Steel's Edge (5 page)

She'd learned other lessons as well. Being humble. Living a simpler life. The dark magic inside her had long fallen dormant, and that was just the way she liked it.

Bright sunlight spilled through the open window, drawing warm rectangles on the kitchen floor. The day was beautiful. The air smelled of spring and honeysuckle. When she finished, she would go outside and read on her porch swing. And have a nice glass of iced tea. Mmm, tea would hit the spot.

“Charlotte? Are you in there?” A familiar voice called from the front porch. Éléonore.

“Maybe.” Charlotte smiled, wrapping the last chunk of ground beef in plastic.

Éléonore swept into the kitchen. She looked to be around sixty, but she'd let it slip last year that a 112th birthday wasn't such a bad thing for a woman to endure. Her clothes were an artful mess of tattered and shredded layers, all perfectly clean and smelling faintly of lavender. Her hair was teased into a fluffy gray mess and liberally decorated with charms, twigs, and dry herbs. In the middle of her hair nest sat a small cuckoo clock.

Éléonore worried her. In the three years Charlotte had known her, the older woman's physical condition had steadily slid downhill. Her bones were getting thinner, and she was losing muscle. She'd slipped on an iced-over path four months ago and broken her hip. Charlotte healed it, but her talent had its limits. She could only heal up to the existing potential of the body. In children, that potential was high, and she could even regenerate severed digits. But Éléonore's body was tired. Her bones were brittle, and coaxing them into regrowth proved difficult.

Old age was the one disease for which there was no cure. In the Edge, as in the Weird, people fueled their life spans with magic, but eventually even magic gave out.

The cuckoo clock sagged.

“It's about to fall,” Charlotte said.

Éléonore sighed and pulled the clock out of her hair. “It just doesn't want to stay in there, does it?”

“Have you tried pins?”

“I've tried everything.” Éléonore surveyed the island filled with meat and vegetables, all in perfectly sized portions, wrapped in plastic or placed into the Ziploc bags. “You obsess, my dear.”

Charlotte laughed. “I like having an organized freezer.”

Éléonore opened the freezer and blinked.

“What?” Charlotte leaned back, trying to figure out what the hedge witch was looking at. Her freezer wasn't really gapeworthy. It had four wire shelves, each with a neat label written in permanent marker on a piece of white tape: beef, pork and chicken, seafood, and vegetables.

Éléonore tapped the nearest label with her finger. “There is no hope for you.” She sank and landed on a stool. “Charlotte, do you ever make a mess just for the fun of it?”

Charlotte shook her head, hiding a smile. “I like structure. It keeps me grounded.”

“If you were any more grounded, you'd sprout roots.”

Charlotte laughed. It was true.

“You and Rose would get along,” Éléonore said. “She was the same way. Everything had to be just so.”

Rose was a constant presence in most of their conversations. Charlotte hid a smile. Being a substitute Rose didn't bother her at all. She long ago realized that for Éléonore there was no higher praise, and she took it as a compliment.

“I've come for a favor,” Éléonore announced. “Because I'm selfish that way.”

Charlotte raised her eyebrows. “What may I do for you, your witchiness?”

“How are you with handling teenage acne?” Éléonore asked.

“Acne is a side effect of the body's normal processes.” Charlotte began stacking her bags into the freezer in neat little towers. “I can treat it, and it will disappear for a while, but eventually it will come back.”

“How long is a while?”

Charlotte skewed her mouth. “Six to eight weeks, give or take.”

Éléonore raised her hand. “Sold. A friend of mine, Sunny Rooney, has two granddaughters. Nice girls. Daisy is twenty-three and Tulip is sixteen. The parents have been out of the picture for a while—their mother died a while back, and their dad passed away six months ago. Daisy has a decent job in the Broken, so Tulip lives with her. She'll be starting a new school in the Broken this fall, except her face is all messed up, and Daisy says it's causing her a lot of stress. They tried creams and washes, but it won't go away. They're in the front yard now, hoping you might take a look. I'll take care of their bill. I know you just worked on Glen's stomach problems two days ago, and I do hate to ask, but you're their last hope.”

She'd heard that one before. Charlotte sat the last bag into the freezer, washed her hands, and wiped them on the towel. “Let's see what we have.”

