The Case of the Toxic Spell Dump

I flashed the little tin badge and growled, "Now listen up, everybody, or else."

Actually, my report went pretty well. Michael backed me up on the sorcerous details of the potion I'd found at Lupe Cordero's, and everyone looked suitably grim on hearing them. I told about the arrest of the curandero who'd sold Lupe the stuff, and about being lucky enough to come across Jose and Carios on Sunday.

"Your diligence does you and the EPA credit, David," Bea said, which was enough of a brownie point to make me want to set out a bowl of milk.

The other nice thing about having been so busy with all that stuff was that I didn't get in trouble for the too numerous tilings I hadn't managed to accomplish during the week.

The toxic spell dump investigation perse was stalled; I hadn't managed to get out to Bakhtiars Precision Burins, let alone Chocolate Weasel or the light-and-magic outfits. I still didn't know whether the Chumash Powers were coming or going.

And as for the leprechauns, well, the environmental impact survey hadn't started going anywhere, either.

All of which meant, of course, that for the next several days I'd be running around like acephalous poultry, trying to catch up on those projects and whatever else landed on me in the interim. Not a pleasant prospect to contemplate of a Monday morning.

Bea said, "Jose, you and Martin are going to report together, am I right?"

They did. Martn produced the mockup for a poster of an ugly little green fellow sinking his fangs into an orange. The text said, HE'S NOT YOUR FRIEND - DONT GIVE HIM A RIDE in English and Spainish.

That's very good," Bea said, "very good indeed. It ought to make a lot of people who have been raising the roof about gariic spraying see Medvamps in a whole new light You can start reproducing it right away, as far as I'm concerned.

Comments, anyone? Am I missing something?"

With a lot of bosses, you'd better not dislike something after they said they loved it. Bea, bless her, isn't like that.

Michael Manstein stuck up his hand and said, "The poster does not accurately reflect the appearance of the Mediterranean fruit vampire."

He was right, of course. Medvamps (not that Michael would use such a colloquialism) are as pale as any other undead creatures, and the sap they suck from fruits and vegetables is commonly clear, too. But Bea said patiently,

"We don't need to be precisely accurate here, Michael. We want to get across the notion that the Medvamp is a dangerous pest, not something that ought to survive and flourish in Angels City. Does the poster meet that objective?"

Manstein shrugged. "It should be obvious in any case."

And it would be obvious, too, if everyone were as rational as Michael. The general run of people being what they are, though, rationality needs all me help it can get The poster was passed by acclamation and we went on to Phyllis. By then it was getting close to eleven o'clock, and my stomach was starting to rumble. But Phyuis had landed a project even uglier than my intertwined investigations of the Chumash Powers and the wisdom of naturalizing leprechauns: she'd started doing a study on the pros and cons of changing the way Angels City handles its sewage.

Not to put too fine a point on it. Angels City produces a whole lot of shit. For tile last many years - Phyllis, who is a very thorough person, said how many, but I forget - we've used the demon Vepar to process all this waste. Vepars provinces are the sea and putrefaction, so the arrangement has always seemed logical enough.

The trouble is, members of the Descending Hierarchy just aren't reliable. Lately, as the population of Angeles City has grown, so have the number of sewage spills and the number of days the water in St. Monica's Bay is too foul for swimming or fishing or anything else.

And so there's been some serious discussion of transferring the job to Poseidon. If anyone on the Other Side has a vested interest in keeping the ocean clean, he's the One. Not only that, he also has power over earthquakes. In Angels City, that matters. Having one Power in charge of both those aspects of local life might well save the taxpayer some crowns.

Or it might not Poseidon's cult, like that of Hermes, is artificially maintained these days. Angels City would have to pay into the fund that municipalities and organizations which use the sea god's services have set up to provide for his worship. That wouldn't be cheap. Vepar, like any Judeo-Christian demon, has enough genuine believers to keep him active without any expense the city would have to assume.

Bea asked, "What communities are currently using Poseidon to handle their sewage, and what sort of results have they gotten?"

"There are several," Phyllis said. "The first one that occurs to me is Athenaiy'Piraievs over in Ellas-"