Sparks Read Online Free PDF Page A

now-closed auto plant down the road. People left their porch lights on all night, as if the wan glow might keep some of the darkness at bay. When Anya was little, her mother would have called it a waste of electricity. But it seemed necessary, somehow, now. It was a futile hope, Anya knew, but still instinctive. Humans gathered around light, like campfires, to feel safe.
    Brian's breath fogged the glass of the van. "Do you want me to come in?"
    Anya weighed the question for a moment, and she knew that he felt her hesitation. The pulse in the collar she wore around her neck felt sluggish. Sparky was sleeping, so she said, "Sure."
    She popped open the door and stepped onto the cracked driveway, pulling her keys from her jacket pocket. Brian crossed to the back of the van and shuffled in the pile of wires and boxes of ghost-hunting gadgetry. He rounded the corner of the van with a cardboard box in his arms.
    "Whatcha got?" she asked.
    "A present." He balanced the box on his hip as she unlocked the door. "A little something for your house."
    Anya frowned. She supposed that her decor could have used the improvement. Compared to Brian's usual milieu, a bird's nest of wires and electronarcanum, her house probably looked pretty spartan. Furnished in spotlessly clean used furniture, the living room was nearly perfect in its efficiency. Anya liked it that way. Most days, she came home from work covered in ash, and the hardwood floors were easy to clean. She was compulsive about keeping bits of her work out of her sanctuary, and the cleanliness managed to create the comforting illusion of order, much as her neighbors' porch lights created the illusion of safety.
    Brian set the box down in front of the coffee table.
    "What is it?" She sidled up beside him, and his arm wrapped around her waist.
    "I've been spending a lot of time here, so..." His chin rested on the top of her head. "I took the liberty of getting you a television set."
    Anya blinked. Thanks to Sparky, she kept very few electronic devices in her house. Hell, he blew up her last microwave and destroyed a can opener a week ago. "Um, I hope that Sparky doesn't..."
    "If he blows it up, he blows it up. I thought it would be fun to try, though." He kissed her cheek. "He's pretty much left us alone lately."
    Anya smiled against Brian's chest. A petulant salamander could be a distraction in a relationship. Sparky's need to demand attention at inopportune moments had been a serious handicap in her previous relationships. It was very difficult to get in the mood with an invisible mewing salamander perched at the foot of one's bed. But Sparky seemed to be less needy now. Last week the salamander had allowed Brian and Anya to sleep spooned up on her worn velvet couch, without so much as a peep.
    Anya still felt a twinge of reticence about becoming involved. Everyone she'd ever loved had disappeared from her life. And she didn't want that to happen to Brian. He was too important to her, and she was too afraid of screwing things up.
    She felt Brian nuzzle the top of her head, felt his arms stiffen and his chin move back, almost imperceptibly. She realized that she still smelled like work: like death and magick and the grease stain on Bernie's floor. The psychic grime on her made her skin itch.
    She pulled back, stood on tiptoe to kiss Brian's top lip. He had a tiny scar on the upper left side of his mouth; she'd never asked where it came from, but she loved the feel of it. "Let me get cleaned up."
    "Only if you promise to come back."
    She slipped away from him, down the dark hallway that smelled of lemon wood polish, to the cold white tile of the bathroom. A dozen yellow rubber duckies stared down at her with cartoon eyes from a shelf as she undressed. The salamander torque remained next to her skin; it always did. She'd never taken it off, even as a child.
    Closing the door, she tugged her shirt over her head. Her nose wrinkled. Her clothes smelled like charred bacon. Absently, she ran