*   *   *

THE
two girls stood at the edge of the lawn. Short and about sixty pounds overweight, Daisy had a round face, big brown eyes, and a nervous smile. Tulip was her polar opposite. Thin almost to the point of being underdeveloped for her age, she stood half-hiding behind her sister. Her skinny jeans sagged on her. Her tank top, designed to be formfitting, shifted with the wind. She had caked makeup on her face, and the thick pale paste made her skin appear bloodless. If not for the same chocolate hair and big eyes, Charlotte would've never guessed they were related.

Neither of the young women made any effort to approach. A ring of small plain stones, each sitting a few feet apart from each other, circled the house, and both Daisy and Tulip kept well away from it. The stones didn't affect Éléonore—she had put them there in the first place.

“You left them outside of the ward stones?” Charlotte murmured.

“It's your house,” Éléonore murmured back.

Charlotte walked down the path and picked up the nearest stone. Magic nipped at her. A small rock the size of her fist, the ward stone was rooted to the ground. Together, the stones formed a magic barrier that guarded the house better than any fence. The Edge wasn't the safest of places. The Weird had sheriffs, the Broken had cops, but in the Edge, wards and guns were people's only defense.

“Come on in,” Charlotte invited.

The women hurried to the house, and she dropped the rock back in its place.

“Hi!” Daisy offered her a hand, and Charlotte shook it. “It's so nice to meet you. Say hi, Tulip.”

Tulip promptly hid behind her sister.

“It's okay,” Charlotte told her. “I need you to wash your face. The bathroom is straight through there.”

“Come, I'll take you,” Éléonore offered.

She smiled, and Tulip followed her up the porch steps and right into the house.

“Thank you so much for seeing us,” Daisy said.

“No problem,” Charlotte said.

“God, this is awkward. I'm sorry.” Daisy shifted from foot to foot. “It's just that we tried all the creams and prescriptions, and they're saying laser treatment is the only option. I'm a CPA. I make okay money but not that kind of money, you know?” She laughed nervously.

And that's what always got her, Charlotte reflected. That uncomfortable pleading look in the eyes. People looked at you like you were the answer to all their prayers. She wanted to help—she always wanted to help—but there were limits to what magic could do.

Daisy offered an awkward smile. “Mrs. Drayton said you might be tired. Thank you for seeing us anyway.”

“Not a problem.” Charlotte smiled. “Why don't we go into the kitchen?”

In the kitchen, they sat at the island, and she poured two glasses of iced tea. Daisy perched on the edge of her chair, looking like she wanted to bolt.

“This used to be Rose's house,” Daisy said. “My best friend's sister went to high school with her. I saw her flash at the Graduation Fair. It was crazy. Pure white. Nobody from the Edge ever flashes white. Do you flash?”

In the Edge, most people had a magic talent. Some were useful, some not, but every magic user could flash with practice and proper training. Flash was a pure stream of magic. It looked like a ribbon of light, or sometimes, a whip of lightning. The brighter and paler the flash, the stronger the magic. The strongest flash, pure white, could cut through a body like a cleaver through a stick of warm butter. It was a lethal weapon, and Charlotte had seen the wounds it left, in great detail.

“I don't flash,” Charlotte said. She'd never learned to do it because there was no need. “That's not my talent.”

Daisy sighed. “Of course. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have mentioned Rose.”

“I don't mind at all,” Charlotte said. “Éléonore talks about her and the boys all the time.”

Daisy fidgeted in her seat. “So how do you know Mrs. Drayton? You're friends, I take it?”

Éléonore was more than a friend. The older woman was her chosen family. “When I first came to the Edge, I came out more to the west, near Ricket. I'd walked away from my horse for a minute to relieve myself, and someone stole it and all of my money. “

“That's the Edge for you.” Daisy sighed.

“The plan was to find work, but nobody would let me heal them. I walked from settlement to settlement, trying to find a place to fit in, and when I came to East Laporte, I was starving. No money, no place to stay, my clothes were torn up and filthy. I was at the end of my rope. Éléonore found me on the side of the road and took me in. She made me welcome and got me my first clients. She'd go with me to all of my appointments and chat people up while I worked. I owe her everything.”

