Shame of Clones: A Paranormal Romantic Comedy (Karma Inc. Files Book 3)

by Melanie James

“He never once mentioned an affinity for Egyptian style, only Greek or Roman. It doesn’t make sense,” Ezzy replied.

  “Only one way to find out. Who’s ready for a field trip?” I asked.

  Ezzy glanced around. “It seems it’ll be just the two of us.”

  “Remember what I told you about magic going astray. If you must use magic, limit it to broom travel and potions if possible,” Marie warned. “As you might have guessed, that’s what I’ve been doing around here.”

  I glanced around the room. “If anyone has experience with wayward magic, it’s us. As far as your magic, I don’t see anything too unusual. Unless you mean three hot, nearly naked men who, for some reason, look very familiar. Hmm… just like movie stars, or models. And they seem to wait on your every whim. What’s up with that Marie?”

  “It’s called getting everything you need out of a man without the stress, heartache, and expense. A few years ago I developed these magical cloning kits.” Marie pointed to dozens of wooden cigar boxes stacked in the corner. “The Supreme Council determined cloning mortals to be ‘too self-indulgent’ and ‘a degenerate form of magic which only exploits mortals for the sole purpose of satisfying the depraved lusts of witches.’ To which I say, that was the whole point!”

  I nodded. “I agree, Marie. What’s the fun in being a witch if you can’t whip up a few movie-star clones to be used as domestic help and group sex? Hell, if I wasn’t in a relationship with Gabe, you can bet every weekend would be spent with the Avengers.”

  “Ooh! Magic Mike for me!” Gertie shouted.

  “Pffft. I think it’s more fun the old fashioned way,” Ezzy said. “Throw an enchantment on the actual star and take them home. Turn them loose when you’re finished. You should’ve been there for the week I had with Jim Morrison, Rock Hudson, and Elvis Presley back in ’68. That was when Elvis was still hot, by the way.”

  “Kind of a weird combination, if you ask me,” Randy said.

  “It sounds strange, kind of like corned beef, sauerkraut, and rye bread. You wouldn’t think it would be any good, but once you try it—delicious. Besides, I had those boys so jacked up on magic I was making them do whatever my perverted mind could come up with. They never remembered a thing and turned out just fine.”

  “Did they, Ezzy? Did they? Think about how all three of them ended up. You messed up their lives. My magic cloning kits are the safest alternative.”

  “I think she has a point, Ezzy. So, Marie, how do these cloning kits work? Can you clone anyone? Even a witch?” I asked.

  “You can clone anyone, but they won’t have all the personal traits of the original—especially not any magical powers. It’s a very good thing though. It allows you to fill your clone with any special talents you require. All you need is a single hair or a drop of DNA from the one you want to clone. You place it in the patented magic Mason jar, add the premeasured ingredients, and select the traits by mixing in a drop from the wide assortment of tiny vials. Set the jar in a cool, dark place. In an hour, the jar will crack open. Your clone will grow to full size in minutes.”

  “Great invention, Marie. And it sounds easy. I have to say, it looks like it’s been working out well for you.”

  “What? Are you nuts, Kel?” Randy scoffed, folding his arms across his chest. “It’s a very bad idea, actually. Think about it. What do you do with all your clones? You can’t just set them free. You can’t kill them.”

  “Randy, darling. You doubt me? Relax.” Marie spoke softly, stroking my brother’s cheek with her thumb. “You get to select an expiration date also. When the time’s up, poof! —the clones disappear without a trace.”

  “In that case, may I suggest you give me a few of your cloning kits to try out? It’ll be our little secret, Marie. Please?” Randy begged.

  “Absolutely not. I’d be completely mad to allow you or anyone to play around with this magic, especially in light of what is going on these days. And that goes for all of you.”

  “Duly noted, Marie,” I replied. “If you’ll excuse Ezzy and me, we need to get back to Chicago to find Barney.”

  “Good luck, and be careful. Be sure to interrogate that little imp. I want to know why he hasn’t been answering Ezzy’s messages.”

  “Oh, you can bet your wand he’ll be getting an interrogation,” Ezzy said, slapping her wand down in her open palm. “I don’t take getting blown off lightly, even if it is from a demonic frog.”

