Fate's Edge (24 page)

Magdalene smiled. “So Morell finally stumbled. Good to know. What do you want from me?”

Kaldar slipped a hint of confidentiality into his voice. “People say that Morell isn’t universally loved.”

“People say a lot of things.”

“If someone who disliked Morell, a direct competitor of his, let’s say, were to help us with information or assist us in gaining access to his person, well, such a person would benefit when Morell was brought down.”

“Heh.” Magdalene leaned forward. “Suppose I help you do this. Then what if you’re captured and you give up my name? That might put me in an awkward position.” She gave Kaldar another once-over. “As much as I might enjoy that under different circumstances . . .”

Audrey almost slapped her.
For Heaven’s sake, woman, have some dignity.

“. . . I don’t cherish having Morell’s goons showing up at my doorstep.”

“Is that a no?” Kaldar tilted his head. The light sparked off the silver earring in his ear. Mmm, that was exactly what he would look like after a wild night, raising his head from the sheets.

And now both of them were staring at him googly-eyed. Audrey returned her gaze to the plant. She’d have picked at it to keep herself occupied, except it was an Edge Mercy flower, and it would peel the skin off her fingertips.

“That’s a maybe.” Magdalene snapped out of her Kaldar-stupor and looked at the card again. “I’d like you to do a job for me. In return, I will give you an invitation to his auction. It’s a foolproof way to get into Morell’s castle. In fact, his guards will let you in through the front gate.”

“I’m listening,” Kaldar said.

“I have particular talents,” Magdalene said. “In the Edge, they call people like me soothsayers.”

Figured. Now the snake stare made sense.

“Everyone has problems,” Magdalene said, her voice light. “Your boss is driving you mad, your job puts you under pressure, your hair is falling out, you’re carrying an extra fifty pounds, and you suspect your wife is banging a used-car salesman. You’re worn-out, so you come to me. Two nice employees walk you through that hallway, and you find yourself here.”

Well, of course. A couple of Edgers could get almost anybody into the Edge through the boundary. They’d just feed their own magic into the person to get them through.

“You tell me about your problems, and after we chat for twenty minutes, you start feeling better. The longer we talk, the easier your life becomes. People think happiness is about money. It’s not. It’s all about perception. A doughnut-shop clerk who makes twenty grand a year is often more content than a boardroom desk jockey making two hundred thousand because the clerk appreciates every break he gets. Those who come to me focus only on the negatives, so I simply realign them to see their lives through rose-colored glasses.”

“And they tell you all of their secrets in return.” Audrey clamped her mouth shut.
Oops.

Magdalene spared her a single look, as if seeing her for the first time. “Yes, they do.”

You went to soothsayers at your own peril. They made you feel so good. But the next thing you knew, you had told them all about your affair with Bob down the street, and that time you lost your temper with your kids, and the twenty thousand dollars Aunt Hilda left you. Soothsayers traded in information. Most Edgers knew this.

“I’ve done well for myself over the years. But now I have a problem.”

Magdalene took a remote off the nearest table and clicked it. A section of the wall slid aside, revealing a flat screen. Magdalene opened her laptop, typed something in a quick staccato, and the flat screen ignited, showing a smiling man in a suit. Early thirties, healthy tan, bright white teeth, salon-bleached hair. Handsome, but not overly. He had the kind of face that would make him a good vacuum salesman or a successful serial killer: open, honest, confident, and pleasant. Old ladies would judge him to be a “nice boy” and open their doors to him, no problem.

“Edward Yonker.” Magdalene crossed her arms on her chest. “Also known as Ed Junior. He runs the Church of the Blessed. He’s a prosperity preacher.”

Kaldar nodded. “I see.”

“Ed’s like me, except his specialty is crowds. If he were a carnie, he’d be a sky grifter.”

Audrey looked at the plant some more. She’d met a few tent-revival preachers, and none of them were any good. They’d preach hell, whip up the crowd into hysteria, pull off a couple of cheap tricks, then pass the collection plate around. Sky grifters—nothing but show.

