“It sounds as if someone loony has broken through that cordon,” Elizabeth said, matter-of-factly. “Possibly someone with special abilities. That’s yet to be determined. I’m here to see that nothing more happens.”
“What can you do?” Peters asked, his fists closing reflexively. Elizabeth shook her head.
“If someone tries to get to her again, we can detect him, or her, or it. I’ve examined her room. There are four doors to the suite itself, the one from the hallway on each floor, and one from the suite to a balcony and the pool on the third floor. One of those doors leads into my room, and I’m prepared to repel attacks. I’ve seen to it the other doors are securely locked, and warded.”
“What’d you use to ward?” Boo-Boo asked.
Elizabeth eyed him, wondering just how far she could trust him. “Who brought you in?” she asked, suddenly.
Peters looked from one to the other, puzzled. “The FBI brought him in, you know that.”
“No, that’s not what she means.” Boo-Boo gave her that easy smile, his eyes glinting. He understood. “She wants to know how I qualify to ask her questions.” He leaned over so that his mouth was close to Elizabeth’s ear. “A welcoming woman who smiles,” he told her. She closed her eyes, relieved, and continued the litany.
“Where was it?” she whispered.
“In the heart of the world,” Boo-Boo said, formally.
“Where was the moon?”
“Shining over our heads. And her name was Elmira.”
“All right,” Elizabeth said, relaxing. She recognized the name. Boo-Boo was not only qualified to help the department, he knew something about her grandmother’s ancient tradition of magic as well. It would be easier to confide in him, because she wouldn’t be breaking solemn oaths to tell him. She sat up. “I’m so sorry,” she told the manager. “Department business. I used an . . . Earth-Fire ward, tapping into the hotel’s electrical system.”
Peters looked bewildered, but Boo-Boo nodded. If he was up on New Forest magic, he’d have recognized the reference to a Ward of Vulcan, from the Trilistene Grimoire of 1585, with modern variations that obviated the need to burn charcoal or use a focusing lens to provide the fire power.
“That’d give anything trying to pass it a mighty hotfoot,” he said approvingly. “I mighta put down an Earth-Water combo, but that could get messy. What about the windows?”
“No problem. I left them so they can still open—it’s so bloody hot in this city—but air’s the only thing they’ll let in.”
Boo-Boo grinned. “You should see it come summer, ma’am. This is just warming up.”
Nigel Peters reflexively unbuttoned the collar of his shirt. “Warm! If it were any hotter you’d have to mop me off the pavement.”
Elizabeth referred to her notes again. “There wasn’t time to bring much from the department, so what I have with me is rather a hodgepodge of government equipment and personal tools. What OOPSI does run to is a decent line of general issue psychic monitors. I’ve left some concealed amongst Fionna’s personal effects to warn us if anyone is staging an attack using her own possessions. I’ve also been down to the kitchen to arrange for food analysis before any room service order is taken up to the suite. The only employees who will have contact with any of the band or the stage crew will be ones I have vetted personally. You can’t concentrate on the arcane and overlook the mundane. Have I missed anything?”
Boo-Boo’s slow smile spread across his face. “No, ma’am. You’re plenty efficient.”
With a smile for the compliment, Elizabeth read off the last of her shorthand notes. “And, finally, escorts to and from the New Orleans Superdome. I’ll need the limousines here at least twenty minutes ahead of time to examine them for traps or tricks.”
“As you wish,” Peters said. “But that’s not until tomorrow. Fee’s itinerary doesn’t have her doing anything until the morning, and that’s just publicity. I’ll have the cars here for you to inspect ahead of time. No trouble there. Until then, there’s nothing more for us to do. She’ll be perfectly safe here in the hotel overnight.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Boo-Boo interrupted them, rocking his chair back and forth on its rear legs. “While I was waiting for you all to come down, I saw her and that big fellah turn out the door and light out down Bourbon Street.”
“What?” Elizabeth and Nigel exclaimed in unison, leaping to their feet. Boo-Boo didn’t move.
“Why didn’t you stop them?” Elizabeth demanded, staring down at him. If this was an example of American agents, then they were sloppy, haphazard, and careless. No wonder they were always having troubles over here.
“Nothing strange by me,” Boo-Boo said, looking up at them with a hurt expression. “Most folks who come to town want to see the Quarter, and all. Plenty of interesting night life. Finest music in the world. Any bar you go into probably has at least one live musician. Usually a band.”
