Ken kept up the description of what he wanted to go on in the arena. Robbie acted as if she could see what he was talking about, responding to cues as he gave them. It was like leading her in a guided meditation minute by minute through the concert, except with added explosions and starbursts and a special surprise ending. Inside her head, the stage was laid out before her. Her slide pots and push buttons were underneath her hands. When she operated her controls, the special effects came to life in her mind. Yes, if he could keep her going like that, he could bring her to cause a disaster when the audience was the most worked-up and the power was at its highest level.
He’d forgotten about the fireworks display. Pure serendipity. To Ken, it was just Satan’s way of telling him he was in the right place at the right time.
He found it hard to believe that he could be working magic without any physical contact. He felt naked without the familiar technology surrounding him. But doing sorcery by remote control was definitely the way of the future. The satellite feed from SATN-TV had helped to prime the pump, and now the pump was running full strength. By the time he lowered the boom on the concert center, he’d be able to send Mr. Kingston a bolus of magical energy not just threefold, but three thousandfold. It ought to blow the roof right off SATN. Ken watched the fireworks, feeling smug. He ought to hit Kingston up for a bonus on top of his fee. It would have been worth it just for locating Robbie in the first place.
What a conduit she was. He could feel the edge of the power as it poured through her body. She almost crackled with it, but at the same time was totally unaware of it. She didn’t know any more than the paper a message was written on knew its contents. Roberta Unterburger, special effects engineer, was a special effect in herself. The perfect dupe. He and she had sat there in the midst of Green Fire’s company for months waiting, while Ken had plotted and planned for just exactly this moment. No one had suspected a thing. Now it didn’t matter if they knew the whole story. Nothing they could do would stop the destruction of Fionna Kenmare, and everyone in the Superdome with her. There’d be headlines all over the world tomorrow morning, but only three people would ever know who was responsible: him, Mr. Kingston, and Mr. Mooney.
Ken could even monitor the havoc he was causing. It was a shame he couldn’t watch, but now and again he could hear through the earphone on his headset. The audio only seemed to arise in momentary bursts, maybe coinciding with bursts from Robbie exerting her psychic gift and causing something to happen, but Ken felt as if he was sitting at his console in the control room in the Superdome, listening to the chatter. The disconnected cord hung down on his chest, but thanks to Robbie’s gift, through the Law of Contagion the headset was still a part of what it had touched. As much as he was having fun giving Robbie ideas, he really enjoyed those little glimpses into the pandemonium at the concert. The crew was going nuts. In the background he could hear the roar of the crowd. They sounded scared. No one understood what was happening, not even those nosy secret agents. The effect was better than he could have hoped.
“Okay, you see those red fireballs?” he asked, lying back on the grass and pointing to the sky. Robbie nodded obediently. “Let’s make ’em chase the band around. Give ’em a little hotfoot. It won’t hurt ’em,” he assured her as she started to writhe uncomfortably. “You have my solemn word on it.” She relaxed.
“Okay,” Robbie said. “If you’re sure.”
Ken grinned wickedly above her head, out of her line of sight. He enjoyed feeding her suggestions. “I’m sure, baby. Go for it.”
He heard a blaze of static in the earpiece. It cleared to reveal the businesslike mutter of the technical director’s voice giving instructions to the crew. Then—
“What the hell . . . ?” Lowe demanded. The connection cut off. Too bad, Ken grinned. They were making headlines. He’d have to read all about it in the morning.
Robbie started to sag backward against his chest.
“Oh, no, baby, we’re not done yet.” He helped her sit up. She swayed to the music in her head while he poured her another drink which he laced with another dose of acid.
“Don’ wanna . . .” she said, as he held the cup to her lips.
“Come on, baby, you’re doing really well. Everyone loves you.”
“Not Lloyd.” Robbie’s face contorted. Tears filled her eyes.
“Yeah,” Ken said. “Him, too! He loves the way you’re making this all work. Come on. Make a big purple monster just for Lloyd. When he sees what you can do, he’ll forget all about Fionna.”
“Forget . . . her,” Robbie said. She squeezed her eyes closed, concentrating. Her hands played up and down on her invisible controls.
“Is it a really big, purple monster?” he asked encouragingly. “With lots of teeth and scales and long, ba-aad claws?”
“Yes,” Robbie said.
He leaned back on the grass and whistled. “Baby, you are the best.”
* * *
The taxi dropped Beauray at the end of Toulouse where the railroad tracks crossed it. As the car bumped the last hundred feet and came to a halt, Boo-Boo worried that Lewis had poor Robbie hidden away someplace he’d never find her. Once the skyrockets had started to go off inside the Superdome he hadn’t really needed the phone call from Tiger to tell them where Lewis and Robbie had gone. He remembered about the fireworks festival that was being sponsored by WBOY.
His greatest concern was that they might not be on the Moon Walk itself. The riverfront was lined with old warehouses that had plenty of windows open to the northeast from which she could see the fireworks but not be easily seen by anyone else, like him. He didn’t have much time. Night had already fallen, and the embankment park was hundreds of yards long. If he didn’t spot his quarry pretty quickly he would have to ask the local police to help him search the surrounding buildings. Fortunately, most of the police were friends of his; he wouldn’t have to make the request official.
Whistling and a loud boom! heralded the eruption of a gigantic globe of colored sparks that pattered lightly down into the Mississippi to the accompaniment of cheers from the thousands of bystanders crowded on the brick-and-concrete walk to watch. Boo-Boo pulled out his little phone and hit the speed dial.
“Liz? Did y’all just get a purple chrysanthemum in there?”
“Yes, Beauray, we did,” the British woman replied very slowly and deliberately. She sounded like she’d downed a whole economy-sized bottle of Valium. That was real professionalism for you. Underneath it all she must have been twitching like a freshly caught fish. The sounds of the concert behind her almost overwhelmed her voice. “Where are you?”
“Down by the Moon Walk.”
“The Moon . . . of course! The exhibition we heard announced at the radio station.” The gal had a great memory. Too bad she had that ol’ stuffy accent that made her so hard to understand. “Have you found our subject?”
“There’s probably about as many people here as there are where you are,” Boo said, scanning the area around him, “and most of them are standin’ up.” A family of obvious tourists pushed between him and a stainless steel sculpture, being careful not to touch him. “It’s also pretty dark. The street lamps distort things a little. This is goin’ to be a challenge. I’ll try a findin’, but I don’t know how it’ll do. I’d better not run down the phone battery. I’ll get back to you when I find ’em.”
“You do just that,” Liz said, calmly, as though she was asking him to tea with the Queen. The connection ended. He switched off the telephone and stuffed it back into his pocket.
The finding spell he liked to use best took a good pinch of lodestone powder. Boo-Boo felt around in his coat for the various packets and bundles of cloth he kept handy. He had a bad feeling that he might be short on lodestone. The call from Washington hadn’t left him much time to stock up before he had to meet the jet. His fingers explored the threadbare recesses of the inside lining of his jacket, coming up with little bits and pieces. Here was henbane, holy basil, a small bunch of chili peppers tied with red thread, and a whistle. There was that last bite of beignet left over from the stop he’d made at the Café du Monde with Liz and the group. He chewed on the stale chunk while continuing to sort out the contents of that deep pocket. If lodestone powder was anywhere, it was there. In the meanwhile, he recited the words of the incantation to himself. It helped if he got it right the first time.