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wealth of its own influence to that end. Liz offered herself gladly as a
conduit.
Energy coursed through her every vein, came out of every pore. She
was afraid that it would surge through her with the force of a fire hose
striking a tissue paper wall and tear her fragile body into pieces, but it
didn't want to destroy her. It wanted to carry her along, make her a
part of it. She opened up like a camera aperture, wider and wider,
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until the whole calm, easygoing identity of that unique city was
coming in through her feet and out through her fingertips. Letles
bonnes temps roulez . The city itself, with the driving backbeat of the
Mississippi River in the background like Voe's drumming, provided
the overwhelming music Liz lifted herself on. It was as though
Bourbon Street itself raised up and tied around the Superdome like a
gigantic ribbon of sound. Not only the goodness of rock and roll, but
the cool breath of jazz, the warm embrace of soul, the heart of the
blues, the edgy ribs of zydeco and the wry glue of Irish folk music
wove together under her hands to form a leak-tight, flexible basket.
The music of this great place stood against the evil infecting the acid-
folk rock the ultimate battle of the bands. Her enormously
heightened sense allowed her to hear all of these pulses, the good
outside holding the bad inside. She could contain the malignance, for
now. But she couldn't hold it forever. Sooner or later one of these
people was going to want to go home.
Oh, Boo, do something!she pleaded mentally.
* * *
Boo-Boo felt as though he was feeling his way blind in the dark. Ken
Lewis had shown a distinct talent for concealment. Boo checked with
friends, but neither he nor they had seen a good-looking man with a
plain girl in blue jeans. When he stopped to consider his throbbing
feet, he must have walked up and down the length of the riverfront
twice already. He hadn't spotted either of his subjects. The trail
wound around too many places. He was frustrated. Liz was back there
alone trying to calm a nuclear bomb with a cup of chamomile tea. This
exhibition would end pretty soon, as would the concert. Once the
crowd broke up, his chances of finding two people in the mob
dropped to parts per billion as everybody would make for his or her
favorite bar. And that was just to start the night off.
It was beginning to look as though he would have to ask for a search
of the waterfront warehouses. His heart sank as he counted the
myriad windows reflecting the flying sparks of color. Robbie could be
behind any one of them.
He'd give the Moon Walk five more minutes, and then call in the
forces. Where could he get a view with some perspective?
The band shell, a modern gazebo, was raised about five feet above the
cobblestone path. If he stood on the railings he would be able to see a
good section of the walk. As he made his way through the crowd
towards the structure, the magic detector started flashing as it picked
up one mighty strong trace. Boo followed it, hoping he had found
them at last.
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When he had taken no more than six paces, the last of the lodestone
powder ran out. The witchlight fizzled and went dark. Boo came to a
halt, staring at his empty hand in dismay.
A little boy nearby on the grass looked up at him with sympathy in his
large brown eyes.
"Aww," he said. "Here." He offered Boo one from his box of
sparklers.
"Thanks, little brother," Boo-Boo said, giving the child a pat on the
back. Might do in a pinch. He lit it and held it toward the gazebo,
chanting the Words of Finding.
The silver flame ran down the length of the wire and exploded
outward in a single, blinding blast. Pay dirt! He ran toward the
gazebo, shoving past dozens of holidaymakers with their faces to the
sky. Just in the shelter of the slanted roof on the far side he saw a
couple of familiar profiles.
Boo-Boo stabbed the auto-dial button on his phone. "Liz!" he cried.
"I've found 'em!"
* * *
Ken Lewis rolled back on one elbow, watching Robbie operate her
invisible equipment. Now and again in his earphone he heard the
crackle of confusion coming from the Superdome. He might have had
a hard time in the beginning getting the sabotage under way, but now
it was going so easy he was sorry he couldn't do it all over again.
He could cause anything to happen that he could get Robbie to
visualize. That opened up the range of possibilities for mayhem to
well . . . everything. But there wasn't much time left. Once the power
had been converted the way Mr. Kingston wanted it, he needed to
cause a massive reaction to make it go back into the transmission line
and sent off to SATN-TV. A devastating disaster would cause the
appropriate reaction.
How best to end the concert? Ken wondered dreamily as tantalizing
possibilities danced before his eyes. Should he set fire to the roof and
let it cascade down on the thousands of fans in the audience? Blow up
the stage and launch goody-goody Fionna into space? Collapse the
walls into a black hole? As long as Fionna Kenmare bit the big one,
Ken could do what he liked. That had been the only non-negotiable
stipulation Kingston had thrown into the contract. A mega-superstar
knocked into eternity at the height of her powers and popularity
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ought to launch boatloads of fear and terror back through the link.
And the publicity! Ken could just see the headlines. Every newspaper
and television service would carry the story tomorrow. It'd be a blow
against good magic all over the world. That ought to be good for
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