License Invoked (17 page)

Liz held out the white cloth in the air by its center, and began to chant, drawing power from the earth as she went. It would take a lot of Earth power to take Fee away from the Air element that had claimed her. With a swift glance at the people around her, she lowered her voice to a mutter for the last words of the spell. With the final word, she dropped the cloth to the ground. Fee stopped spinning so suddenly she staggered.

“Thank heavens,” Fionna said, swallowing. “Now, I—”

But whatever had Fee in its grasp was not through with her yet. The spinning began again, faster than before. Alarmed, Liz picked up the cloth and dropped it again and again. No response. Fionna became a green and white blur that lifted into the air. In a moment she'd bump into the Jumbotron. The enormous magical power building in the Superdome was not to be quelled by a simple dampening spell.

The band and crew were taken completely by surprise. Even the imperturbable Michael stood gawking up at Fionna with his mouth hanging open. Even as she worked to quell it, Liz was dismayed. Spinning she could explain away. An exploding poster turning into party favors could be put down to natural causes. Even it bursting into flames had the potential to be excused under the circumstances. The manifestation of a flying dervish appearing in a public location was going to be much harder to excuse as not being supernatural.

Liz thought for a moment of making everyone clear the building. Unless they did, their secret was out. She and Beauray would have to employ their government-issue spell paraphernalia in full view of the public. But she mustn't wait. One look at Fionna's nauseous face told her that in a moment the star was going to be very sick, and she'd never forgive Liz if she spewed her guts out in front of a crowd of dozens. The agents couldn't wait, either. The huge reserve of power growing almost directly under their feet threatened to blow, and Fionna herself had lit the match.

Telling herself it couldn't be helped, Liz scrabbled deep in her bag for components to cast the biggest dissipation spell she had at her disposal. Clear the air, and perhaps they could get to the bottom of this whole disturbance. There was the candle and the lighter. Good. The incense was in a secret compartment of her powder compact, hidden from the view of casual observers. Where was the athame? Oh, why did just the thing one needed most always end up in the remotest corner of one's handbag? A sharp point pricked her finger. Ah, there it was. Heedless of the pain, Liz pulled out the pink aluminum knitting needle that served her as a working tool for invocation and dissipation. A standard athame was forbidden on commercial aircraft and tended to excite commentary on London streets. The needle was a reasonably good substitute. No one ever said boo to a knitter.

“Mr. Ringwall isn't going to like this,” she said. Peevishly she thrust the candle at Boo-Boo, lit the wick and handed him a pinch of incense.

“My superiors won't like it much, either,” Boo-Boo admitted. “But only if we don't succeed. It can't be helped. Ms. Fionna's goin' to rise right through the roof in a moment. C'mon, positive attitude, Liz!”

“It's all very well for you to say so,” Liz grumbled. “You Americans like the spotlight.” Liz held the knitting needle over her head in casting position, pointed toward Fionna. She hesitated, conscious of every eye on her. Chin up, Mayfield, she told herself. No time for stage fright. Straightening her back, she began the incantation.

“I call the whirling winds to cease, depart from her, from us, in peace,” Liz said, putting as much force into her words as she could. Boo-Boo held up the candle. The wind whipping Fionna around flattened the flame, threatening to extinguish it. He shielded it with his hand while trying to keep the pinch of incense between his fingers from igniting too soon. “To calm the raging winds that spin . . . oh, drat, I can't think of the next line!”

“Go out from here as you came in.” Boo really did know her grimoire, Liz realized. The Yanks certainly had their sources in her department.

Together they chanted the old spell. Liz tossed the incense into the flame, and put every erg of Earth power she had into concentrating on bringing Fee down.

With a whoosh! a cloud issued forth from the flame, enveloping the stage, people and all. She could feel Boo's influence alongside hers, aiding and strengthening. He really did know his stuff. Whatever they were fighting was stronger than she could have taken on alone. Melding their talents, they had enough power to do what had to be done.

Liz hoped the non-initiates hadn't heard precisely what they were saying. She'd have to put a forgetting on them later. It was a harmless technique that worked very specifically on the memory of words in certain combinations. A technique that OOPSI had originated that would be of great use to MI-5 and MI-6, except that they didn't believe in it. OOPSI barely believed in it themselves. On the other hand, a trained magical technician would be required, and one might not always be available in those pinches. Liz had seen the budget, and knew there was no funding for training.