  “I have something to add!” Randy raised his hand. “Gertie and I took the liberty of making a phone call to our client, Ann Elrider. I wanted to know if she’d heard anything from her landlords, the Schwanzes. Her line was disconnected. I went to her address and it looks like she’s moved out. When I peeked through the windows, all I saw were stacks of cardboard boxes marked ‘fragile.’ I don’t know if they are the Schwanzes’ belongings, or hers.”

  “Don’t forget all those cases of olive oil,” Gertie chirped. “I bet it’s a clue.”

  Randy flicked his wrist, dismissing her. “Well, I don’t. I bet they were just using those crates to store their personal items.”

  “I guess it doesn’t matter much. If we never hear from Ann Elrider or the Schwanzes ever again, I’m fine with it,” I replied.

  Over the next half hour of chatting amongst our group, I told Ezzy the bad news about Gabe’s temporary assignment as a sex surrogate for the muskox herds in Alaska. After she’d nearly passed out from laughter, she showed actual sympathy for me, which more than made up for the ridicule I endured.

  Chapter Ten

  Where is Barney?

  In a flash Ezzy and I arrived at my apartment. “Okay, Chicago Kid, enlighten me about this museum at the University. Have you been there?”

  “No, but I saw something about it on TV. It was a documentary about hidden architectural treasures in Chicago.” I picked up my remote and went through the titles. “I should have it saved in my DVR.”

  “Dirty Dancing? Grease? Flashdance? Seriously, Kel, what kind of shows are those?”

  “Guilty pleasures. Anyway, here’s the show I was looking for. I’ll skip ahead to the part that showed the university. Unfortunately, it doesn’t show much more than some gargoyles found on the older buildings.”

  “Gargoyles. Nice. No one takes the time to appreciate a good gargoyle anymore,” Ezzy said as we watched the segment.

  One of the gargoyles in the background caught my eye. It was a frog-like creature, clinging to the top of an arched window of a bell tower. “Ezzy, maybe Barney decided he wanted a gargoyle for his new body.”

  “No, he wanted a smoking hot body. Possessing an ugly contorted gargoyle would defeat the entire purpose of changing bodies. Besides, he went looking for a witch that would give him a new body. I think we need to focus on finding out if any witches inhabiting the university would tell us if they’ve seen him. Let’s forget about gargoyles.”

  “The University of Chicago isn’t exactly Hogwarts, you know.” I opened my laptop and looked up the school’s website. “See? Pretty standard academic programs like economics, law, and art. Nothing as exotic as alchemy, necromancy, potion crafting or the like.”

  “Hmm.” Ezzy skimmed over the courses. “Perhaps they do, but it’s called something else. I mean, if I were a rogue witch running an undergraduate witchcraft program for my lackeys, I’d conduct it in a university. I’d just call it something different—like this one, Medieval Studies. I think it’s worth investigating.”

  “Wow, Ezzy. You really think Barney tracked down a rogue evil witch to help him?”

  “He went looking for a ho and never came home. Of course, I think the worst of it. Let’s investigate.”

  “We can’t just walk onto the campus and interrogate the faculty, Ezzy. We need a plan.”

  “Relax. I didn’t work for the Witches Union for all these years and not pick up a few tricks along the way. We’ll go in, undercover, of course. I know some wand magic that’ll reveal any witches we come across.”

  “Sou
nds like a great idea. What do you have in mind for undercover?”

  One corner of Ezzy’s mouth curved up in a mischievous closed-lip smile. She took out her wand and, holding my hand, mumbled a few phrases in Latin. The tip of the wand glowed with increasing intensity until rays of light shot out. Glittery pink, white, and red stars showered over us. As the air around us cleared, I saw our new disguises.

  “Oh. My. God. You cannot be serious, Ezzy!” We were both dressed in the skimpiest, most revealing pink, white and red cheerleader outfits. “What in the hell makes you think this will make us fit in on campus?”

  “This is how the college girls dress in all the movies I’ve seen. You know, blockbusters like Bring it Hard-On or American Creampie. I love all the classics, like Cherry Popper and the Sorcerer’s Schlong, Ghost Thrusters, Cockadile Dundee—even the sequels.”

