Spirits of Ash and Foam by Greg Weisman Read Free Book Online

reports.”
    A hundred options played out in Jean-Marc’s mind, but he settled on “Yeah. Sure. Where do you want to meet?”
    There was a pregnant pause. Then the line went dead.

CHAPTER SIX
    SOMETHING IN THE AIR
    MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 8
    Callahan, scowling as usual, tossed his own burner phone off the deck of the Bootstrap and into the water of Pueblo Harbor. He knew a copper when he heard one. Damn that Cash. If he got pinched, he’s on his own. And he’d better not talk!
    Callahan ran his dry tongue over his chapped lower lip and his gorilla paw through his short spiky hair. All the big blond Australian could think about was the fifty thousand dollars Silas A. Setebos had promised him in exchange for the second zemi . One would think Callahan would be satisfied with the fifty thousand he’d already received for the first zemi. (Especially since he’d received that reward for unknowingly delivering a forgery, a copy of Rain’s armband he’d commissioned in order to make an undetectable switch, but which our Rain had managed to switch back, leaving both Callahan and Setebos none the wiser.) No, the first fifty only made him hungrier for the second.
    Setebos hadn’t provided many clues. Didn’t even really describe what the thing would look like this time out, saying only, “It will incorporate the image of a bat.” But he had told Callahan he’d find it somewhere in the vicinity of the archaeological dig on Sycorax Island. Fortunately, Setebos had paid off or blackmailed one of the university professors into delaying the dig with some excuse or other in order to give Callahan a few precious weeks to search for it. But with Callahan still occupied securing the first zemi, he’d subcontracted the after-hours task of searching for the second prize to Cash—who’d clearly blown the gig. On the plus side, at least Callahan wouldn’t have to pay the man now. Besides, if you want something done right …
    With surprising agility for a man his size, Callahan swung himself off the deck of the cabin cruiser, his heavy boots landing hard on the dock. He’d make a supply run now, to make sure he had everything he’d need to last him, oh, at least a week. Then tonight, he’d slip out of the slip under cover of darkness so no one saw his heading. By midnight, he’d be dodging the Sycorax rent-a-cops in the pitch black and searching the dig. With a little luck, he might even put his hands on the zemi before morning.
    Clomping down the dock, he passed the Sycorax Ferry and Renée Jackson, who stood in one of her frozen poses, running complex theoretical equations in her head. She was trying to calculate exactly what Charlie might have told Miranda after orchestra, exactly what Miranda’s reaction would be, and exactly how Renée could find a way to turn it all to her advantage. Miss Jackson was nothing if not calculating.
    Exiting the pedestrian gate, Callahan passed under the large WELCOME TO PUEBLO DE SAN PRÓSPERO sign without giving it a glance—or giving any notice to the young girl who lingered beneath it, quite troubled. Charlie had warned Miranda that Renée was “a piece of work”—a true specialist in the art of making everyone miserable. He thought he was helping. Now, though, she didn’t know what to do. She liked Charlie. And Rain. But they still weren’t really making her a part of their world. They had adopted her. Like a stray cat. But she wasn’t their friend. Not really. Not yet, anyway. Maybe not ever. And the only other person she had even connected with was—according to Charlie—a witch. So now what?
    â€œSo many balls in the air!”
    Miranda turned toward the voice and, despite her teenaged torment, couldn’t help but smile at Maq and me. Maq was juggling old, split tennis balls he had found in the Dumpster behind the Versailles Hotel. Every thirty seconds or so,