Elizabeth felt herself swaying slightly with exhaustion. “But it’s past twelve,” she said. “The bars will be closing.”
Boo-Boo shook his head. “Ma’am, bars around here don’t close until at least dawn. Some of ’em don’t open until midnight.”
“We’ve got to catch up with them!” Elizabeth had a vision of Ringwall’s ruddy face turning more purple than usual. “Right now!”
Boo-Boo rose slowly to his feet, shaking his head at the haste with which out-of-towners seemed to move.
“Well, all right, ma’am. Whatever you want.”
Chapter 6
Elizabeth had barely taken three steps outside before she was drenched in sweat. The heat and humidity of New Orleans wrapped itself around her like a hot, wet blanket, all prevailing and merciless.
Pausing in an attempt to orient herself while fighting off a sudden wave of dizziness, she turned to her companion, only to find him chatting with the doorman she had passed without really noticing.
“Hey, Boo!” the uniformed man said. “How ya doin’, man? Ah didn’t see you come in.”
“Came in off Conti,” Beauray was saying, all the while exchanging a bewildering series of handshakes and palm slappings with him. “No sense fightin’ the crowds if you can walk inside.”
“You got that right!” the doorman responded, throwing his head back in an exaggerated laugh.
“How’s that pretty lady of yours these days?”
“Mean as a snake, and that’s a fact!”
“Umm. Mr. Boudreau?” Elizabeth began. “I hate to interrupt, but . . .”
“Be right with you, darlin’,” Boo said, holding up one finger in restraint. “Say, Willie. Did you see a cute little thing come out of here a while back? Green hair?”
“Hard to miss her,” the doorman said, nodding. “She and the folks she was with headed up Bourbon towards St. Anne. Lookin’ to party would be my guess.”
He made an offhand gesture to indicate the direction.
“’Preciate it, man,” Boo said, holding up his hand for a parting palm slap. “Got to roll, now. You tell your lady that Boo said, `Hey,’ hear?”
“Later, Boo!” the man said, waving, then returned to his duties with an aloof, deadpan expression.
“Sorry ’bout the delay,” Beauray said, putting a hand lightly on Elizabeth’s back and steering her into the street. “I figured it would be worth the time to be sure we was lookin’ in the right direction.”
Thus began one of the strangest, most memorable walks of Elizabeth’s life.
The world-famous Bourbon Street was closed to vehicular traffic at this hour, but was nonetheless choked with pedestrians. At first, Elizabeth was overwhelmed by a kaleidoscope of apparently random noise, music and lights.
“NO cover charge! NO minimum drinks!”
“ . . . feelin’ tomorrow, just like I feel today!”
“Spare change?”
“Oooh, Darlin’! Lookin’ GOOD!”
“ . . . Can’t touch this!”
“Lucky Dogs! Get your Lucky Dogs! Right here!”
Within the first block or so, however, a certain order became apparent to her in the seeming chaos.
Most of the crowd were tourists or sightseers. They traveled in groups or pairs, lugging their cameras or hand-cams with them like identifying badges. While some of them wore three-piece suits that marked them as conventioneers, the majority were decked out casually in shorts, new T-shirts sporting New Orleans designs ranging from the silly to the obscene, and some of the most ridiculous hats it had ever been her misfortune to see. They moved at a leisurely pace, stopping often to look in windows, listen to the music radiating forth from various bars, or to take pictures of each other standing next to street signs, the little tap dancing kids, or even trash cans.
“Table dances! World famous love acts! NO cover charge!”
“Crawfish! Best eating in the Quarter!”
“ . . . Hey now. Jump in the river now . . .”
“ICE cold. Get your ICE cold Coca-Cola here!”
In the space of a few blocks they had walked from Conti, Bourbon Street featured at least eight bars with live bands and/or singers, eight more with recorded music blaring from speakers, six shops featuring exotic dancing or other delights (“wash the girl of your choice!”), more than twelve souvenir shops selling masks and feather boas, coffee and beignet mixes in yellow cans, hot sauce with health warnings printed on the labels, metallic-covered plastic beads in a rainbow of colors, and the ubiquitous tasteless T-shirts. Every one of the shops overflowed with tourists.