  “We’re going undercover, not to a frat party.”

  “Fine.” Ezzy repeated the wand spell and our outfits were transformed into coveralls. “We’re now plumbers, or electricians, or some other unexciting trade. But you have to admit, slutty cheerleaders would have one hell of a fun time on campus,” Ezzy said, pulling the zipper down from her collar to the middle of her chest. “You’ll have to just deal with me. I cannot tolerate this sort of censorship.” She adjusted the material to showcase her ample cleavage. “There. Now that’s a plumber’s crack I can live with.”

  “If it helps, you’re the sexist plumber I’ve ever seen, Ezzy. Now let’s get snooping.”

  We arrived across the street from the university’s Oriental Institute Museum. Considering it was the location most likely to have statues that Barney might be interested in, the museum was the ideal place to start. Ezzy was still convinced a witch was behind Barney’s disappearance and for whatever reason, I felt obliged to entertain her crazy idea.

  “All right, Ezzy. Let’s stroll around and find the storage areas. If Barney was here, he would have already looked through the stuff on display. If he’s anywhere, he’s digging through crates of antiquities, hoping to find an ancient Egyptian or Greek statue worthy of bringing to life. He probably got himself trapped in a box or locked in a room.”

  “Doesn’t matter. The little fucker still needs a witch to make it happen.”

  “All right. You get to quiz anyone we come across, Ezzy. If you can prove your evil witch theory, all the better, I suppose.”

  The museum was bigger than I expected. And lonelier. We were the only people in the place. Displays crowded every square foot, representing all the ancient civilizations of the Middle East. Not a single large statue was found on our rounds.

  In the far shadowy corner of one wing was an old cargo elevator.

  “Look, Ezzy! There’s a cargo elevator. You can bet it goes right down to the basement where they store all the really cool stuff. Barney wouldn’t be able to resist snooping around down there. Just remember, if anyone asks why we’re down there, we’re inspecting the plumbing.”

  I don’t know who would be convinced. After all, Ezzy wore high heels and plunging-neckline coveralls. She cat-walked through the museum as if she were on a fashion show runway. I, on the other hand, felt like ten pounds of potatoes stuffed into a five-pound sack. And for some reason I still had on the cheerleader tennis shoes.

  The basement was about what you’d expect to see in an out of the way museum: poorly lit, drab gray walls, and a cold cement floor. Shelving racks held neatly labeled cartons filled with artifacts—the stray remnants left behind by thousands of years of human progress.

  A shuffling sound came from behind a fortress-like wall of cardboard boxes, startling me. “Ezzy, hear that? We’re not alone,” I whispered.

  At the end of the shelving aisle, we squeezed together and stuck our heads out, peering around the corner like Siamese twin detectives. A little old man with thick-framed glasses and a wild head of curly white hair stood in front of a small worktable, intently scrutinizing the contents of a carton.

  “I’ll talk to him,” Ezzy whispered. When Ezzy attempted to step out from behind the corner, disaster struck. Maybe it was because of our awkward leaning stance, or my uncanny ability to trip over thin air, but somehow I fell forward on Ezzy’s back. Ezzy crashed face-first to the floor, with my face pressed against the back of her neck.

  “Christ, Kelly. I know I’m irresistible, but couldn’t you show a little control? Wait until we get home before throwing me down and grinding on me.”

  The man squinted in our direction, and his meek, shaky voice called, “Hello? Pinky? Is that you? I wasn’t expecting you so soon. Please, I need a little more time to find it.” It was obvious the old man couldn’t see us and was expecting someone else.

  We scrambled to our feet and Ezzy nudged me back behind the row of boxes. “I’ve got this,” she whispered. I watched her saunter down the aisle, approaching the old man.

  “Ezzy,” I thought, as I watched her walk away with such a sexy strut. “It’s just like her to use her sex appeal as an interrogation method.” I had to admit, only Ezzy could make a pair of coveralls look totally hot.

  “No, I’m not Pinky. Sorry to disappoint you.”

  “Wha—who… who are you and what are you doing here?” the man asked, backing away from Ezzy like he was her cornered prey.

