Magic Graves

they're either too lazy to drive five miles down to the store. or they don't have the gas. or they've 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 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.
    Read more about The Edge…

MAGIC GRIEVES

Ilona Andrews

    Sneak Peek of the Kate novella tentatively titled Magic Grieves.
    The excerpt below represents a section of rough draft. It has not been copyedited or proof-read and it contains grammatical errors. The final draft may differ significantly from this version. Read at your own risk.

    I was ten feet from the office door of Cutting Edge Investigations, when I heard our phone ring inside. Unfortunately the key to the office was in my sweatshirt pocket, which at the moment was full of pale pink slime dripping from the tentacles resting on my shoulders. The tentacles weighed about seventy pounds and my shoulders really didn't like it.
    Behind me Andrea, my best friend and partner in crime solving, shifted the bulbous mass of flesh that was the rest of the creature on her shoulder. "Phone."
    "I hear it." I dug in my pocket, all but glued shut by slime. Cold wetness slipped through my fingers. Ew.
    "Kate, it could be a client."
    "I'm trying to find the key."
    Clients meant money and money was in short supply. Cutting Edge opened its doors three months ago, and while we were getting a trickle of paying jobs, most of them were lousy. Despite a good recommendation from Red Guard, a premier bodyguard outfit in the city, clients weren't knocking down our door in a rush to hire us.
    Our world was beset by magic waves. They flooded us at random, smothering technology and leaving monsters in their wake, and then the magic would vanish as unpredictably as it appeared, and the guns stopped jamming, while the electricity once again held the darkness at bay. Sadly the consequences of the magic waves didn't always vanish with them, and Atlanta spawned many places to get help with magic hazmat. All of them had been in business a lot longer than us: the cops, the Mercenary Guild, a slew of private companies, and the big gorilla, the Order of Merciful Aid. The Order and its knights made it their mission to guard humanity against all threats and they did just that, on their terms. Both Andrea and I worked for the Order at some point and both of us left under less than amicable circumstances. Our reputations weren't stellar, so when we got a job, it was because everyone else in town had already turned it down. We were quickly turning into Atlanta's place of last resort. Still, every successful job was a check mark by our name.
    The phone rang, insistent.
    Andrea sighed behind me.
    Our latest job had come courtesy of Green Acres Home Owners' Association, who showed up at our door this morning claiming that a giant levitating jellyfish was roaming their suburb and could we please come and get it, because it was eating local cats. Apparently