Burning Bridges

January 23rd 6:25pmFresh snow could make even the dingiest, most urban part of Manhattan into a magical place. The colors and noises all faded away, the city's usual frenetic pace slowing to a more studied waltz of snow falling, white against the bare black limbs of trees and outlines of buildings. Drifts pushed up against maildrop boxes, covered fire hydrants, and shut down traffic except for the unstoppable city buses and madmandriven taxi cabs zipping through the night. It might have been lovely, but Wren Valere wasn't paying attention to the scenery. She was a professional working her craft. Or trying to, anyway. Two new highend locks had hit the market, supposedly proof against the "bumpandenter" method, and she wanted to make sure she understood how they worked before she actually encountered one in the field, when time might be against her. In her particular profession, you didn't get many second chances, and Wren was pretty sure the past twelve months had used up all the ones she was going to get in a lifetime. Sometimes, honestly, she didn't know what got into her. For a mindherownbusiness Retriever, she'd spent a hell of a lot of time muddling around in things she should have left alone. Curses and politics andmeetings, for God's sake. Never mind that she'd done it to save her own skin, after the Mage Council tried to use her and her partner, Sergei; never mind that she'd done it to help out her friends among the fatae, the nonhuman members of theCosa Nostradamus. All of that might have made what happened inevitable, but none of it made it smart. "Hey, Valere." The voice came from the other side of the room, about three feet to the right and a foot down. And speaking of fatae.... Wren Valere didn't sigh, but she wanted to. Retrieval wasn't easy. She had studied her craft, learned from masters, and kept uptodate on all the most recent developments, not only in her own field, but anything that might come in handy. In addition to mastering the currentmagic that flowed from within her, she had trained her body, as well; toning and strengthening her muscles, increasing her lung capacity, maintaining her flexibility. She had forced mind and body into partnership, more than once spending hours waiting in a cramped, close situation, anticipating the perfect moment to move on a job. She knew all about patience. About focus. About dedication. by a stubborn client, or impossible mark, or even the weight of the snow outside and what was happening in the city beyond, but by her companion. She didn't bother looking in the direction of the voice, not wanting to encourage him. "Valere," the voice said again. "What does this do?" She looked, then, briefly. "Opens locks." The room's other occupantand the subject of her irritationput the tool back down on the small table next to him and picked up another. "And this?" She reached for patience, found it. "Opens a different kind of lock." "And this one?" Patience threw up its hands in disgust and fled the room. "It gets the gunk out from between my teeth. Damn it, P.B., will you please leave my kit alone? Those extremely delicate tools you're pawhandling cost me a fortune, and half of them are custommade." She reached up from her crosslegged position on the floor, and snagged the instrument in question out of P.B."s paws. A thin ceramic shape with a nonreflective black coating, it actually did look like something that might be found in a very trendy Goth's toothbrush holder, except that the fiberglass pick at the end was attuned to more delicate vibrations than enamel generally gave off. "Sheesh. Someone's snappy." The short, whitefurred demon settled on the padded bench under the room's single windowGilman, Laura Anne is the author of 'Burning Bridges ', published 2007 under ISBN 9780373802746 and ISBN 0373802749.