  “I’m inspecting the pipes down here. This is an interesting place.” Ezzy leaned over the table, giving him a good view of her chest. She poked around the cardboard carton. “And I’m a very curious girl with a lot of questions. Maybe if you help me out I can inspect your pipe too.”

  “Oh dear God,” I groaned under my breath.

  “What should I call you?” Ezzy asked.

  “I’m Professor Eugene Horowitz. But my friends call me Hairy,” he said, patting his enormous white puffball of hair. “I guess you can see why.” Looking more confident, he removed his reading glasses and shuffled back to the table. “So, now that you know who I am, what should I call your breasts?” His mouth had betrayed him and his face turned crimson red. “I… I… meant, um… so, do you inspect a lot of pipes, miss? Or is it, ma’am? Or missus?”

  “Call me, Madame Pipe Inspector.” Her hand swept in front of the fuzzy professor. I had no doubt she’d just placed a little compliance spell on him. “Let me ask you something, have you seen anything strange happening around here?”

  “Strange? I… Well, Madame Pipe Inspector, it’s a pretty quiet place down here. I normally don’t even see another human being. My company lives here, in these boxes.”

  “Ah, non-human beings? Perhaps a giant talking frog?”

  “No, Madame Pipe Inspector. No frogs.”

  “Now listen to me. You never saw me. You never talked to me. You will go back upstairs and not return here until tomorrow.”

  “Yes, Madame Pipe Inspector.”

  “One more thing. You will get a haircut. You look like a human Q-tip.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Campus Clowns

  As soon as Professor Horowitz entered the elevator I came out from my hiding place. “Madame Pipe Inspector? Jesus, Ezzy!”

  “Just having a little fun. Anyway, you heard him. His companions are here in these boxes.”

  “I’m pretty sure he was speaking figuratively. As in, the characters from history and their stories are told by the artifacts in these boxes.”

  “Ah, I suppose you’re right, Kelly. He seemed like a real nerd.”

  “Oh come on, Madame Pipe Inspector. I think it’s kind of romantic, actually.”

  “Real or imaginary, he hasn’t seen any frogs down in this dungeon. And it’s not exactly a hive of collegiate witchcraft study either. I’d say it’s time we explore more of the campus.”

  “All right. If you were a horny, perverted demon frog, where on campus would you be?”

  “A sorority house,” Ezzy replied.

  “That sounds probable. Another place would be wherever a woman’s sports team practices—a gym or a pool. You know what a peeping tom he is.
But, considering my original thought on the matter, I think we should look at the gargoyles. Maybe he’s up on the roofs, looking for one he can relate to. Who knows what goes on in that little brain of his?”

  Ezzy and I left the museum and strolled the pathways between the buildings, studying the architecture of the gargoyles.

  “Strange,” I noted, pointing at a window of a bell tower. “I remember this from the documentary. See that archway above the window? I know that was the exact place they showed a gargoyle, and it looked a lot like a frog to me.”

  “Looks like someone broke it from its base. There’s nothing there now but cracked mortar.”

  I shrugged. “I guess we can only assume the documentary was made long before the gargoyle fell off.”

  “We have nothing to go on. I don’t think Barney is here at all. I’m not feeling his presence. To be honest, that’s the feeling I’ve been hoping to sense the whole time. We’re wasting our time here.”

  “But we know he’s here! Remember what we learned from Marie’s magic box?”

  “Right.” Ezzy took a small statuette of a robed figure from her pocket. “I lifted this little beauty from Professor Q-tip’s cardboard treasure chest.”

  “What is it? It looks like one of the plastic dashboard Jesus things my grandmother has in her car.”

  “Oh, it’s not that. Quite the opposite. We’re going back to your place to study it. I’ve got my suspicions.”

  “Hold on, Ezzy. There’s a groundskeeper.” I pointed to a grizzle-faced old man lugging a leaf blower. “Excuse me, sir,” I called out.

  He looked up and closed his eyes. “I asked for some help and you send me these? Another sexual harassment case on deck.”

  “Sir? Do you have a minute?”

  “I might as well let it happen. I’m not going to be able to stop myself,” he mumbled. “Here I am, love. Now what are your other two wishes?”

  “Good one. I’ll have to remember that line,” Ezzy said.

  “Do you remember seeing a gargoyle up in that bell tower recently?” I asked.