The Case of the Toxic Spell Dump

The phone on the other end must have yammered for quite a while, because I listened to my imp drumming his fingers on the inside of the handset until at last I got an answer: "Hand-of-Glory Press, Judith Ather speaking."

"Hi, Judy - it's Dave."

"Oh, hi, Dave." I thought her voice went from businesslike to warm, but with two phone imps between us I had a hard time being sure. "Sorry I took so long to pick up there. I was in the middle of a tough passage, and I wanted to get to the end of a sentence so I could be sure I wouldn't miss even a single word when I went back to it."

"Don't apologize," I said. "Doing what you do, you have to be careful."

Hand-of-Glory Press, as you'd guess from the name, publishes grimoires of all sorts, from simple ones on carpet maintenance up to the special secret sort with olive-drab covers. Judy's their number one proofreader and copy editor.

She's the most intensely detail-minded person I know, and she needs to be. An error in a grimoire on flying carpets might end you up in Boston, Oregon, instead of Boston, Mass. An error in a military magic manual might leave you dead, or worse.

She said, "So what's up?"

"Feel like going out to dinner with me tonight?" I asked.

"I ran into something interesting today, and I wouldn't mind hearing what you think of it." Knowing someone who can see not only forest and trees but also count leaves is wonderful.

Being in love with her is even better.

"Sure," she said. "Meet at your place after work? I ought to be able to get there before six."

"You'll probably beat me there, then, the way traffic on St James' has been lately," I told her.

"Sounds good."

There's a new Hanese place a few blocks away that I want to try."

"Sounds good to me, too. You know how much I like Hanese food."

"See you tonight, then. Now I'll let you get back to what you were doing. 'Bye."

I went back to work, too, although my mind wasn't really on the main project that currently infested my desk. A couple of days before, a big carpet carrying fumigants had overturned in an accident, spilling finely ground linseed, psellium seed, violet and wild parsley root, aloes, mace, and storax. Because they're materials used in conjurations, I had to draft the environmental impact statement.

I could have just written no impact and let it go at that: the fumigants were harmless in and of themselves, and required combustion and ritual to become magically significant A two-word report, however, would not have made my boss happy, and might have given people outside the EPA the idea that we didn't take seriously the job we were doing.

So, instead, I wasted taxpayers' time and parchment writing five leaves that ended up saying no impact but did it in a bureaucratically acceptable way. I do sometimes wonder why governmental agencies have to act like that, but it seems as universal as the law of contagion.

Suffused in virtue, I dropped the draft of my statement on my boss' desk for her changes, then went down the slide, out to my carpet, and onto the freeway. Sure enough, traffic was beastly, especially down by the airport. Not only was everybody getting on and off there, but the flight lanes for the big international carrier really cramp air space for local travelers.

Judy was waiting for me when I got home, as I'd thought she would be. We'd been seeing each other for about two and a half years, then; I'd gotten her a spare entry talisman and given her the unlocking Word for my door pretty early in that time, and she'd done the same for me.

She greeted me with a pucker on her lips and a cold beer in her hand. "Wonderful woman," I told her, which might have helped heat the loss a little. She got a beer for herself, too. We sat down to drink them before we went out.

Judy's a big tall brunette with hazel eyes and a mass of wavy brown hair that falls halfway down her back. She doesn't walk, exactly; when she moves, it's more like flowing.

She looked too feline ever to seem quite at home on my angular apartment-house furniture. I enjoyed watching her all the same.

"So what did you come across today?" she asked.

I finished my beer and said, "Let's talk about it at the restaurant. If I start explaining it now, we won't get to the restaurant, and then you'll think I invited you over just to lure you into bed."

"It is nice to know you occasionally have other things on your mind," she admitted, upending her own bottle. "Let's go, then."