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?”