There was more to it than simple gratitude. Éléonore missed her grandchildren terribly. The older woman had such a strong urge, almost a need, to take care of someone, Charlotte reflected, just as she herself felt the same urge to cure an illness or fix a broken limb. They were kindred spirits.

Éléonore emerged from the bathroom, leading Tulip by the hand. The girl's face was a sea of hard red bumps buried under the skin. Cystic acne. The precursors to scarring were already there.

“Sit,” Charlotte invited.

Tulip obediently sat on the stool. Éléonore put a small mirror on the island. “Just in case.”

“Look at your sister for me, okay?” Charlotte slid her fingertips over the hard bumps on Tulip's left cheek. Magic coated her hand, a steady stream of glowing golden sparks.

“It's pretty,” Tulip whispered.

“Thank you.”

“Will it hurt?”

“No, it won't hurt at all. Now look straight ahead for me. Just like that.”

The sparks penetrated the skin, finding the tiny infected hair follicles. The magic pulled on Charlotte. It was a curious feeling, as if some of her vitality were being sucked away, converted into the healing current. Not painful, but alarming and uncomfortable unless you were used to it. Charlotte closed her eyes. For a moment all she saw was darkness, then her magic made the connection and the cross section of Tulip's skin appeared before her. She saw the pores, the hair shafts, the ruptured follicle walls spilling infected fluids into the dermis, contaminating the nearby follicles, and the severely inflamed sebaceous glands.

Charlotte pushed slightly, testing the flesh. Her magic saturated the tissues of the cheek completely. She opened her eyes. The inner workings of Tulip's face remained before her, almost as if she were looking through two different sets of eyes at the same time, choosing what she wanted to focus on next.

Charlotte numbed the nerve endings reaching into Tulip's skin. “Look straight ahead for me.”

The flesh of Tulip's check contracted. The pus spilled out of a dozen tiny lesions.

Tulip blinked, surprised. “It didn't hurt.”

Charlotte tore open an alcohol wipe, plucked it out, and swiped it across the cheek. “See? I told you.”

She concentrated on restoring the injured tissue, purging the infection. The bumps on Tulip's face shivered and began to melt, dissolving into healthy, pink skin.

Daisy gasped.

The last of the acne vanished. Charlotte let the current of her magic die, picked up the mirror, and held it up to Tulip.

“Oh my God!” The girl touched her clear left cheek. “Oh my God, it's gone!”

This was why she did it, Charlotte reflected, brushing Tulip's hair from her face. The spontaneous simple relief when the disease was gone. It made everything worth it.

“It's not gone forever,” Charlotte warned. “It will probably be back in six to eight weeks. Let's do the right cheek now. We don't want you to be lopsided—”

A vehicle screeched to a stop in front of the house.

“Who in the world could that be?” Éléonore rose of her chair.

“Let's see.” Charlotte strode to the screen door and out onto the porch.

At the edge of the lawn, Kenny Jo Ogletree jumped out of a beat-up Chevy truck. Sixteen, broad-shouldered but still lanky, Kenny had been one of her first patients. He'd climbed a pine to chainsaw a branch off so it wouldn't crash on his mother's house, and fell. Two broken legs and bruised ribs from the chain saw's dropping on top of him. Could've been worse.

Kenny's face was pale. She looked into his eyes and saw fear.

“What's wrong?” Charlotte called out.

He ran to the truck back and dropped the tailgate. “I found him on the side of Corker's road.”

A man lay in the truck bed. His skin was alabaster white against the dark leather of his clothes. Blood pooled around him in a viscous puddle.

Charlotte dashed down the path, past the ward stone, and into the truck. Her magic swirled from her hands, into the body, and back into her hands. The interior of the body flashed before her. Anterior abdominal stab wound, laceration to the right hepatic lobe, severe loss of blood, hemorrhagic shock. He was dying.

Charlotte leaned over the body, pouring her magic out. It wound about her, binding her and the dying man in a glowing whirlwind of sparks. Her reserves began to drain, as if the magic funneled her very life force out. She directed the current deep into the liver. It flowed through the portal vein branching like a red coral inside the fragile organ tissues. The golden sparks lit the blood vessels from within. She began regenerating the walls, sinking bursts of magic into the liver lobe to mend the damage.