Sparks (17 page)

"I believe that I'm going to kick your ass, you bitch," Anya affirmed.

Sparky stuck his head out of the laundry basket and growled.

Anya tucked herself into the afghan and dozed, conscious of Katie rising early and the shower running. She heard Katie tiptoe across the floor, slip outside, and lock the front door. Sunlight poured through the curtains onto the couch. Anya could hear the bubble of coffee perking in the coffeepot and smell the aroma. Katie got the good shit, some hand-picked artisan beans from Chile. That was worth getting up for.

Anya wrapped the afghan around her shoulders and helped herself. She was pleased to see that her hands were steadier this morning as she poured. Vern and Fay sat on the countertop, staring at the coffeepot making burbling noises.

Katie had left a note:

Went to check the bakery and get supplies. Be back soon.

--K

Anya plunked down on the living-room couch with her coffee. Sparky lifted his head and yawned as she turned on the morning news.

Hope Solomon's years-old mug shot, as Christina Modin, filled the background behind the news desk. Sparky hissed at the image.

"It's okay, Sparky," Anya murmured. "You're gonna enjoy this."

Nick Sarvos, the reporter covering the spontaneous human combustion angle, had taken the place of the morning news anchor. Dressed in a pressed gray suit and black tie, he practically exuded "serious journalist" and not "crazy UFO crackpot."

"... Channel 7 exclusive. Channel 7 has learned that Hope Solomon, leader of the local nonprofit organization Miracles for the Masses, was previously arrested in Florida on fraud charges connected with a predatory lending scheme. Under the name of Christina Modin, Hope Solomon accrued an impressive list of check fraud and racketeering charges."

Anya raised her coffee mug. "Cheers, bitch."

The camera panned to the second news anchor. "Miracles for the Masses has issued the following statement: 'Hope deeply regrets the mistakes and misunderstandings of her former life. She assures the public that she has repented and paid her debt to society. Through the grace of the benevolent universe, she is attempting to make restitution to society through granting opportunities to those in need from the greater Detroit area. We believe we live in a society of second chances. As Hope has been given a second chance, she wishes to ensure that all citizens also have the opportunity to be given a second chance.'"

Anya made a face at Sparky. Sparky flattened the gill-fronds on the side of his head and huffed. When the salamander huffed, it sounded like he was blowing raspberries.

The camera moved back to Sarvos. Sarvos held a sheaf of papers. "According to the Florida Attorney General's Office, more than two hundred homeowners incurred financial losses as a result of Christina Modin's fraud scheme. At the time criminal charges were pressed, Modin had no assets remaining to be seized to make restitution to the victims." Sarvos folded his hands in front of him. "Miracles for the Masses had no comment on whether its assets would be used to provide restitution to those Floridians who lost their homes. Channel 7 will continue to investigate this developing story."

"Hope you have fireproof jammies," Anya muttered into her coffee. The thought that Sarvos might be in serious danger disturbed her; perhaps she'd have to give him a heads-up... but what to say?

The door scraped open. Sparky stiffened and growled. Anya reached for her gun. Katie elbowed her way into the house, dressed in her white bakery coat with her long hair primly braided to her scalp. With her pentacle necklace hidden and fresh-scrubbed face, she looked like the Swiss Miss's innocuous older sister. She shifted her weight from foot to foot, juggling shopping bags and a white bakery box.

Anya grinned tiredly. "You brought breakfast!"

"Leftover pierogis. Have at it." Katie handed the delicious-smelling box to Anya.

"Yum."

"How's Sparky?" Katie's eyes were round with concern.

Anya glanced down at the basket. "He's okay. Still jumping at shadows, but I think he's doing better."

Katie set her bags down on the coffee table. "Hopefully, some of these things will put him at ease."

"What's in the bags?"

"A witch's armory. From what you said, Hope's spirits seem bound by most of the same magickal laws we're used to working with--they can't cross a properly sealed circle, for example." Katie pulled a glass perfume bottle out of one of the bags. "This is dragon's blood."

Anya raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

"It's a plant resin, from the dracaena draco tree. It's been infused with vodka into a tincture with some other goodies. The tree's now endangered, so it's nearly impossible to get this stuff anymore. Seemed somehow appropriate to use it for the salamanders."

