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of it for himself. To build, not to demolish.
    For years he’d contented himself with managing the family business, utilizing a daring his brothers did not possess. He would not deny the pride their chains of dance and recording studios brought him. Chaos also meant he understood the fluctuations of investing and surfed the swells and wanes adeptly.
    Konstantin crossed the room to face Maks. Their features and coloring were so alike, from the chiseled slash of high cheekbones to the strong Slavic jaw lines, on to the Gypsy brown skin and hair of ebon curls. While these were classic trademarks of the Bolshebnukh Roma , the magical sect of the Roma Ruska Gypsies, Maks had to note his brother’s slimmer build and much longer hair to be sure he wasn’t looking at his own reflection.
    “Maks, as surely as I am an Oracle of Order I tell you it must be you who goes after that creature and brings her back.” Konstantin returned his gaze in earnest. Maks flexed his fingers and folded them into fists then released and repeated. He turned from his brother only to turn immediately back.
    “I tell you our two energies will endanger any around us.”
    “You will not.”
    They waited out the impasse. Against his character, Maks relented first. “What do you see, Kostya?”
    Konstantin’s head drooped a hair. “Too much.”
    “You are being cryptic with me now?”
    A chuckle as the younger brother looked up. “You want me to unravel fate for you?” Impatience met his question.
    “Same as it ever was, Maks. There are threads coming together, intersections that must be made before the future can be woven. Just as other things must fall apart.” Konstantin turned his palms out to either side to show he hid nothing. “This is what I see. What I always see.”
    Dmitri broke the silence that followed with a moan. “I also know the eldest desperately needs aid from a healer,” Konstantin said.
    Maks shot him a doubtful look.
    “Am I no longer to be trusted, Maksim?”
    Maks considered his younger brother for long moments. Without a word he turned, bounded across the glass-strewn foyer and leapt impossibly high. At the apex of the leap he sailed through the mess of the accursed window, just as the thief had done before him.

Chapter Three
    Ari sipped her hojicha green tea. Placing the cup on the table, she paused, looked to see if anyone watched, and surreptitiously munched a stolen cookie. Sweet baby Buddha.
    Stardust, her favorite coffee shop, seethed with Faebles—as usual. The storied folks favored tea and coffee. The leaves and beans were the fruit of the earth and therefore imbued with the old magicks. Faebles also liked sugar. A lot. Pop up a vein and mainline the sweetness a lot. Stardust’s baked goods had been awarded five coffee cups and the title “Best in the Land” on Jack Horner’s blog. Little Jack had clearly never tasted the Medveds’ cookies. Er. Or better said, cookies made by the Medveds. The assertion any treat could top the café’s sounded ridiculous, even in Ari’s head, yet truth was tru—
    “Each midday I must travel from one side of Fanaweigh’s Scar to the other so my cart spends equal time on both the ogre and goblin sides.” The ovoid man at the next table sighed and rested his eggshell against the wall.
    “Have you not considered climbing the blasted wall and evoking a levitation spell to lift your cart over? T’would save you hours in a day,” said the gnome he shared a plate of scones with.
    “Climb Fanaweigh’s Scar!” The ovoid was outraged. “By Humpty’s fall, have you tasted ambrosia? We eggs have no luck with walls or climbing. No sir, we do not.”
    Ari stifled a snort so not to offend the ovoid. They were a pompous bunch and easily set off, yet she could sympathize. The wall at Fanaweigh had blighted that community. She remembered the day, decades ago, when the barrier had sprung from the earth and split families in two as they lounged in their homes. But she’d never