around in the ashes. Perhaps someone who'd been after the fragments of the magick-stained geode bottle she'd found. At least that had been safely packed away in the evidence locker. She hoped Forensics might be able to lift some prints from it.
She retraced her steps out of the room, careful not to touch anything. She'd get her camera and the rest of her gear, and would likely spend forever comparing these photos with her previous set. Cataloging the scene was shaping up to be a perfect nightmare.
Anya sidled through the kitchen, through the knot of cops gossiping. She heard Marsh growling at the petrified fire cadet who was supposed to keep watch. His voice was too low for the press at the street to hear, but his tone had reduced the cadet to Jell-O:
"...what the hell you were thinking. You've compromised the scene of an active investigation. I'll have your badge on my desk by morning, understand?"
The firefighter stood there, hands jammed in his pockets, staring at the floor. "Yes, sir. I don't know what happened. My back was turned for just a few minutes."
"Were you sleeping on the job?"
"No, sir."
"You been drinking?"
"No, sir."
"Drugs?"
"No, sir."
"Your ass is going over to the ER for a drug test. Now."
Anya slipped past them, stopped. Her nose twitched, and she turned toward the hapless firefighter.
He smelled like magick. The odor of ozone clung faintly to his coat. Anya sized him up. He was a regular guy--nothing outstanding about him: young man in his twenties with a buzz cut, shaking in his boots as Marsh chewed him out. Seemed earnest enough... not like a closet magick worker.
"Hey," she said, interrupting the ass-chewing. "Tell me what happened. What did you see?"
The firefighter rubbed the back of his head. "I was watching the house, just like Captain Marsh told me to. I was listening to the radio, when I heard it get staticky. I tried to adjust it, but then I saw smoke rolling out from under the hood of the car. I popped the hood, thinking maybe it was steam from the radiator. But it was smoke."
"What color was it?"
"White. I think. That's why I thought it was steam. But I'm not sure."
Anya frowned. An engine fire fueled by motor oil would have emitted black or blue smoke. Maybe it had been an electrical fire, or an ignition of battery acid.
The firefighter continued. "I got the fire extinguisher out of the trunk. By that time, the whole front of the car was in flames. I was afraid that the gas tank would ignite, and I called for backup."
"When did you notice there was movement in the house?"
"I saw light in the house after the guys from the ladder company showed up to put the car out. Like I told Marsh, it wasn't flashlights... it was golden orange. I ran up the steps, and when I opened the door, the lights went out."
"Did you see anyone?"
"No. And I don't get that." The firefighter shook his head. "I don't see how they could have gotten past me."
Anya's eyes narrowed. "No one rushed past you?" There was only one door, the front one. Well, it was fairer to say that there was only one door that was accessible. The back door was blocked with crap; no one could've gotten out through there. And she'd seen no signs of forced entry yet.
Anya's eyes slid past him to the car he'd been sitting in by the curb. It was a charred hulk, the front end burned black and the hood gaping open like the mouth of a monster. The glass was still intact, suggesting that the fire hadn't reached peak temperature. Car fires could get hot, over a thousand degrees, sometimes up to two. Perhaps opening the hood had dispersed some of that heat. Dodging through the police line and onlookers, she reached for the door handle...
...and was almost knocked over by the stench of magick that rolled out of the car. It was as if someone had been in the car with the windows rolled up, smoking pages from a witch's Book of Shadows for the last twelve hours.
Anya coughed. Her eyes watered, and she felt the remnants of magick seep
She retraced her steps out of the room, careful not to touch anything. She'd get her camera and the rest of her gear, and would likely spend forever comparing these photos with her previous set. Cataloging the scene was shaping up to be a perfect nightmare.
Anya sidled through the kitchen, through the knot of cops gossiping. She heard Marsh growling at the petrified fire cadet who was supposed to keep watch. His voice was too low for the press at the street to hear, but his tone had reduced the cadet to Jell-O:
"...what the hell you were thinking. You've compromised the scene of an active investigation. I'll have your badge on my desk by morning, understand?"
The firefighter stood there, hands jammed in his pockets, staring at the floor. "Yes, sir. I don't know what happened. My back was turned for just a few minutes."
"Were you sleeping on the job?"
"No, sir."
"You been drinking?"
"No, sir."
"Drugs?"
"No, sir."
"Your ass is going over to the ER for a drug test. Now."
Anya slipped past them, stopped. Her nose twitched, and she turned toward the hapless firefighter.
He smelled like magick. The odor of ozone clung faintly to his coat. Anya sized him up. He was a regular guy--nothing outstanding about him: young man in his twenties with a buzz cut, shaking in his boots as Marsh chewed him out. Seemed earnest enough... not like a closet magick worker.
"Hey," she said, interrupting the ass-chewing. "Tell me what happened. What did you see?"
The firefighter rubbed the back of his head. "I was watching the house, just like Captain Marsh told me to. I was listening to the radio, when I heard it get staticky. I tried to adjust it, but then I saw smoke rolling out from under the hood of the car. I popped the hood, thinking maybe it was steam from the radiator. But it was smoke."
"What color was it?"
"White. I think. That's why I thought it was steam. But I'm not sure."
Anya frowned. An engine fire fueled by motor oil would have emitted black or blue smoke. Maybe it had been an electrical fire, or an ignition of battery acid.
The firefighter continued. "I got the fire extinguisher out of the trunk. By that time, the whole front of the car was in flames. I was afraid that the gas tank would ignite, and I called for backup."
"When did you notice there was movement in the house?"
"I saw light in the house after the guys from the ladder company showed up to put the car out. Like I told Marsh, it wasn't flashlights... it was golden orange. I ran up the steps, and when I opened the door, the lights went out."
"Did you see anyone?"
"No. And I don't get that." The firefighter shook his head. "I don't see how they could have gotten past me."
Anya's eyes narrowed. "No one rushed past you?" There was only one door, the front one. Well, it was fairer to say that there was only one door that was accessible. The back door was blocked with crap; no one could've gotten out through there. And she'd seen no signs of forced entry yet.
Anya's eyes slid past him to the car he'd been sitting in by the curb. It was a charred hulk, the front end burned black and the hood gaping open like the mouth of a monster. The glass was still intact, suggesting that the fire hadn't reached peak temperature. Car fires could get hot, over a thousand degrees, sometimes up to two. Perhaps opening the hood had dispersed some of that heat. Dodging through the police line and onlookers, she reached for the door handle...
...and was almost knocked over by the stench of magick that rolled out of the car. It was as if someone had been in the car with the windows rolled up, smoking pages from a witch's Book of Shadows for the last twelve hours.
Anya coughed. Her eyes watered, and she felt the remnants of magick seep
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