"What does it do?" Anya lifted the stopper. It smelled like cinnamon and amber, with a bottom note of sandalwood.

"It's used for protection, to ward off evil. Just be careful to let it dry before you put your clothes on--it stains. With that in mind, the red color makes for a great lip tint."

Anya swirled the red liquid around in the bottle. "You are the Mary Kay of magick."

Katie handed Anya a jewelry box. "Try this."

Anya opened it. Inside was a bracelet strung with glass beads. The bracelet was made of red cord, knotted between each bead. The beads were cast to resemble eyes, white specks on blue fields with unblinking black pupils.

"It's an evil-eye bracelet," Katie explained. "The knots are spells, sort of like rosary beads. Each one was tied with the intent of keeping the salamanders from harm. The beads were made in Eastern Europe, where they're believed to ward off the evil eye."

Anya tied it around her wrist. "Wow. Where do you get this stuff at seven in the morning?"

"I'm not the only magickal practitioner in the city." Katie shrugged. "Some of them are even morning people. By the way, you're welcome to raid my closet for work clothes."

"Shit. I forgot about work." Anya chewed her lip. "I'm supposed to be in there by nine."

"Hang on." Katie disappeared into the basement, emerged with a lump of calico fabric she handed to Anya. "I think you'll find this to be useful."

"What is it?" Anya turned it over in her hands. The fabric was covered in orange and brown sparrows. It was kind of pretty.

"It's a sling bag, from the baby store." Katie took it from her and shrugged it over her shoulder. The strap rested on her left shoulder, crossed her body, and hugged close to her ribs. "Parents use these to haul their offspring around." She made jazz hands and wiggled her fingers. "Look, Ma, no hands!"

"I don't get it."

Katie rolled her eyes. "You put the eggs in here and take them with you. See, I made modifications." Katie held the bag open. "I put a zipper in the top so that the eggs won't roll out. I also lined it with insulated, heat-reflecting fabric. If you keep it close to your body like this, you and Sparky should be able to keep them warm. Otherwise, you tuck those heat-up pocket warmers from the camping store inside." Katie looked at her sheepishly. "I was going to throw you a baby shower, and this was gonna be the big gift. But it seems like you need it more now."

Anya pinched the bridge of her nose. "I'm having flashbacks to when I had to carry around a sack of flour in high school. The teacher said we had to treat it like a baby."

"How'd you do with that?"

"Not well. The flour sack broke and I kept duct-taping it back together. When I turned it in, I had a softball-sized wad of duct tape with a fistful of flour left. I got a D."

"Why didn't you fail?"

"Teacher was impressed that I kept trying to patch it up. Said it was likely that I'd be negligent enough to allow a child to fall off the roof, but I'd at least have enough sense to administer first aid and call nine-one-one after it happened."

Katie grinned, put the sling bag over Anya's shoulder. "Welcome to motherhood."

Woe betide any ghost who dared fuck with her today.

Anya climbed out of the Dart, strode toward the county morgue with as much confidence as she could muster. Katie's button-down blouse fit well enough, though it was a bit loose on Anya. But Katie was a good five inches shorter, rendering the pants the length of capris. The baby sling was jammed under her left breast, and the eggs bumped against her ribs as she walked. She'd worn a jacket over the contraption, but it still gave the effect of pushing her boobs up to her neck. Sparky rode on her shoulder like a parrot, tail curved around the salamander collar and head poking through her curtain of dark hair. With her evil-eye bracelet, gun holstered on her right hip, and lips bright red with dragon's blood, she was ready to rumble.

Her bad reputation with the ghost who'd attacked the girl ghost in the refrigeration unit must have preceded her. Or else Katie's magick was working. Whichever, Anya heard the scuttling of half-seen things moving away from her as she strolled down the green corridors of the morgue. It was like turning the light on at two a.m. in a kitchen full of cockroaches. They fled for darkness, where they watched and waited, antennae twitching. Anya could feel their eyes upon her but didn't acknowledge them. She rounded the bend to the primary examination room without so much as a titter from the dead.

Nobody wanted to fuck with the salamander mama.

"Lieutenant Kalinczyk." Gina was washing her hands in a stainless-steel sink. Anya was amazed that she was even tall enough to reach the faucets. She glanced at Anya. "Nice purse."