“Ed’s power isn’t that impressive, so I didn’t pay him much attention. Two years ago, he got himself a gadget from the Weird, and suddenly his church started growing. He’s moved twice, and now he’s got himself a nice new building. Ed’s aiming for megachurch status, and he’s moving in on my clients.”

“Does he lift their burden as well?” Kaldar asked.

Magdalene grimaced. “Happiness is infectious. I teach them to be kinder and more compassionate, because that in turn makes people around them happier.”

Audrey almost snorted. Magdalene Moonflower, the new Mother Teresa.
Be kind to your fellow man and tell me about that impending business acquisition so I can call my stockbroker . . .

“Ed tells them it’s okay to be a rich bastard. He tells them Jesus wants them to be happy.” The soothsayer stared at the screen. “I’ve warned him before to stay away from my people and my client list. I had a girl working for me. A nice sweet girl, not too bright but very diligent. Very earnest. She had some trouble in her life, and, for whatever reason, she didn’t come to me; she turned to his church instead.”

No surprise, Audrey reflected. She had barely spent half an hour with the woman, and she’d rather have her teeth pulled than let Magdalene rummage in her head.

“Ed got his hooks into her. She stopped coming to work. The next time one of my people saw her, she was singing in Ed’s choir. She’s one of his Blessed Maidens now. He has these
retreats
.” Magdalene spat the word like it was poison. “For his special contributors.”

“So what is it that you want?” Kaldar asked.

“I want his gadget. Bring it to me, and I’ll get you into Morell’s castle.”

Kaldar bowed. Magdalene held out her hand, and his lips brushed it lightly.

Ew.

“We have a deal,” Kaldar said.

 

THE moment she stepped outside Magdalene’s lair, Audrey gulped the fresh air. Kaldar put a light hand on her back, trying to steer her across the street.

She stepped aside. “Kaldar, don’t touch me with that hand.”

“Why?”

Audrey crossed the street. “You touched Magdalene with it.”

Kaldar chuckled. “It’s not contagious.”

“You have no guarantee of that.”

They reached the Ford they had “borrowed” that morning from a used-car lot. “She really rubbed you the wrong way, huh?” Kaldar popped the locks open and held the door out for her. She went to sit down, and his hand brushed against her hip.

“I steal things. It makes people sad, but in the end they’re just things. They are replaceable. She steals memories and secrets, and she ruins people who take her into their confidence. She’s a snake.”

“I thought a shark myself.”

They got into the vehicle, and Kaldar started the engine.

“You’re not serious about this?” she asked.

“I’m very serious.”

“Kaldar, jobs like this take time. Did you forget that we have a homicidal blueblood on our trail?”

“She doesn’t know where we went. We have a couple of days.” He pulled out into the street.

“We need two weeks minimum to pull this off, and you know it.”

“Well, we’ll just have to do it fast.”

She stared at him.

“I have a feeling Fate will be with me on this one,” he told her.

“Fate?”

“Mhm. She’s sucker punched me twice since this job started. I’m due for a kiss. Why don’t we go spy on Yonker? You might change your mind.”

“What about the kids?”

“They are safe with the wyvern. Besides, Gaston should be back from talking to the locals by now. He’ll keep them from doing anything stupid. They will be fine.”

She shook her head. “That’s your general approach to life, isn’t it? Wing it, and it will be fine.”

“Hey, it’s worked so far.”

“You are impossible,” she told him.

Kaldar laughed.

NINE

KALDAR passed the binoculars to Audrey. They were parked out of the way, in the back lot of Vans, a large grocery store, their stolen car just an anonymous vehicle among all the others. A few hundred yards down, a large brown-and-beige building sat in the back of a parking lot, couched in large California sycamores and flame trees, blazing with bright red flowers. The Church of the Blessed. Sturdy, solid, brand-new, with large, spotless windows and a large portico before the double-doors entrance. The building had no steeple, no bell tower, nothing to mark it as a church. If anything, it resembled a small convention center.

Audrey took the binoculars. Her fingertips brushed his hand. In his head, he was kissing her, tasting those raspberry lips. Of course, in his little fantasy she loved it. Idly, he wondered if she wanted him to kiss her. Would she pull back, would she melt into the kiss, would she . . .

