Magic Graves

short."
    The two men stared at him. Showtime.
    "Do you have any coins on you, undersheriff?" Kaldar asked.
    Rodwell dug into his pocket and came up with a handful of change. Kaldar plucked the small silver disk of a half-crown from the man's palm and held it up with his thumb and index finger. The rays of the morning sun shone, reflecting from the small disk of silver. "I bet you a half-crown that I'll walk out there and find this vital clue in the next three minutes."
    Rodwell glanced at the half crown and back at the sea of debris. A small smile bent his lips. "I'll take that bet."
    A spark of magic pulsed from the coin in Kaldar's fingers. It shot through him like lightning, awakening something laying hidden deep in the recesses of his being, just on the edge of consciousness. The strange reserves of magic sparked to life and solidified into a tense, shivering current that burst through the coin, through his spine, up through his skull and down through his legs and soles of his feet. The current speared him, claiming him, and he shuddered, caught like a fish on the line. This was his own special talent. If he got someone to accept a bet, his magic skewed the odds in his favor.
    The current pulled on him and Kaldar let it steer him. The magic led him, guiding each step, maneuvering him around the pitted pavement, over the heap of shattered marble, to a cluster of splintered wood. The coin tugged him forward. Kaldar bent. Something shiny caught the sun in the crevice underneath a twisted wreck of metal that used to be a tea making machine. He reached for it. His fingertips touched glass and the current vanished.
    Kaldar pulled a handkerchief from his pocket, wrapped it over his fingers, and gently pried the glass object free. A six inch long tube with a wide bulb on the end. Dark soot stained the inside of the bulb. How about that?
    He turned and brought his find back to the two men.
    "What is that?"
    "That's an 'I Love You Rose'. These tubes are sold in certain shops." Namely the gas stations near ghettos in the Broken. "There is usually a cheap fake flower inside. They're bought by addicts who drop cheap narcotics into the bulb and smoke the tube like a pipe."
    Kaminski raised his head. "Bring the goleeyo !"
    A young woman, whose blonde hair was carefully braided away from her face, hurried over, carrying a contraption of light bronze resembling a long flashlight. She glanced at the pipe, snagged a small leather book chained to her belt, tore a piece of thin paper and looked at Kaldar. "Hold it up please!"
    He raised the meth pipe. Most of the Weird's gadgetry was still new to him. He hadn't seen this one before.
    The blonde clicked the flashlight. A bright beam of pale green light stabbed the pipe, highlighting dirty smudges, specks of dirt, and on the bulb, one large beautiful fingerprint. The woman placed the paper between the light and the fingerprint, holding it an inch away from the glass and clicked the flashlight again. The flashlight whirred. Its back end split, the metal plates lifting up, revealing the interior, a series of small gears speckled with tiny gems. The gears spun. The flashlight clicked loudly, in a measured rhythm. With each click the light turned darker and bluer. Thin lines appeared on the paper, growing darker and darker. The beam of the flashlight turned indigo and winked out. The blonde woman handed Kaldar the piece of paper with the fingerprint squarely in the center.
    He hit her with a dazzling smile. "Thank you, m'lady."
    She smiled back. "You're welcome, m'lord."
    If he didn't have to leave, he could've asked her to share a meal with him and she would say yes. Kaldar checked the hint of a smile hiding in her eyes. She would definitely say yes, and then he would get her to say yes to a night together, and it would be a lot of fun for them both. Unfortunately, he wasn't his own man at the moment.
    "So what's next?" Kaminski asked.
    "Next, I'll go hunting," Kaldar said.
    Fifteen minutes later, Kaldar finished with the pleasantries, shook the hands, thanked and was thanked, and finally headed to his wyvern, waiting for him on the edge of town. Addicts in the Weird didn't use meth pipes, which meant the West Egyptians were right. These thieves must have come from the Edge or the Broken . Almost four months had passed since he had visited either place. The hop back across the boundary was long overdue.
    Of the three people involved, the lockpicker had to be his best bet. A man with a