Fate's Edge

carving: dragons and men caught in the heat of a battle. A wide bas-relief decorated the roof as well, showing a woman in a chariot pulled by birds with snake heads. The woman gazed down on the slaughter like a goddess from Heaven.
    Nobody knew who had built the ruins or why. They dotted that part of the Edge, a tower here, a temple there, gutted by time and the elements, and covered with moss. The Edgers, being poor and thrifty, knew better than to let them go to waste. They built wooden walls inside the stone frameworks, put in indoor plumbing and electricity illegally siphoned from the neighboring city or provided by generators, and moved right in. If any archaic gods took offense, they had yet to do anything about it.
    Audrey parked the car under an ancient scarred maple and turned off the engine. Home, sweet home.
    A ball of gray fur dropped off the maple branch and landed on her hood.
    Audrey jumped in her seat. Jesus.
    The raccoon danced up and down on the hood, chittering in outrage, bright eyes glowing with orange like two bloody moons.
    “Ling the Merciless! You get off my car this instant!”
    The raccoon spun in place, her gray fur standing on end, put her hand-paws on the windshield, and tried to bite the glass.
    “What is it with you?” Audrey popped the car door open.
    Ling scurried off the car and leaped into her lap, squirming and coughing. Audrey glanced up. The curtains on her kitchen window were parted slightly. A hair-thin line of bright yellow light spilled through the gap.
    Somebody was in her house.
    Audrey slipped from the seat, dropping Ling gently to the ground, circled the car, and opened the hatchback. A tan tarp waited inside. She jerked it aside and pulled out an Excalibur crossbow. It had set her back nine hundred bucks of hard-earned money, and it was worth every penny. Audrey cocked the crossbow and padded to the house, silent and quick. A couple of seconds, and she pressed against the wall next to the door. She tried the handle. Locked.
    Who breaks into a house and locks the door?
    She peeled from the wall and circled the building, moving fast on her toes. At the back, she slipped between the stone framework and the wooden wall of the house and felt around for the hidden latch. It sprang open under the pressure of her fingers. She edged the secret door open and padded inside, into the walk-in closet, and out into her bedroom. The house had only three rooms: a long, rectangular bedroom, an equally long bathroom, and the rest of it a wide-open space, most of which served as her living room and kitchen, with the stove, fridge, and counters at the north wall.
    Audrey peeked out of the doorway. An older man with curly reddish brown hair stood at the kitchen stove, mixing batter in a glass bowl, his slightly stooped back turned to her.
    She would know that posture anywhere.
    Audrey raised her crossbow and took a step into the living room.
    The man reached for a bag of flour sitting on the counter. Audrey squeezed the trigger. The string snapped with a satisfying twang. The bolt punched through the bag inches from the man’s fingers.
    The man turned and grinned at her, his blue eyes sparking. She knew the smile, too. It was his con smile.
    “Hi, munchkin.”
    Audrey let her crossbow point to the floor. “Hi, Dad.”
     
    “A good shot.” Seamus Callahan bent down, looking at the shaft protruding from the bag of flour. “I’d say you killed it. Bull’s-eye.”
    Audrey set the crossbow down and crossed her arms. Inside her, a tiny pissed-off voice barked, Get out, get out, get out . . . He was in her house, and she had to clench her fingers on her arms just to keep herself from attacking him and pushing him out.
    But she was Seamus’s daughter, and twenty-three years of grifting made her voice calm and light. “How did you find me?”
    “I have my ways.” Seamus opened the bag and poured some flour into the batter. “I’m making my patented silver-dollar pancakes. You remember those, don’t you?”
    “Sure, Dad. I remember.” He was in her kitchen, touching her things. She would bleach it all after he was gone.
    Ling slipped from the back door, scurried around her feet, and showed Seamus her teeth.
    “Your little critter doesn’t like me much,” he said, pouring the batter into a sizzling pan.
    “She has good instincts.”
    Seamus looked up at her, blue eyes like two flax petals under bushy red eyebrows. “There is no need for that.”
    Screw it. “What do you