“And ye didn't do a thing except stand back here and wave yer arms,” Fionna complained. “We're the ones who did all the real work. Look at me! I had to sing all me numbers hangin' in the air like the week's washin'! And I didn't get to wear all my costumes!”
Chapter 18
“Ken Lewis was your problem all along,” Liz told Nigel Peters the next morning in the private corner of the Mystic Bar as they waited for the rest of the company to come down for a belated brunch feast. “He'd been using Robbie as a power conduit to attack Fionna. All the things Fee told you about scratches appearing on her skin and unexpected knocks were true.”
“I feel awful not believing Fee,” Nigel said, running nervous fingers through his thinning hair. “It's just not the sort of thing you run into every day.”
“You were right to be skeptical,” Boo-Boo said, in his easy way. “It's not an everyday thing. But once the attacks started comin' in public, he didn't have much of a chance of escapin' notice.”
“Lewis was trying things out, working toward the grand climax of this concert, when the main attack would come,” Liz said, seriously. “I believe he really meant to kill Fionna. Robbie was unaware of his true intentions, or she wouldn't have gone along with it. She's not evil, she's just . . .”
“In love,” Nigel said, sighing deeply. “I know. It's totally hopeless. Everyone can see it, poor kid, but Lloyd's got enough sense to stay where his bread's buttered.”
“It's none of my business,” Liz interrupted, “but there are real feelings between them. I was . . . rather in a position to know, last evening.”
“I guess you were,” Nigel said, a little uncomfortably. “Er, how long did Ken have Robbie, er . . .”
“Under his spell?” Boo asked, with a smile. “Most likely's been movin' in on her since he started workin' for you. Lots of your people thought he had it bad for the young lady. His interests in her were purely unaltruistic.”
“How do we . . . uh,” Nigel's voice dropped to a confidential undertone as he drew the agents aside for a moment, “how do we keep this from happening again? I gave Robbie her job back, but what you were nattering on about this Law of Contagion . . . She hasn't got anything that's catching, has she?”
Liz and Boo exchanged glances.
“Not precisely,” Liz said. “But it won't happen again. We've seen to that.”
And so they had. Boo-Boo had dragged an exhausted Liz to a little store in a dark street to get the materials they needed for a protective amulet to prevent her from being taken over by malign influences ever again. Both agents were impressed and worried by the different levels of spells they had to delve through when clearing her aura. Robbie was fairly well disenchanted herself, with Ken Lewis, Lloyd Preston, and men in general. For the time being. She might not be vulnerable to love for a while, but she was a vulnerable young woman.
“We have amulets for the entire company,” Liz said, indicating a pile of Carnival bead necklaces. “Just to make certain such attacks cannot come through another conduit.”
“Here,” Boo-Boo said, handing Nigel a string of garish, metallic blue beads, which the manager accepted with a nervous laugh. “This one's for you.”
“A little bright, isn't it?”
“The more garish the better,” Boo-Boo pointed out, “to scare away bad spirits, y'know.”
As the members of the company filed sleepily into the bar on the way to the dining room, Boo-Boo stepped forward to loop a necklace over each of their heads. Liz handed him fresh ones as each new person arrived.
“Souvenir of N'Awlins,” he said, pleasantly. “What we call a lagniappe, a little somethin' extra. Enjoy.”
“Hey, thanks, man,” most of them said.
“Is this extra special?” Laura Manning asked, with a wicked glint at Boo-Boo as he placed a bright gold necklace around her neck that went well with her dark skin.
He grinned at her. “Y'all might say so.” She leaned over and kissed him.
Liz had an armload of protective necklaces in every color imaginable for Fionna to wear with every outfit. When the star finally arrived, Boo-Boo lavished amulets on her until the exhausted star looked like a carnival float. Liz held back a couple of the leftovers to take home to HQ for analysis. It never hurt to have more examples of protective magic in the grimoire.
“You're all safe now,” Liz assured Nigel.
“At least from an attack like that one,” Boo-Boo said, genially. Nigel didn't look reassured by Boo-Boo's qualified promise.
