what are you doing about this Balthus guy?” she asked.
Her voice was friendly, but Sparrow didn’t mistake it for anything other than a demand. He stiffened and switched back into policeman mode as he answered her. It made me miss the more relaxed Sparrow from moments before.
“Sydney and I have just been discussing that at some length. I am currently conducting an investigation into certain allegations against Balthus. I have agreed to give Sydney the opportunity to interview him, as she feels that his incarceration may allow her some leverage over the status of her soul contract. I’m sure she’ll be glad to tell you all about it,” he said, rising.
“However, right now I’m afraid I’m pressed for time and must return to the office.”
“Well, it was nice to meet you, Patrick. And we’ll be counting on you.” She grinned, clearly unfazed by his official demeanor. “Cool tattoos, by the way.”
“Much appreciated.” He nodded at Sunny and then winked at me. “Sydney, I’ll be in touch.”
“Bye, Sparrow. And thanks.”
His lips twitched with humor. “I said you could call me Pat.”
I cocked my head and smiled up at him. “I think I’ll stick with Sparrow. It feels better, somehow.”
“Stubborn little witch,” he whispered. Then he turned away and was gone.
“That man is no sparrow,” Sunny muttered. “A falcon or a hawk, maybe, but definitely no sparrow.”
I nodded, nibbling my lip with a wistful sigh.
Chapter 7 – Monday Blues
The haranguing buzz of my alarm jerked me from sleep and I groaned, nearly sobbing in frustration. Not only was 8 am an ungodly hour to be awake, but a quickly fading dream—involving Sparrow, and me running my fingers over his magically glowing tattoos—left me wanting to smash the evil, unrelenting piece of machinery to bits.
Even in the best of circumstances, I’d never been a morning person.
I forced myself into a sitting position before sliding the alarm switch to ‘Off’, knowing that I ran the risk of drifting back to sleep if I lay down again. The thick aroma of coffee wafted through the closed door of my bedroom, along with the sounds of Sunny puttering around in the kitchen. I angrily swiped at an unexpected tear, realizing those simple morning rituals reminded me of Jeremy.
I told myself I’d feel better after a quick wash in the sink and my usual double-decker mug of hot tea with honey.
As I passed through the kitchen, Sunny grunted and gave me a weak semblance of a smile in response to my weary, “Morning.” She then returned to watching the coffee pot’s progress, one hip resting against a cabinet. She folded her arms across her chest and her black silk robe drifted open to reveal a crisp cotton tank top and shorts in a pretty shade of melon beneath.
I dropped a tea bag into my favorite mug and filled it from the hot water dispenser to steep. I glanced down with a grimace at what passed for my own customary sleeping ensemble: a ratty old Grateful Dead t-shirt and boxers whose material had been washed into perfect softness, but whose elastic had disintegrated. The swell of my hips was the only thing that prevented them from falling down around my knees.
I shuffled forward into my dining room/office to turn on my computer and blinked numbly at the screen as it booted up. Sunny and I knew each other well enough to appreciate that attempts at conversation were futile before caffeine.
An hour later we were both more coherent as we sat in companionable silence, working on our laptops, with Salsa music pounding through the flat-screen’s speakers. Sunny was writing a syllabus for the medieval history class she would be teaching next semester at Boston College, and I was plugging away at my usual data entry after having gone my morning rounds with Cindy.
Jasper was curled up on a chair by the sliding glass door, basking in a patch of late morning sunlight. Nothing supernatural here—just your ordinary every day Monday. Thank Goddess for small favors.
I could get used to this, I thought with a twinge of regret. I was going to be lonely after Sunny left.
The phone rang and I saw on the caller ID that it was Angelica. It had only been a week and I could barely contemplate the thought of returning to a life without maid service. I was really becoming spoiled.
“Good morning, Angelica,” I said brightly.
“Good morning, Sydney! Shall I come by now or later?”
“Now’s good.”
“Who was that?” asked Sunny as I hung up.
“That was Angelica, from the hotel’s cleaning staff. She’s on her way up now. And just to prepare you, she’s about six feet tall, looks like a supermodel, and wears one of those French maid outfits. She’s really sweet, and she’s amazing at cleaning. Oh—and she likes to talk about sex.”
I snickered at Sunny’s bewildered expression as I got up to answer Angelica’s soft knock.
“Hello Sydney! Just the usual today?” she asked, glass cleaner and duster in hand.
“That would be great.” I smiled as I stepped to the side so she could enter.
“Salsa music—what an invigorating way to begin the day! Oh—do you have company?” she inquired, glancing at one of Sunny’s suitcases on a nearby chair. “I hope it’s a handsome man,” she whispered conspiratorially. “It would be a shame not to properly break in that bed.”
“Nope, just me,” Sunny commented.
“Oh, I beg your pardon!” Angelica colored, the rosy tint making her even more lovely. “I didn’t see you there. And I didn’t mean to presume you required a man to break in your bed, either,” she told me with a wicked grin.
I laughed. “Angelica, this is my best friend, Sunny. She’s visiting from Boston for the week.”
“Nice to meet you, Angelica. And believe me, I would be just as pleased as you to see Syd break in her bed with a handsome man,” Sunny teased. She dodged as I swatted at her.
“Lovely to meet you, Sunny,” Angelica replied as she continued into the sitting room to begin her cleaning routine. “Maybe, then, your combined powers of attraction will draw a pair of beautiful men to you before the week is out. Or at least one for you to share—when approached correctly, that can be a truly bonding experience between friends, you know.”
I swallowed and shook off the unbidden image of Sunny, Sparrow and myself sharing my new bed. Sunny’s snort of mirth mirrored my own, and I said, “I’m not sure our friendship has a need for that type of bond, Angelica.”
She shrugged as she bent over to dust one of my frogs. “Suit yourselves—a pair of men it is, then.” She grinned suddenly as she added, “Maybe hot Latin lovers, who’ll appreciate your taste in Salsa music.”
“I like the way you think,” Sunny said.
Angelica continued about her work as
