Fate's Edge

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