“But how did Lewis get a nice girl like Robbie to work for him?” he asked.
Liz looked grim. “She believed that Ken was doing magical work on her behalf, ostensibly to help her gain Lloyd's love. She didn't catch on as to why she wasn't winning her man. She put it down to Fionna's stronger magic. Frustration was why her power levels could build so high.”
“That wasn't all her, y'know,” Boo-Boo pointed out. “She was gettin' a power feed from somewhere else. An untrained practitioner like herself couldn't generate that much without bein' detected. That was why it took us so long to figure out it was her. Now, she'll just have to work out her love troubles in some other way. She might still be jealous of Ms. Fionna, but she won't be wired into a negative-energy pool any more by an unscrupulous bastard like him, y'all will excuse the language.”
“Poor kid,” Nigel said. “But what was it all for?”
“Power,” Liz said. “Eighty thousand bodies' worth. When you have that many like-minded people in a room, they generate psychic energy that can be tapped by someone who knows what he's doing.”
“Like radiation?”
“Sort of,” said Boo-Boo. “Ken had a hookup to a satellite receiver feedin' into the control room, wired to Robbie's chair. Since the energy had touched her once, it would continue to have an effect on her. It was attached to the transmission lines in the press room, right next to the control room. We were in there, and never connected what was happenin' to what we were lookin' at.”
“This is still too fantastic for me,” Nigel said, shaking his head. “Dark sorcery, beamed here via modern technology. And we'll never know who was behind all this, huh?”
Liz held her tongue. Boo-Boo had kindly shared with her the early-morning report of the very bizarre destruction of a television station in the northwestern United States. The agent, a stringer named Ed Cielinski, reported that some new equipment installed at SATN-TV that gave off evil vibrations had been acting oddly over the last few days. Some time after he'd gone off duty the night before, the whole place was trashed, like a rock group's hotel room. His employer was discovered sitting on the floor in the middle of the ruins muttering to himself. So far as he knew no one had been hurt, but the place was a mess. The department was investigating, and would share its results with OOPSI.
“I'm afraid not,” Liz said at last.
“I had no idea we were harboring a dangerous criminal,” Nigel Peters said, shaking his head. “We were lucky he didn't turn up for the concert itself.”
“He did almost as much damage by remote control as he would have if he was right there,” Boo-Boo said.
“You can say that again!” said Gary Lowe, coming over to hand Nigel a drink. “We had everything planned to work without Robbie's effects, and he went and bollixed it all up by vanishing. It's a good thing I know how to run a light board, or the whole thing would have come off in darkness.”
“In more ways than one,” Boo-Boo said.
Gary Lowe gave him a puzzled frown. “Well, it made my job twice as hard, doing that along with overseeing everything else.”
“The concert was wonderful,” Liz assured him.
“Thanks. One vote of confidence, anyhow.”
“Well, I've fired Lewis in absentia,” Nigel Peters said. “He'll never work in the industry again.”
“You can't really tell future employers why,” Liz said. “This matter is now covered by the Official Secrets Act.”
Nigel gave her his nervous smi
le. “In this biz, honey, all I have to do is say he's too weird. I don't have to explain myself.”
“That's mighty convenient,” Boo-Boo said. “Weirdness covers a wide range of sins, don't it?” He felt through his pockets and came up with a grubby square of pasteboard. “If he does turn up at all while you're in the United States, call my department.”
Nigel took it with gingerly fingers. Liz produced a card of her own, pristine white and snapped it into the manager's palm. “The same goes for our territories and the EU,” she said. “He's a wanted man, now. On both sides of the ocean.”
The others in the bar were discussing the concert, sharing their impressions of how things had gone. Instead of being frightened from having been in the presence of incomprehensible magic, the roadies and members of the band had taken it all in their stride. Some of them seemed honored that it had happened to them, their band. Liz marveled at the elasticity of human nature. Of course, Boo-Boo had had a lot to do with it. He'd jumped right into the thick of the conversation, making jokes.
