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"All right, people! That's the last of the firemen and the cleanup squad out the door. Everyone's gone. Let's get to work."
Down below on the stage the miniature figures of the band took their places and lifted their instruments. Michael Scott flicked his long fingers down and over the strings of his guitar in the fa
Fio
The tiny, brightly colored figure stopped at the edge of the stage, while a couple of men in security uniforms ran around the open platform like questing hounds.
"All right," Lowe said, leaning forward with his hands on the chairbacks. "Cue the spotlights, cue Fio
The music died away, and all the band turned to look at Fio
"Come on, down there!" Lowe growled. "What's the hang-up now?"
"She wants them to check for bombs, sir," an overhead speaker crackled. "She says she's afraid of being attacked again."
"Bombs! Hell and damnation!" the technical director shouted, pounding on the engineers' seat backs. They sat rigidly, watching the screen. "We have a show to do! Get those men off the stage, or carry Fee over to her mark yourself. We haven't got any more time to waste." He flopped down into his seat, between Robbie and the sound engineer. "I wish that Fee had been in the damned costume when it went up, and then we'd have a reason for all this fuss! Let her writhe in agony! Let those rotten `filmy sleeves' burn to ash! Now, let's get a move on! Get her on stage!"
Below them, a man in blue jeans and a headset went over to Fio
The band struck up again. Fio
"No magic," Boo said, as they went through the next set of double doors on the level. This was the press box, another large area like the control room, with a broad, curved window looking down on the stage. Facing it were tiers of desks with microphones and places for computer terminals to be plugged in. Toward the rear of the chamber, television and radio transmission lines ran from a labeled console into the ceiling. Several video screens showed different camera angles of the stage, a necessary i
Down on the stage, Fio
"Nothin'," Boo-Boo said, bringing her back to the present with a disappointing snap. "Nothin' but what we brought ourselves. It's lookin' as if the cause was somethin' natural or physical. That'd be a job for the local police, not for us."
"My chief will be happy," Liz said, resignedly. "He'd always rather prove a negative. Less difficult to explain to Upstairs."
Boo-Boo gri
"Don't we all?" Liz asked, smiling back.
She found in spite of her earlier misgivings she was begi
The music rose toward a crescendo. On the stage Fio
And then, Liz felt it. Or smelled it. Or just knew, in that way her grandmother always told her she would. There was evil here. Powerful evil. But where was it coming from?
"Do you feel that?" she started to ask Boo. Suddenly, there was a flash of light on the screens. Fio
Liz wasn't prepared for another attack so soon, but her training kicked in without hesitation. Never mind where the fire had come from, put it out! Liz summoned up every erg of magic she had, down to the reserves, and threw it through the glass at Fio
"Clear!" he yelled, too late. Automatically, the analyzing part of Liz's brain recognized the effect as a containment field to suppress any other occult activity in the area. Liz was impressed. She didn't know the Americans had been working on anything so sophisticated. Boo glanced over at her. "Seems like we were wrong."
Liz scrambled to her feet and made for the door, the American half a step behind her.
"Rapid deployment, eh?" she asked, as they ran down the stairs toward the stage.
"Finest kind," Boo said.
"If you'd thrown that thing one second sooner you'd have blotted out my spell!"
"I saw what you was doin', ma'am," Boo said, peevishly. "I waited. Now, let's see what happened."
Liz shoved her way through the crowd of people that had gathered on the stage. The fire alarm was blaring overhead. Nigel Peters's voice cut through the noise.
"Someone shut that blasted thing off!" he raged. "We don't want everyone down on us again!"
At the center of the mob, Fio