“Children,” she said, passing the binoculars back to him.

He looked. A throng of adolescent boys made their way to the doors, each carrying something pale . . . Kaldar zoomed in. “Flyers. They’re carrying flyers.”

Audrey reached for the binoculars, and he let her have them. “They’re a skinny lot,” she murmured. “Probably runaways. It’s warm here. The city is full of them. He’s using them as walking advertisements.”

A man in his early thirties, carrying a placard, followed the kids. The doors opened, and two women brought out a cart filled with sandwiches. The children lined up. The man thrust his placard into the lawn and joined the end of the line.

“Come to Jesus and live an abundant life,” Audrey read. “He’s a prosperity preacher, all right. Ugh.”

“I meant to ask you about that,” Kaldar said. “What is a prosperity preacher?”

Audrey took the binoculars from her face. Her eyes were huge with surprise and outrage. She looked hilarious.

“You don’t know what a prosperity preacher is, but you took the job anyway?”

“I have you to explain it.”

“Kaldar!”

He leaned closer. “I like the way you say my name, love. Say it again.”

She plucked a paper map off the dashboard. “No.”

“Auudreey?” He toyed with a lock of her hair. His voice dropped into the quiet intimate murmur that usually got him laid. “Say my name.”

She leaned toward him, her eyelids half-lowered, her long eyelashes fanning her cheeks. She tilted her face to his, close, closer. Her lips parted.

Here it comes.

“Dumb-ass.”

Ouch.

She tapped his forehead with the map. “Focus on the job.”

The woman drove him crazy. “I would focus, but I’ve been rejected and must now wallow in self-pity. So prosperity preachers. What are they?”

Audrey sighed. “How much do you know about Christianity?”

“I’ve read the Bible,” he told her. “The good parts.”

“Let me guess, the ones with wars and rich kings and women?”

He gave her an innocent look. “We’ve barely met, and yet you know me so well.”

“The New Testament, that’s the one with Jesus, in case you didn’t know, doesn’t care for rich people. There is a story in the Gospel of Matthew, where a rich prince visits Jesus and asks him how he could get into Heaven. And Jesus tells him to keep the Commandments, and if he really wants to ensure his place in Heaven, to give away all his possessions to the poor. That’s where that famous verse comes from, ‘It is easier for a camel to go through the eye of a needle than for a rich man to enter into the kingdom of God.’ There are more things in the same vein. Mark and Luke and James, all of them basically said that the richer you are, the harder it is to go to Heaven because rich people fall into temptation and surrender to their greed.”

“ ‘The love of money is the root of all evil.’” He had read the Bible, and the quote had stuck with him. He took it as a warning.

“Timothy 6:10.” Audrey shrugged.

“From the way I’m looking at it, poverty doesn’t lead to love and happiness, either.”

She waved her hand at him. “Bottom line is, Christians are supposed to be rich in spirit, not in money. Well, if you’re doing well for yourself and you’re a Christian, that kind of leaves you with two choices: either you can keep giving away your money to get into Heaven, or you can pretend that everything will be okay anyway and hope you won’t go to Hell. Prosperity preachers prey on that fear: they preach that God wants us all to be rich and happy, and it’s okay to have extra money and live a good life full of luxuries.”

“It’s a good gig,” Kaldar reflected. “Nobody wants to go to church and be condemned every Sunday, and the congregation is either rich already or—”

“Hoping to get rich,” Audrey finished.

“Good works aren’t necessary—besides giving generously to the church, of course.”

“Of course.” Audrey wrinkled her nose. “The church needs money.”

Indeed. “All that guilt and all those assets, wrapped in a lovely package.”

“Delicious, like a chocolate truffle.” Audrey licked her lips, and he had to yank his thoughts out of the gutter and back on target. “Outside a hard shell of moral decency, inside creamy, decadent bank accounts.”

Kaldar tapped the wheel. “Sign the check, send it to the business office.”

“Better yet, give us your account number, we’ll do the heavy lifting of withdrawing funds for you.”

“Easy money.”

“Yep. The whole church full of suckers.”

They looked at each other and grinned.

“If we joined forces, how quick do you think we could clean out this town?” Audrey asked.