Evil Ways by Justin Gustainis Page B

grunted, and his grip around her throat loosened, just a little. That was all the edge that Sandy needed.
    Using the tip of her wand to trace three invisible symbols in the air, she muttered, very quickly, the words of a spell designed to reverse negative energy. The anger and malevolence of her two attackers was suddenly directed back at them in the form of a sudden, debilitating pain. Sandy's spellcraft instructor had explained, years ago, that the pain was purely psychosomatic. White magic did not allow the deliberate harming of another, but it did permit, under some circumstances, convincing someone that he was being harmed.
    Sandy stepped clear of the man behind her just as he collapsed to the floor, moaning. A moment later, his companion across the room did the same. She then carefully laid down a freezing spell, which would hold each man motionless until the police could arrive. As soon as the two were immobilized, Sandy relieved their perception of pain, even though part of her did so reluctantly.
    She called 911 to report the attack, and was assured that officers would respond posthaste. Putting the phone away, Sandy considered using a truth spell to find out who the men were, and why they had wished her harm. But in order for them to tell her, they would have to be unfrozen, and that could be dangerous. Better to let the police handle the interrogation, and try to kibitz the information from them later.
    As Sandy looked at the two supine forms on her rug, she considered that she would have to credit herself with greater martial arts skills than she actually possessed when explaining to the police what had happened. But if need be, she could give the officers a little magical "push" that would encourage them to accept her story, an account that would be far more credible than "I stopped them with my little magic wand, officer" would ever be.
    Sandy gave vent to a long, weary sigh. She'd been having a bad enough day before she got home, and now this. On the other hand, she could, right this second, be at the mercy of these two thugs, so things could have been worse. Besides, her headache was gone. As she heard the sound of a siren, distant but growing nearer, she prepared to lift the freezing spell, timing it to work just as the police walked through the door.
    A smile finally passed over her face as she said aloud, "Beat that, Mister Cat."

    If Plattsburgh, New York were much farther north, it would be in Canada. A pleasant little town of about 50,000, it is nestled along the shore of Lake Champlain, with Vermont visible on the other side. There are companies in Plattsburgh that use dry ice, but there are not many of them.
    The foreman at Beauvais Plastics had just finished explaining to Agents Fenton and O'Donnell what they had already learned at the first three industrial firms they had visited. "So, the pellets come out this nozzle here, under high pressure, and then you clean whatever you pointin' it at. Works damn well, too."
    "The dry ice isn't made until just before you're set to clean something with your machine here," Fenton said.
    "Yessir, that's the way she works. No point in making up a bunch of dry ice just so it can sit in the tank. Hell, it could even explode, once the stuff starts to vaporize. This here tank is airtight, ya see? No place for the pressure to go."
    "So, if someone came in asking to buy say, a couple of pounds of dry ice…" Colleen said.
    Earl Trombley opened a fresh stick of Nicorette gum and popped it in his mouth before answering. "Well, I'd say a couple things. One is that I'm not authorized to sell dry ice to nobody, and I'm sure as hell not gonna give it away, neither. Number two is, even if I said okay to number one, if I pointed this here nozzle into some container, like an ice chest or whatever, the pressure'd slam the damn cooler half way across the room. Can't do it."
    "I take it that nobody's asked you to try," Colleen said.
    "Nope, not once. I'd remember."
    Fenton and