Fionna sank toward the floor. The spin slowed gradually until when her feet touched down she was facing the agents. Lloyd was there to catch her. He held her tight.

Liz glanced at the half-burned trash around their feet. There was some power left over after casting the spell, power that ought to be used up before it joined the well of fierce magic that underlay everything here. She muttered a cleaning cantrip that gathered all the papers together in a tidy heap on the side of the stage. So she might get in trouble with the unions. It was a small price to pay.

Lloyd came toward them, white-faced, clutching Fee around her waist.

“I've never seen anything like that in my life. You . . . she . . . you . . . I don't even know what happened!”

“We helped,” Liz said simply. “That's our job.”

“I didn't know the government could do anything like that!” he exclaimed. “I apologize for having doubted. I didn't know!”

“Quite all right,” Liz said. “I hope you'll continue to accept our assistance.”

“In a minute! Cor, with you there's nothing that can touch her!”

Liz smiled. She liked the newly-cooperative Lloyd. He was a professional, after all, and his main job was to keep Fee safe. It had to be frustrating to him that he couldn't. He was genuinely glad to discover that Liz and Boo-Boo would be of some use after all.

Liz had been so intent on her work that she never thought what would be the immediate reaction from the rest of Fee's people. She glanced around. Everyone seemed frozen in place, staring at Fionna and the heap of confetti. As her eye fell on a handful of the roadies, they flinched and started running for the door. Liz sighed.

The drummer came up to them with his eyes wide.

“That was awesome, man,” Voe said, impressed, “but your lyrics suck!”

“We've got to follow it just the way we learned it,” Boo-Boo said, apologetically.

“Bummer.”

The others ranged from fearful to openly admiring. Liz was pleased and embarrassed by the fact that the Guitarchangel was one of the latter. He wanted to know all about it.

“Would you like to sit down some time and have a talk?” he asked eagerly. “About the parts you can talk about, that is.” From his careful phrasing Liz understood that he did know something about real magic. He regarded her with shining eyes.

“I would love to,” she said, feeling as though she could purr, in spite of the danger of the situation, “but right now we must concentrate on Fionna. Now that we know who is at the bottom of these attacks, I think we can work with her and solve the problem.”

“Who?” Fionna demanded.

“It's Ms. Robbie,” Boo-Boo said. “She's the source of the disruption. She doesn't mean to be, but she is. Liz and I intend to go up and have a little talk with her.”

“That bitch?” Nigel Peters asked, in surprise, walking up onto the stage. “I fired her.”

Liz and Boo-Boo shared a brief, horrified glance. “That was not a good idea,” Boo-Boo said. The two agents hurried out, heading for the control room.

Nigel Peters looked around at the circle of shocked faces, then at the ruin of the burned poster on the ground. “Say, what just went on down here?”

* * *

“What happened?” Nigel asked, jogging to keep up with the two agents.

“You must be the only one who didn't see it,” Boo-Boo said, over his shoulder, his pleasant face perfectly serious for once. “In a way, you're the one who lit the match. Y'all have just been treated to an exhibition of a sorta grownup poltergeist. Ms. Robbie's too afraid of Ms. Fionna to snap back at her in person the way she'd like to, so she's been manifesting it in a different way.”

“Let's just hope she won't go up like a rocket now that there's nothing left for her to lose,” Liz said. Fear was closing in like a cold hand clenching her stomach.

Her dread was justified. The special effects station was empty.

“Where is she?” Liz asked. The technical director, Gary Lowe, had half a dozen people with clipboards around him. He glanced up, then back at his notes. He had to try to rearrange the show without special effects, with only three hours to go.

Sheila Parker detached herself from the group to come over to them, looking apologetic for her previous smirk.

“Gone,” Sheila said.

“When?” Liz demanded.

“Almost right away. After Fionna left, Nigel stayed here,” she said, with a guilty glance at the manager. “He pulled Robbie over into a corner so the rest of us couldn't hear, but we all knew what was coming. She was pale as a ghost. The conversation started out quiet, anyhow. Then the two of them started screaming at each other. Gary said something like, hey look down there! We all started watching the stuff going on on stage. I kind of got distracted,” Sheila added, embarrassed, “but I heard Nigel say, you're fired. Robbie was crying. As soon as he stamped out of here, she took off. Was any of that stuff real?” Sheila asked, with interest, looking from her to Boo-Boo. “We were trying to guess how it was done. It was really cool.”

