offered her his hand. “Touch me.”

  She stared at his palm. Calloused. Probably from swinging that bloody sword.

  “I won’t bite,” he said. “Not until you’re in my bed, anyway.”

  “Never happen.” She put her hand into his. Magic slid into her fingers. He was letting her see his power. It shone within him, warm and white, like a distant star. The star dimmed and vanished, as if hidden by a cloak, and suddenly Rose found her fingers in the hand of a man, who was studying her with a knowing smirk. His skin was warm and rough, his grip firm, and her mind came right back to his “biting in bed” remark.

  Rose jerked her hand out of his fingers. His point was clear: even she knew that to summon those beasts, he would’ve had to open himself to their greedy magic. It clung to her still, trying to worm its way inside. Anybody in prolonged contact with the beasts or their source would be permanently tainted. She had detected none of their miasma within the blueblood. He was clean.