Fate's Edge

proper.”
    “Who will know?” Kaldar leaned closer and made a show of glancing around. “I don’t see anyone, do you?” His voice dropped into a conspiratorial, intimate half whisper. “So just between you and me, he looked like a man who hunts for spare change in his couch.”
    Bethany blinked, big eyes opened wide.
    “You have to ask yourself, Bethany, where does a man like that get this kind of money. He borrows it, of course. No bank would give him a loan, so he has to turn to family.” Kaldar smiled magnanimously.
    Understanding crept into Bethany’s eyes. “Oh.”
    “All I want is to make sure that I’ve made a correct investment in Alex’s future. I’d like to speak to him and let him tell me if he is treated well and that his needs are being seen to. I promise I carry no contraband.” He raised his hands palms out. “You may search me if you’d like.”
    He slipped just enough suggestion into that last phrase to make Bethany blush a little. “That won’t be necessary.” She pointed to the right, where a group of blocky leather chairs and couches surrounded a glass cube of a table. “Please wait here.”
    Kaldar turned on his heel and clacked his way across the floor to the leather chairs. A hollowed-out wooden dish, shaped almost precisely like a canoe, sat on the table. The canoe held three spheres about the size of a large grapefruit made of smoky glass shot through with veins of gold. Odd decoration. He pictured himself swiping a sphere, its comforting weight heavy in his hand. In a pinch, he could use it to shatter the windowpane and give himself a head start if he had to leave in a hurry.
    Two men emerged from the side hallway. One was middle-aged and blond, going gray, with the slick, clean look of someone accustomed to dealing with people of money and making a good living from it. The other was Alex Callahan. Tall, lanky, with longish hair on the crossroads of dishwater blond and faded red, Callahan walked oddly, as if he didn’t fully trust the ground to support his weight. His cheekbones looked sharp enough to cut, his cheeks caved into his face, and his neck, left bare by the collar of a too-big T-shirt, stuck out, thin, long, and bony. A mean, arrogant sneer bent his lips. His eyes radiated a manic energy and contempt. It was the look that said, “You think I’m shit because I’m a junkie, but guess what? I am better than you.”
    Kaldar had seen that same look on the faces of spoiled addicts before. This wasn’t a desperate soul in need of help debasing himself for a fix. This was a man surfing the edge of violence, who saw himself as a victim and the rest of the world as owing him.
    Callahan was too far gone. Threats wouldn’t work. He simply didn’t care about himself or his family.
    “Cousin!” Kaldar grinned at Alex.
    Callahan didn’t miss a beat. “Didn’t expect to see you here, cousin.”
    The older handler held out his hand. “I’m Dr. Leem. I want to assure you that Alex is being well looked after. Isn’t that right, Alex?”
    “Sure,” Callahan said.
    “Let’s sit down?” Leem suggested.
    They took their places on the leather furniture, and Leem launched into a long overview of the facilities. Kaldar pretended to listen, watching Callahan. Callahan watched him back. The file back in Louisiana said he was twenty-eight; he looked forty-eight. His foot tapped the floor; he picked on the skin around his nails; he rolled his mouth into different variations of his sneer, which was probably semipermanent. He’d been in the facility for over forty-eight hours. They had detoxed him. Alex Callahan was sober, and he hated it.
    Finally, Kaldar raised his hand.
    “I’m sorry to interrupt, Doctor, but my time is limited. I’m due in LA for a meeting. Would you mind giving Alex and me some privacy? This won’t take long.”
    “Of course.” Leem rose and moved to the counter, keeping them in plain view.
    Callahan leaned back, bony knees straining the loose fabric of his jeans. “What do you want, dear cousin?”
    Kaldar flicked his fingers. A small clear packet appeared between his index and middle finger as if by magic. Inside the packet, a small purple flower spread three petals. Bromedia. The most potent herbal hallucinogenic the Weird had to offer. The purest of highs. He’d procured it during one of the jobs he’d done for the Mirror. It involved a caravan of illegal contraband trading between the Edge and the Weird, and in the chaos of the