“This is a disaster,” Liz said, turning to the others. “If she had stayed we could have contained her. Now she's on the loose.”

“Sorry,” Nigel said. “I didn't know. I believe, you know that, but Robbie Unterburger, of all people! Who'd figure a sad creature like her for a sorceress or a telekinetic? She was screwing up so much I thought it'd be less trouble if she was gone.”

The agents looked at one another.

“We'd better find her,” Boo-Boo said. Leaving Nigel Peters fretting, they made for the exit.

“Where are you going?” Lowe asked Ken Lewis. The lighting director had risen from his station and was heading for the door of the control room. “We've got to keep on with this miserable rehearsal.”

“I've got to make a call,” Ken said, very casually. He didn't even bother to take his headset off, just unplugged it from the console. “Family emergency.”

Lowe narrowed an eye at him. “You'd better not be calling the press,” he said.

Ken held up his hand in a Boy Scout pledge. “I solemnly swear this is not going to be a call to a reporter or anyone who will call one.”

“All right, then,” Lowe said, not mollified. “Hurry up and get back—”

Ken didn't wait to hear the rest of Lowe's speech. Keeping an eye on the tiny screen of his cell telephone, he walked until he got an indication for a clear signal. Hitting the memory redial, he fidgeted uncomfortably until the call was answered on the other end.

“SATN-TV,” the voice of the receptionist said brightly.

“I've got to talk with Mr. Kingston,” Ken said. He drummed his fingers on the wall, then glanced around to make sure no one was overhearing him. “Mr. Kingston, we have a problem.”

* * *

Augustus Kingston listened intently. His mystery employee had been channeling the energy SATN was sending via satellite transmission lines through their conduit to see the results. They'd been spectacular, but not exactly what they wanted. “I was just trying a few little tricks during the rehearsal, to make sure it would all work tonight, and the girl went out of control. She was too nervous, and there were other things going on . . .”

“Cut to the chase, young man or young woman, whatever you are. Let's hear the worst.”

Ken chose his words carefully. He didn't want to explain the love triangle. He knew that the boss he'd never met wouldn't care about the emotional entanglement or the jealousy.

In retrospect, once he'd become aware of those issues, maybe he should have realized Robbie Unterburger hadn't been the best choice for the job. It had been just too tempting to take advantage of such a natural magical channel. She'd responded so well when not under personal attack, but the moment she drew attention to herself, she became flustered, and hit out with everything she had, including SATN's precious power storage. Ken had been lazy, and he was paying for it.

“ . . . Between one thing and another, it was more than I should have made her handle before the big moment.”

“Well, what's done is done,” Kingston said, calmly. “There's not much time left. My, er, friend assured me you could handle the job. There's a lot riding on it. Bring that girl back and make this work.”

“She's split,” Ken said, sullenly. “She's vanished into the city.”

“You find her and bring her back. I thought you had a leash on her.”

“I do,” Ken said, sullenly. He wasn't used to having his competence questioned, but he had to admit Kingston had reason to be upset. “I have a tracer that picks up the energy she emits. It's an electronic dowser.” He took the device out of his pocket. It looked high tech except for the Y-shaped piece of wood attached to the top. He'd made it himself. New technology, not like his dad's old means of water-witching with a plain hazel switch.

“Well, I don't care if it's a sign that says `You are here.' Use it. A lot depends on this working out right. Go on! Go get her!”

“What about those agents?” Ken asked.

“That matter's taken care of,” Kingston said. “Didn't I tell you? Now, call me when everything's back in place.” There was a click at the far end as the other man hung up.

Irritated, Ken switched off his phone. He looked back toward the control room, then past it to the door of the press box where the transmission lines into which he'd tapped ran into the building. His connections were still open. He ought to close them, or the evil power transmitted from SATN that acted as a catalyst for Robbie's outbursts would continue to leak into the arena like gas. Little might be left over for the concert itself. The event was still hours away. Torn, he wondered whether he should go back or head out after Robbie. Suddenly, he heard the control room door open, and footsteps clap on the concrete walkway.

“ . . . Better see where Ken is,” said the technical director's voice.