“I wish it would happen all over again,” one of the stagehands exclaimed.
He was shouted down by his fellows. “Oh, no, you don't!” Robbie Unterburger insisted.
The special effects technician had come out of her experience feeling as though she'd had her aura washed. Refreshed after a night's sleep and a good detoxification treatment by Liz and Boo-Boo, she looked prettier and happier than Liz had yet seen her. She was transformed, laughing and joking with her peers.
“Oh, you were a lot of help, taking off like that,” the others teased her. Nigel had been purposely vague in describing Robbie's part in the magical attack to the others. “You didn't see what happened.”
“There's seven cities left on the tour,” Robbie said, defending herself. “I dreamed up some new effects that will knock your socks off.”
“We're not so sure we want to hear about your dreams,” Hugh Banks said. “We've seen what your nightmares look like.”
“So that's that, now,” Fionna said, appearing at Liz's shoulder. Fee had deep circles under her eyes carefully covered by concealer stick. The green in her close-clipped hair had been freshly touched up to enhance the vivid makeup job on her face. Liz wondered if Laura Manning had gotten any sleep at all.
“Yes,” Liz said, turning to her familiarly. “I'm glad we could help.”
“Thank the good Lord it's all over,” Fee said, gulping a drink that Lloyd brought to her. “Well, you'll be going now. No need for you to stay.”
“That's right,” Liz said. “Straight back to London. My orders came this morning. My employer is pleased that we were able to isolate the threat so quickly.”
“After all, you were just doing your job,” Fionna said.
Liz schooled her face not to show her astonishment. The ungrateful wretch couldn't bring herself to say thank you. That was the least she could do. Liz guessed she was still embarrassed that Daddy had called in her old school chum to pull her very public fat out of a particularly strange fire.
“It was a splendid concert,” Patrick Jones said, jumping in. He'd been eavesdropping, and was clearly embarrassed by Fionna's gracelessness. “You should see the reviews. We're all very happy.”
“Well, we're going in to breakfast, now,” Fionna said, swinging away on her heel. Liz made as if to follow her. Fionna stopped short and looked down at Liz with disdain. “It's a private party,” she said pointedly. “You can go now.”
Furious, Liz withdrew without a word. She had thought after all their hard work Green Fire might at least invite them to breakfast. She watched Lloyd open the door at the rear of the bar. Fionna sashayed through it without looking back, leaving Liz smarting.
Oh, well, Liz thought, trying to be philosophical about the situation. Fionna Phoebe Kenmare Kendale was safe and well. After all, wasn't that why she had come in the first place? She was a government agent. She received a paycheck. She shouldn't expect rewards.
She wasn't doing a very good job of convincing herself. Of all the miserable females who ever walked the earth, Phoebe Kendale took the biscuit.
“Don't worry,” Boo said, coming up beside her and touching her arm. “I've got somethin' better for you.” He tilted his head toward the door. They left the rest of the band exulting in their successful appearance.
But they did not escape unobserved. The sharp eyes of Michael Scott spotted them as they were about to leave. The slim figure rose from its place among the others, and followed them into the lobby.
“Wait,” he called out to them. Liz stopped, hopeful. Michael strode to catch up. He smiled at them.
“That group of ingrates won't say thanks, but I will. You were, well, marvelous. Miraculous, really.”
“All part of the job, sir,” Liz said, briskly. She was still a little hurt by Fee's indifference.
“No more of the `sir,' please, Liz,” he said, with the little smile she adored. The golden lights in the lobby lit up his hair like a halo. “It's Michael to you, now and forever. Fee may be a tough bird to handle—and I'm dyin' to know how you know so much about her—but we love her. She's special. You've done good work, both of you.”
“Thanks,” Boo-Boo said. “Happy to have been of service.”
“Give me your cards. You're both welcome at any of our concerts whenever we pass through. If you can still stand us, that is.”
“Of course I can,” Liz said, in love with him all over again. “I didn't get to appreciate this one properly.”
