Fionna circulated about the big stage, one hand clutching the microphone, the other beckoning, exhorting the audience to get into the spirit of song with her. Vibrated nearly off her feet by the rhythm pounding out of the towering speakers, Liz almost wished she’d worn earplugs, but then she’d have missed the way that the whole sound came together. The contact high of magic was heady. She drew on it, keeping her protective spell strong.
As Fee rounded the west side, heading for the rear, her eyes were scanning. Liz wondered what she was worrying about. Had she spotted Robbie in the crowd? When they settled on Liz and Boo-Boo in the shadows, her shoulders relaxed visibly. Elizabeth relaxed, too. Fee just wanted to make sure they were keeping their promise to stay with her. Across the way, Lloyd shifted. Jealous again, Liz thought, though the man’s face was the blank mask he assumed on duty. Liz felt a certain amount of sympathy for him. He couldn’t protect her from this kind of danger, and he hated that.
Michael stepped forward, coming up beside Fionna. The two of them circled, challenging one another line by line with the melody. Liz watched his fingers fly with fascination, then gave herself a mental slap on the wrist. She was not to fall into a trance, no matter how wonderful it was to have the Guitarchangel playing only steps away. Her job was to protect Fionna.
Which was not too difficult at present. Robbie had not turned up again, according to Hugh Banks, the floor director, who was hovering around behind the scenes, whispering orders into his headset. Liz was concerned with the steady buildup of magical energy in the hall, but perhaps the threat would not be realized, since the antagonist who might have misdirected it was gone.
She had been trying all this time to work out the ramifications of a magical onslaught against someone like Fionna Kenmare. What purpose could it possibly serve? She was famous, but there were hundreds of music stars with household name recognition. It had to be because of the magic. She was associated with it. No one would blink an eye if tomorrow he or she read a headline that said there had been a magical blowout at a Green Fire concert. But what was the international connection? No foreign presence had been remarked upon at the site of the previous attack in Dublin. Only an insider could have recognized the undercover agent for what he was.
The biggest puzzle was why Robbie?—and, more to the point, how? How had she channeled her natural though untrained knack for magic into a formidable, focused weapon without it showing up on the radar of either Boo-Boo’s department or Liz’s own? The incantations involved must be new, powerful and far-reaching, the product of some heavy-duty research. That made Liz nervous. The department had a watchlist of hundreds of fringe groups that called themselves Satanists or black magicians. It would be horrifying to find one that had actually found a means to attain massive quantities of power. She sighed. She didn’t relish bringing up such a suggestion in her next report to Mr. Ringwall. He was having enough difficulty accepting the notion that magic or other inexplicable causes were actually to blame. Her reports were probably the talk of Whitehall right now.
Colored spots and lasers arced over and around the stage, creating patterns of light and shadow through which Fee and Michael moved as though they were the Fair Folk dancing in the woods. The lighting effects that had been arranged to take the place of the pyrotechnics looked amazingly good considering Liz knew they had been put together in haste. Michael slipped past them, his long black hair plastered to his head. Time for his first costume change. Fionna, accompanied by the traditional Irish instruments and the backup guitarists, was giving the audience a ballad of frustrated love. Her voice soared to the dome.
Liz touched Boo-Boo on the arm. When she caught his eye, she tilted her head toward backstage. He nodded. She wanted to check around. He crossed his arms, and continued a dispassionate scanning of the stage and the audience.
Liz moved into the dark space. The stagehands were busy with a piece of the set, a tiered dais that went in the middle of the stage for one of the numbers. Hugh Banks was still there, shouting into his headset mike, but now he was red-faced with frustration. Something was not going well.
Michael shot back through the tunnel, now clad in black leather pants and gleaming black silk shirt, hair flowing and dry again. He clapped Liz on the shoulder with an encouraging pat. The roadie nearest the entrance handed back his guitar. Michael stepped onto the stage. His key light hit him within a few paces, but it was late. Liz winced, knowing how picky the guitarist was about timing.
As soon as he appeared, Fionna backed away from center stage, ready to change into her white silk dress. Her light didn’t turn off quickly enough. Fee gave a snort of frustration as she came off stage into the capable hands of Fitz and Laura.
“They love you, me darling,” Laura shouted at her. “It’s going marvelously.” Liz followed them downstairs to the dressing room, where the costume change was accomplished within moments. Fee stood and stared at nothing while they ripped the green silk off and zipped her into the peach-nude sheath. She gulped a tepid mineral water and strode upstairs, fringes flashing in every direction. Her retinue followed in silence, not wanting to break her concentration.
The crowd roared with delight as Fee reappeared, all in white under the lights. She twirled, letting them see the new dress. Did Liz imagine the tiny stumble? That uneasiness Liz had sensed while observing the stage manager continued to build, small mistake piling upon small problem. Liz felt rather than heard when Voe slipped a beat, throwing everyone else off just slightly. Eddie’s fingers fumbled a note, flattening a chord. The audience didn’t seem to care. The rapport had been established. The magical give-and-take between them and the performers that Liz so loved was beginning. Energy was building like the Pyramids.
“Ready to cue the cascade of rainbow light,” Banks said to his headset. “This replaces the Roman candles over the conclusion of this number. Yes, maybe. We’ll go to a short instrumental break after this, give Fee a chance to breathe. Somebody make sure she has something to drink on hand when she comes off. God knows she’ll need it. She must be sweating buckets. Ready? And . . . cue!”
* * *
In the bar, Robbie was getting nicely suggestible.
“Why, if Fee wasn’t in the picture,” Ken said, “you could just lift your little finger, and Lloyd would come running right to you.” Involuntarily, Robbie’s little finger raised itself off the surface of the bar. “Yeah, you could give him a little wink, and the guy would be on his knees.” Wink. Ken grinned. He could go on like this all night.
That magical electricity Robbie was generating had aroused Ken’s hopes. If his supposition was correct, his idea could fulfill the conditions of his assignment and save his butt.
“Hey,” he said casually. “It’s seven-thirty. Time for the concert to begin. Boy, if we were back in the Superdome, the first number would be beginning right now. Michael likes everything to start right on the dot.”
Robbie seemed to understand some kind of response was called for, and stirred herself out of her drug-and-alcohol-induced haze to make it. “He’s very prompt.”
“That’s right,” Ken said. “You’d be heating up your stuff right now, wouldn’t you?”
“It’s already ready,” Robbie said, and giggled at the rhyme. “Already ready. To go. Everything. Lasers. Lights. Rockets.”
“Lots of rockets,” Ken agreed, keeping his voice low and smooth, like a snake creeping up on an innocent prey. “I know you’ve got all your cues on computer, but you don’t really need the list, do you?”
“I”—hic!—”memorize everything,” Robbie said, unsteadily. “Otherwise, I couldn’t take my eyes off the screen. Got to do my job. My job!” Tears started leaking from her eyes. “All gone.”
“No, baby, no,” Ken said lightly, mentally crossing his fingers. “You’ve still got your job. You’ve got to do the special effects for the concert. Everybody’s counting on you. Look out the window. Down below, there are eighty thousand people in the dark waiting for the show to start. Are you ready? Cue the first effect. Wait for Gary to tell you to go on three, two . . .”
“No,” Robbie interrupted him, growing agitated. “Nigel fired me. He doesn’t want me to do it.”
“Sure he does, baby.”
“No! He threw me out. Hates me. Hates me!” She was crying, digging at her eyes with the side of her fist like a little girl. Her nose turned red.