too?
The repairman tipped his hat. “I’m Virgil. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Anya felt Sparky twining down her arm. After taking shape on the floor, he walked up to Virgil and sniffed his pant leg. Virgil knelt before him and offered his hand for Sparky to smell. “And who is this?”
“This is Sparky.”
“I’ve never seen a dog like that. Is he named after Sparky Anderson?”
“Yeah, I’m a baseball fan. He’s, um, sort of a mutt.”
Anya left it alone. She didn’t want to get into a discussion about elemental familiars and what she did for a part-time job. The spirit would be less inclined to talk if he knew she could eat him as easily as if he were a cookie. She unfolded the printouts of her suspect’s image from the news tape and shone her flashlight on them. “Could you please tell me if this is the man who came in here the other night?”
Virgil peered at the pieces of paper. He brushed them with his fingertips, and his hand passed through. “Yes. That was the man.”
“He came alone?”
“Yes. But I didn’t talk to him.”
“Why not?”
Virgil paused. “I was afraid that he would eat me.”
Anya’s brow wrinkled. “Why were you afraid of that?”
“He seemed very hungry. Like you, but not like you.” He cocked his head . “I don’t believe that you’d eat a spirit without good reason, Miss Anya.”
Anya’s thoughts churned. Had another Lantern been here? Or was the old spirit just fooling with her? Spirits, especially if left to rot for decades, could be unreliable pranksters. Still. . .
She gestured to the symbol on the floor, the mark of the Horned Viper. “Did you see him do that?”
Virgil nodded. “Damndest thing. He drew on the floor with his finger, and it glowed, bright as coke in a steel mill.”
Now she knew the spirit was bullshitting her. She crossed her arms over her chest. “He didn’t have a torch or welding equipment?”
“No, ma’am. He came in here with empty hands. He set that mark on the floor, and then.
. . this wave of fire rolled up from the floor. It was like looking at the ocean, only red, the way it moved. . .” Virgil made curving shapes with his hands. “It was beautiful,” he admitted.
Anya frowned. The spirit was messing with her, or he’d lost his grip on reality over the years, or. . . her logical mind refused to contemplate what the alternative meant, if he was telling the truth. “Did he get out?”
“Right back the way you came in. The fire didn’t seem to bother him much.”
“Thank you, Virgil. I appreciate your help.”
Virgil tipped his hat and melted into the wall. “It’s a pleasure, Miss Anya. Good luck.”
Anya turned to look at Brian, who was staring intently into a fistful of gadgets. “Did you get any of that?”
Brian showed her a voice recorder. “We’ll see. I take it from your end of the conversation that he positively ID’d your suspect?”
“Yeah. But it’s not exactly the kind of evidence that will stand up in court. I can’t put a ghost up on the stand.”
Brian surveyed the wreckage of the basement. “Somehow, I think that’s going to be the least of your problems.”
“Did you pass your exam?”
Anya sat in the showroom of the used-car dealership across the street from the warehouse. A fully restored 1969 Ford Mach 1 sat in the floor, gray and white paint gleaming under years of wax. Anya had to restrain herself from asking if she could sit in it. Beside her, Brian had set up the laptop on a salesman’s desk, fiddling with the video feed. The place had a snack machine and bathrooms; it was warm and quiet. . . best location for a stakeout Anya had ever had.
John Sandoval sat at a conference table, books stacked around him. The young security guard grinned and gave Anya a fist-bump. “Ninety-six percent. I rocked that test.”
“What are you studying?”
“Premed.”
“No kidding?” Anya stared over her coffee cup at him. She’d
The repairman tipped his hat. “I’m Virgil. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”
Anya felt Sparky twining down her arm. After taking shape on the floor, he walked up to Virgil and sniffed his pant leg. Virgil knelt before him and offered his hand for Sparky to smell. “And who is this?”
“This is Sparky.”
“I’ve never seen a dog like that. Is he named after Sparky Anderson?”
“Yeah, I’m a baseball fan. He’s, um, sort of a mutt.”
Anya left it alone. She didn’t want to get into a discussion about elemental familiars and what she did for a part-time job. The spirit would be less inclined to talk if he knew she could eat him as easily as if he were a cookie. She unfolded the printouts of her suspect’s image from the news tape and shone her flashlight on them. “Could you please tell me if this is the man who came in here the other night?”
Virgil peered at the pieces of paper. He brushed them with his fingertips, and his hand passed through. “Yes. That was the man.”
“He came alone?”
“Yes. But I didn’t talk to him.”
“Why not?”
Virgil paused. “I was afraid that he would eat me.”
Anya’s brow wrinkled. “Why were you afraid of that?”
“He seemed very hungry. Like you, but not like you.” He cocked his head . “I don’t believe that you’d eat a spirit without good reason, Miss Anya.”
Anya’s thoughts churned. Had another Lantern been here? Or was the old spirit just fooling with her? Spirits, especially if left to rot for decades, could be unreliable pranksters. Still. . .
She gestured to the symbol on the floor, the mark of the Horned Viper. “Did you see him do that?”
Virgil nodded. “Damndest thing. He drew on the floor with his finger, and it glowed, bright as coke in a steel mill.”
Now she knew the spirit was bullshitting her. She crossed her arms over her chest. “He didn’t have a torch or welding equipment?”
“No, ma’am. He came in here with empty hands. He set that mark on the floor, and then.
. . this wave of fire rolled up from the floor. It was like looking at the ocean, only red, the way it moved. . .” Virgil made curving shapes with his hands. “It was beautiful,” he admitted.
Anya frowned. The spirit was messing with her, or he’d lost his grip on reality over the years, or. . . her logical mind refused to contemplate what the alternative meant, if he was telling the truth. “Did he get out?”
“Right back the way you came in. The fire didn’t seem to bother him much.”
“Thank you, Virgil. I appreciate your help.”
Virgil tipped his hat and melted into the wall. “It’s a pleasure, Miss Anya. Good luck.”
Anya turned to look at Brian, who was staring intently into a fistful of gadgets. “Did you get any of that?”
Brian showed her a voice recorder. “We’ll see. I take it from your end of the conversation that he positively ID’d your suspect?”
“Yeah. But it’s not exactly the kind of evidence that will stand up in court. I can’t put a ghost up on the stand.”
Brian surveyed the wreckage of the basement. “Somehow, I think that’s going to be the least of your problems.”
“Did you pass your exam?”
Anya sat in the showroom of the used-car dealership across the street from the warehouse. A fully restored 1969 Ford Mach 1 sat in the floor, gray and white paint gleaming under years of wax. Anya had to restrain herself from asking if she could sit in it. Beside her, Brian had set up the laptop on a salesman’s desk, fiddling with the video feed. The place had a snack machine and bathrooms; it was warm and quiet. . . best location for a stakeout Anya had ever had.
John Sandoval sat at a conference table, books stacked around him. The young security guard grinned and gave Anya a fist-bump. “Ninety-six percent. I rocked that test.”
“What are you studying?”
“Premed.”
“No kidding?” Anya stared over her coffee cup at him. She’d
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