It was beautiful, but there was something about the setup that bothered Jerry. Part of it, he decided, was that he didn’t recognize any of the fish. Then a black angelfish with pulsing neon-blue lights along its side swam by and Jerry’s suspicions were confirmed.
“Those aren’t real fish, are they?”
“No, they’re demons created by special little programs.” Danny spoke a word and the spell listed itself out in bright letters beside the tank. “Look, here’s something else too. The code’s self-modifying so the fish change over time.”
“They change over time?”
“Yeah. They evolve with each generation.”
“Hmmm,” Jerry said in a voice that wasn’t at all approving.
“What’s the matter?”
“I’m not sure,” Jerry said. “But there’s something about that notion that bothers me.”
“You don’t like fish?”
“No, I… Well, never mind. I’m sure Ian will love it” Jerry turned away from the demon fish tank and back to work.
As the smoke artist took a bow to a pattering of applause, Wiz nudged Moira. “That stuffs magic,” he muttered.
“But isn’t it lovely? See how it sparkles.”
Wiz looked sideways at his wife. Normally Moira was more wary of strange magic than he was. She had learned about magic at a time when the humans of this world were nearly powerless and magic was usually destructive or hostile. Wiz had changed that with his magic programming, but the old attitudes lingered. This wasn’t at all like her.
He looked at the robed and cowled figure again, trying to discern what was beneath the flow of dark cloth. Again the smoke artist’s hands darted from his sleeves and he began anew with a delicate curl of blue smoke from his outstretched palm. Although Wiz could not see the artists head, much less his eyes, he got the strong impression that the performer was concentrating on his audience rather than his illusion. The smoke thickened and deepened until there was a column of sapphire blue before him. The crowd pressed close, eager for the next display.
Again the smoke shifted and formed a pattern, this one like an intricately fretted snowflake. The tendrils of blue smoke twisted and wove among each other into a pattern that implied something without quite showing it. As Wiz watched, the pattern began to spin like a wheel, pulling the eye with it in a way that made Wiz’s stomach roil. He stared down at his boots, fighting dizziness.
As he looked away he felt Moira stir beside him, pressing closer to the artist and his creation. Without thinking Wiz put a hand on her shoulder, but she shook it off impatiently.
Wiz looked up and saw his wife slack jawed with her eyes fixed on the smoke. She took a hesitant step toward it and then a stronger one.
“Moira?” There was no response. “Hey!” he shouted at the smoke artist, but neither artist nor audience paid the slightest attention.
Wiz went cold with fear and almost instantly hot with rage. In two strides he crossed the distance to the artist and grabbed him by the hood.
As he jerked him around, the hood fell back and Wiz recoiled at what was beneath it.
The face was normal enough, pale with high cheekbones and a long nose, but the eyes were not. Instead of showing a normal white and pupil they were iridescent, as though there were an opaline mist over the whole eyeball, or like an insect’s eye when the light strikes it right.
The illusionist hissed like a frightened snake and wrenched away from Wiz. His hand darted out of his sleeve and instinctively Wiz twisted away so the hand struck his wizards staff instead of his arm. There was a flash of blue lightning and a report like a rifle shot as magic met magic. That seemed to break his hold on the crowd and suddenly people were running and screaming, stampeding away from the booth.
Wiz stumbled back, his staff held before him. From down the row of booths came a shout and a flash of magic. Out of the corner of his eye Wiz saw Malus raise his staff to launch another attack.
The thing looked at Malus, back at Wiz and over Wiz’s shoulder where Moira was standing. Without a word it whirled, gathering up the hem of its robe. Black smoke reeking of brimstone poured from the robe and rose in a whirlwind above Wiz’s head. Malus fired another magic bolt at the growing black cloud, but it disappeared into the smoke without a trace.