Ken started running for the escalators.

* * *

“Hey, Ben,” Boo-Boo hailed a gray-haired black man in a guard's uniform standing at the guard station on the ground level. “You see a little thing go by, brown hair and glasses? She woulda been in a little bit of a hurry.”

“Yeah, I saw her, Boo-ray,” Ben said. He exchanged complicated handshakes with the FBI agent. “She flew out of here in a big hurry. Came out of the main door and practically jumped down the escalators.”

“She get a taxi?”

“Nah, she just went right straight out of here on foot,” Ben said, pointing. “Crossed Poydras without lookin', and kept on moving. Looked like she was preoccupied, I'd say.”

“Thanks, Ben. I'll be seeing you.” Boo-Boo looked worried as he took Liz's elbow and hurried her out the door.

“What's wrong?” Liz asked.

“She's on foot. I'm guessin' she's gonna try to get back to the French Quarter,” Boo-Boo said. “She doesn't know where she's goin'. It's that way, but that's not the best neighborhood. It's got some lonely stretches, where nobody sees nothin', if you understand me. Most people don't go walkin' through it alone. A stranger, walkin' fast, not payin' attention to her surroundin's, is just askin' for problems.”

Liz's eyes widened. “We'd better catch up with her.”

* * *

Two shadows peeled themselves away from the side of the Superdome, and fell into step a dozen yards behind Boo and Liz.

Liz held out the psychic detector that she carried with her in her purse disguised as a box of breath mints. The faint traces of energy that she could find on the sidewalk opposite the Superdome verified the security guard's statement that Robbie had come this way, broadcasting a blue streak, so to speak. The girl had been moving fast, but still left behind a distinct trail. Liz shook her head at her own blindness.

“How could we have missed seeing the obvious? Robbie has had a longstanding grudge against Fionna, and she must have been with the company while it was in Dublin, the scene of our other agent's attack.”

“One or two things are still botherin' me,” Boo-Boo said, after exchanging a word with an old man eating a late lunch on a park bench. “Robbie Unterburger doesn't strike me as the kind of person who would take out the kind of revenge on a rival that she's been wreaking. In fact, she seemed kind of freaked out by the effects. And yet, there don't seem to be any doubt that she's the source.”

“Could we be witnessing the birth of a rogue talent?” Liz asked. She'd read of such things in the departmental archives. Mass destruction often accompanied the emergence. Not that the reports lent any credence to the occurrences, citing instead natural catastrophes such as lightning storms and earthquakes.

“That'd be one good thing that came out of this situation,” Boo-Boo said. “That is, if we can catch up with her before she hurts herself or someone else too much just to be able to walk away. We could get her some trainin', anyhow.”

“It's not personal,” Liz said. Beauray glanced back at her with his brows drawn up in a question. “I have the strongest feeling that Robbie still doesn't really want to hurt Fee. With the amount of power she's slinging, she could have killed Fee any time. That gigantic poster might have come down in a single piece, but she caused it to explode into little paper flakes. She doesn't mean any harm. She's venting frustration, or so it seems to me. She just can't control herself.”

“That amount of power in an untrained practitioner just didn't seem natural,” Boo said. “I've been thinkin' about it myself. We woulda detected it if that girl was buildin' it all up inside herself. You get some spillover even in experienced people. It's almost as if she was channelin' it from somewhere. I'm more curious about that. Where's it comin' from?”

“We won't know until we catch up with her,” Liz said, grimly. “So far, she's managed to blend in far too well. She could stay hidden until it is too late.”

“Not really,” Boo said, encouragingly. “This is the Vieux Carré. It's a community. We're aware of strangers. Someone will know where she went.”

In reference to strangers, Liz had taken note of a couple of large, muscular men walking behind them on the other side of the street. Wearing the usual working uniform of button-down shirts and twill pants, they could have been a couple of bouncers on their way to work, or a pair of musicians going anywhere, but she noticed that they kept pace with her and Beauray, although taking care to remain at least a dozen yards behind them. They turned when she turned, crossing the nearly deserted street in the middle of the block to follow them along a narrow street that ran parallel to Rampart. Once they crossed Canal into a rundown street that led between a huge yellow brick building with boarded up windows and an empty lot, it became an undeniable fact that the two men were following them with a purpose in mind. A glance at her companion told her that he had noticed them, too. His hands, deep in the pockets of his ratty coat, were working.