"Thanks. My friend made it." Anya crossed her arms over her chest. From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed a spirit peeking up from the prone form of a dead elderly man. When she turned her head to look, the spirit hastily scrambled back inside the body. Anya narrowed her eyes.
Good. Stay there.

"I dig the lipstick, too. What color is that? Strumpet Scarlet?"

"Gina..." Anya sighed.

"What? I thought you might have a date or something." Gina shrugged, wagged a finger at her. "Nice girl like you should have a husband."

Anya rolled her eyes, glanced at Sparky. "I'm in a committed relationship."

"No ring? Bastard."

"He is not--" Anya shook her head. "Gina, why am I here? Did you call me over here for something other than to offer dating advice?"

"I'm working on your security guards." Gina doddered over to a body stretched out on a coroner's slab. The head and body were propped up on blocks to expose the chest, and Anya recognized the face as that of the crispy guard she'd pulled from the airtight Greco-Roman exhibit. His bare torso was remarkably clean, with only a burned area the size of her hand on the abdomen. Pieces of hair were burned and disintegrating around the site.

Gina snapped on a pair of pink examination gloves and handed a blue jar of Vicks VapoRub to Anya. "Vicks?"

"Sure. Thanks." Anya rubbed the menthol-scented ointment under her nose. "Where's the other one?"

"Eh..." Gina waved her latex-clad hand. "He wasn't so interesting. I gave him to the medical interns. Simple suffocation. I'll fax the report over to you. Now,
this guy
..." Gina cracked her knuckles. She reached over the head and squished the lips of the corpse's face together like a doting grandmother would to a child too small to fight back. "This guy is interesting, so I saved him for you."

"Do you think he suffocated, too?" Anya leaned forward to look at the body. On the surface, the burn didn't look too bad. Certainly not fatal.

"I took the liberty of sending the toxicology at the same time as I sent over the other guard's blood work." Gina scribbled with a wax pencil on a clipboard covered with a plastic page protector. She shaded in a dark spot on a simple line drawing of a male body, indicating where the burn was. "No petechial hemorrhaging on the eyes or face. He didn't suffocate."

"What the hell?" Anya chewed her lip, stymied, as Gina began combing over the body. "That little burn would be enough to send him to the ER. Maybe a skin graft, if it got infected, but I don't see how that could kill him."

"That's why we're looking for trauma." Gina took a series of pictures of the burn and the body. "Maybe the other guy whacked him on the noggin with the fire extinguisher, and he hemorrhaged into his hat. But we're gonna find out." Gina pointed to a box of gloves. "Get some gloves and prepare to be useful."

"But..." Anya blinked.

"My interns are at a seminar about swine flu." Gina rolled her eyes. "Get gloved up and bring on the love."

Anya groaned, pulling the latex gloves on. She made certain to tuck the evil-eye bracelet under the glove. No telling how cadaver blood would screw up the evil-eye spell. She snagged one of Gina's blue operating-theater gowns and stuck her arms in it. The ties hung loose over her back. No point in staining the newt transporter. One of Gina's surgical caps and a mask completed her ensemble. The mask was pleasant: It reflected the smell of Vicks back into her sinuses so that she could barely smell the disinfectant and fresh meat.

Gina pried open the corpse's eyelids. "As I said, no blood spots or pinkness. No asphyxiation. But I'm chomping at the bit to get in there to take a look. You mind if we start here, instead of the chest?"

"Knock yourself out." Anya was well aware that Gina was going to do whatever she wanted, with or without Anya's input.

Gina climbed up on a step stool conveniently located next to the table. Without it, the tabletop would have reached her armpits. She lifted a dissecting knife and began to cut through the skin on the crown of the head. There was surprisingly little blood, and the process reminded Anya of peeling blanched tomatoes.

Sparky shifted his weight on Anya's shoulders and harumphed. Bored by the proceedings, he climbed down her back, burrowed under her armpit, and began to doze on the top of the newt transporter. His tail brushed against the backs of Anya's legs, making her jumpy. But she was glad that someone was able to sleep through the whine of Gina's electric saw biting through the skullcap.

"Give me the skull key," Gina ordered.

Anya glanced at the tools lined up neatly on a cart, arranged on pristine white paper like a dentist's tools: scalpels, knives, chisel, saws that said
BLACK AND DECKER
, forceps, and a pair of bolt cutters. "What's a skull key?"