“If it wasn't for you, it wouldn't have happened at all,” Michael said firmly. “I might not still be here to thank you. Perhaps one day we can sit down and talk about what happened—what really happened. I'll be getting back now. God bless.” He bent and gave Liz a kiss on the cheek, shook hands with Boo. He slipped away again into the bar. A little of the light seemed to go out of the room with him.
Liz sighed. Well, perhaps there were a few rewards for virtuous agents.
* * *
Augustus Kingston shuffled disconsolately through the ruins of Studio A. The girders were still in place, but the acoustic ceiling tiles had cascaded down in pieces all over the floor. His beautiful television station had been destroyed, along with his plans for world domination.
It had looked for a while as though his place in the Council was assured. When the members had arrived, dressed in their red silk robes over thousand-dollar power suits, he'd had the stage set for success. He'd been proud of his attention to detail. The altar was the same one they used for the afternoon talk show. The thirteen black candles in holders made from the skulls of small animals were cast of human tallow. Everything had been just right. He was ready to catch the whole ceremony on videotape.
There they'd stood, waiting for the chosen hour. Kingston had quivered with anticipation under his postulant's robe of red-dyed camel hair. The needle on the special receiver rose higher and higher until it pinned on the right side of the meter. Then the power came pouring into the studio.
The Council members expected to be bathed in glory, but it was more like standing in a meteor shower. Sparks shot everywhere, setting fire to his precious props: the altar, the black silk hangings, the posters, and worst of all, the gauge that told them how much money the ongoing telethon had raised for Satan. He remembered the disbelief on their faces as they could smell the sticky, gooey love wrapping around the rush of power, three times as much as they expected. Howling, the men batted at their arms and robes in disgust, unable to bear the purity. The love and happiness were overwhelming. The men, powerful black magicians in their own right, started spinning in circles, unable to stop. Some of them floated up to the ceiling, pursued by animals made of brilliant colored light. The Council was getting their power, all right, but not an erg of it could be used for evildoing.
Kingston tried to turn the receiver off, but he couldn't get near it for the force of the energy flow. The grand master had ordered the members to channel all their black sorcery into it, to try and get a hold of
the wild magic and send it away. The transmitter had overloaded. Sparks began to shoot out of its base, then it rocketed through the roof. The rest fell in on them. The power burned up everything in the studio, followed by a rush of water power that drenched the ashes. All the equipment in the place just overloaded on goodness. One by one the cameras blew. Kingston himself had narrowly escaped being riveted in the gut by a 70mm zoom lens that went through the wall into the lobby.
Within minutes, it was all over. Without saying a word, the Council, covered in confetti, crumbled acoustical tile and broken glass, had filed out into the night. The last to leave had been Eldredge Mooney. He'd given Kingston a look that could have killed.
After seeing the morning national news Kingston almost wished it had. Fionna Kenmare was completely unharmed. Nothing out of the ordinary seemed to have happened to her. Green Fire had enjoyed a triumph in New Orleans. The reporter was particularly taken with the special effects which were, she said, “just like magic.”
Three million dollars down the tube. The plan had been so perfect! How could it have failed? What the hell had happened to his focus person and his conduit?
The receptionist's voice came thinly through the hole in the wall. The public address system had blown out with everything else.
“Telephone for you, Mr. Kingston.”
Nervously, Kingston picked up the telephone receiver.
“Hello, Eldredge. Yes, I was expecting to hear from you. No, I can't explain it. You can't blame me for that. I had everything set up just the way we planned. It would all have worked if . . . No, we can't use her again. What'd be the point? I hate to admit it, but even my own viewers are going to lose interest because nothing happened to the woman. They'll think everything reported was part of the show. After this she'll be so popular that any attack on her will only enhance her and affect us negatively. Well, there'll be another victim. We'll strike again. What about my membership in the Council?”
“You must be out of your mind!” Mooney bellowed. Kingston removed the receiver from his ear to frown. “Don't ever call me again!” The connection went dead, and Kingston found himself staring at the phone.
License Invoked Page 26
