Fate's Edge

huh.” Gnome gave out a gruff snort. “I knew your father.”
    “He mentioned you.”
    Gnome studied the beer bottle. “What did he say?”
    “It was some years back. He said you knew just about everything there was to know about the Edge business on this coast. He didn’t like you much. He thinks you’re a tough fence to con.”
    “Well, I don’t like him much, either.” Gnome grimaced. “You see all this around you?” He indicated the shelves with a sweep of his hand. “That’s over a hundred years of the right decisions.”
    It didn’t surprise her. Gnome looked sixty, maybe, but a lot of Edgers were long-lived. A couple of centuries wasn’t out of the question, and Gnome knew the Pacific Edge too well to have gotten into this business only a few years ago.
    “I bargained for every item here, and I know I can sell it for a profit. Those batteries over there cost me nine dollars and ninety-eight cents. I sell them for three bucks apiece. Make fifty dollars and two cents in profit. I don’t force foolish people to pay three dollars for a double-A battery. I just provide the opportunity, and they buy it because either they’re too lazy to drive five miles down to the store or they don’t have the gas, or they don’t have the money, but they’ve got something to trade. Why should I charge less because they can’t make enough to feed their kids and buy gas at the same time? This is business . You build it little by little, and you hold on to what you’ve got. Your father can’t get it through his thick skull. He wants big money now, and when he gets it, he blows it all because he is too damn stupid to pace himself. He had you with your gift, and he’s still penniless.”
    “I won’t argue with you there.” Childhood in the Callahan family had been feast or famine. One day steak, the next mac with imaginary cheese.
    Gnome leaned forward, poking the table with his finger. “I’m not in the business of giving advice. I’m in the business of making money. So you listen to me good because this is the only time I’ll say this. You’re a nice girl. Not many of you are left out there. You’re an endangered species. Your father’s trouble. He’s a selfish asshole, and his turkey is cooked—he ain’t gonna change for nobody.” Gnome made a cutting motion with his hand. “He’ll drag you into a mess and run the other way. You’ve got a good thing going here: you’ve got a house, you’ve got a good job, and you’re your own person. Don’t let him screw it all up for you.”
    Audrey rose. “I won’t. This was the last time.”
    “That’s what they all say.”
    She smiled at him. “Yes, but I mean it. I will never do a job again for Seamus Callahan.”
    “You see to that.”
    Oh, she would. She most definitely would. If any of the Callahans ever showed themselves on her lawn again, she would meet them with a rifle in her hands. If she was feeling charitable, they’d get a warning shot, but chances of that were slim.

TWO
    JACK sheathed his knife, tied the dressed hare to a stick, and slung it over his shoulder. It wouldn’t do for the meat to touch his school uniform. Might make the kill dirty.
    He headed down the forest path. It was a nice rabbit. No bugs. No sickness—all the innards smelled right. He’d killed it quick, by breaking its neck with his fangs. Best that way because the hare didn’t suffer, and the meat wasn’t contaminated. Jack had changed back into a human, washed the hare in a stream, and taken care to field-dress it properly.
    He always brought a gift when he came to see William. He was going into his den, and William didn’t have to let him in. It was polite to bring a present.
    Jack grimaced. He wasn’t very good at polite, according to his sister, Rose. But William and he never had an issue. They were both changelings, and some things were unspoken but understood: bring a gift, don’t show your teeth, don’t stare at Cerise for too long. Not that he liked Cerise like that. It was just that she was William’s wife, and when Jack tried to explain things, it made sense to her. When he tried to explain things to his own sister, he got chewed out.
    And that was precisely the problem.
    Around him, the late-summer forest teemed with life. Tiny squirrels chased each other through the branches, chittering in outrage at some perceived slight. Forest mice scurried between the roots of huge Weird oaks. Butterflies floated on the breeze like bright petals.