Liz paused very casually to dig into her handbag, coming up with a handkerchief under which she concealed one of her government-issue containers. As though she was freshening up her lipstick, she unscrewed the small vial and dribbled a little of the powder into her palm. The men had no choice but to saunter slower, and pretend to study the elderly brick building. As they came within a few yards, Liz put her handkerchief to her nose and blew a few grains of the dust toward them. The grains, part of a sensing cantrip she had learned in her first year at the department, revealed no magic in particular about their pursuers. Ordinary common-or-garden thugs. Well, she'd heard there was street crime in New Orleans. She should be prepared. And she was not alone. That was good. She started walking again, faster. The two men behind them picked up the pace, too.

As they neared the center of the lonely street, she readied the chamomile-and-gunpowder mixture that would stun or knock out an attacker.

What she couldn't have foreseen was that there were four of them. The other two heavies were waiting at the head of the narrow street where it came to a dead end. As Liz and Boo-Boo came within a few paces of the cross street ahead, they stepped out from the brick doorway where they had been concealed.

The surprise nearly spoiled her aim, but Liz reminded herself the British Secret Service was made of tougher stuff than street muggers. With amazing clarity of mind that surprised even her, she turned and lobbed the sandy mixture at the large man farther to the right. A flash of light erupted from Boo-Boo's hands, hitting the left-hand pursuer square in the chest. Both ruffians went flying several feet.

“Have you got any more of those?” Liz asked. He grabbed her arm and started to hustle her back the way they had come.

“'Fraid not, Liz,” Boo said.

“Pity.” They started running.

The second pair, seeing their quarry escaping, put on a burst of speed and ran after them. The first two had not been knocked completely unconscious. Liz dodged around the first one, who lay partly across the cracked sidewalk. He made a grab for her ankles. In evading his grasp, she nearly tripped over the second thug, who was on his hands and knees, shaking his head like a stunned steer. He wrapped an arm around her leg and hung on. Liz let out a squawk. Time to see if those unarmed combat lessons she had paid for had done her any good.

Boo-Boo, who had made it nearly all the way back to Canal, turned at the strangled sound. Liz was now surrounded by all four of the ruffians. One of them had snatched her purse and held it away from her, while two of the others grabbed her arms. The third one hovered over her menacingly, drawing back a fist. Boo-Boo ran back to help her, but arrived just half a second too late. In the blink of an eye, Liz squirmed loose from one man, kneed another soundly in the crotch, and was chanting with intent as her free hand worked in a hazy pattern Boo-Boo recognized as a confusion spell. She was pretty good, now that he had to admit it. The trouble was that her attention was divided between more than one person. Even if she succeeded in clouding the mind of one man, the other two would still be threats.

He circled the tableau, wondering where to jump in. Liz'd done an admirable job of getting herself out of a jam, but she wasn't free yet. The three men feinted toward her, trying to catch her off balance by drawing her attention. She hadn't much time before she had to cast her spell or let it fade. The fourth man had gotten over the radiating pain and was climbing up from the ground, angrier than ever. Though he would have been curious to see how his efficient British counterpart would handle the situation, it was time to intervene.

Boo pulled a bag of dust out of his pocket. With only a cursory glance to make sure it was the right one, he slammed it down on the ground in the midst of the group. Billows of noxious green rose around the group. They wailed miserably, clawing at their faces and one another. Boo-Boo felt a twinge of guilt. He hated to use that stuff because of what it did to people—the residual effect gave them nightmares for days, sometimes as much as years after exposure—but it was really effective. It was comprised largely of graveyard dust and bile, but it had half a hundred other ingredients. One man cried out in alarm and struck out with a fist, smacking his nearest comrade in the ear. The man he struck responded with a wild yell and began flailing with both arms, dropping Liz's purse. Things were getting just a little too dangerous in there.

Pulling the lapel of his ragged jacket over his mouth and nose, Boo-Boo reached into the roiling green smoke and pulled Liz free. He helped her over to lean against the wall of the derelict department store while she coughed the powder out of her lungs.

Chanting the counterspell in a whisper so it would only affect her, he kept an eye on the four men while she recovered her sanity.

“What was that?” Liz demanded, coughing.