had been chewed by rats, but she swept and cleaned house for a music teacher for six months to earn a new set. Elizabeth frowned, doubting sincerely that strings cost that much. By dint of sheer talent, Fionna Kenmare had pulled herself up from direst poverty and into the eye of the world. She'd dyed her hair green so she would always remember her roots.
And leaves, too, Elizabeth decided, eyeing the shocking green pate in the accompanying portrait. Sympathy was an emotion unlikely to be roused by the image of the aforementioned star wearing a mystic robe cut from khaki camouflage material and wearing a tongue-out grimace that would have scared away space aliens. But what was the source of the mysterious threats inferred by her supervisor?
“Magic has always been so important in Fionna's life,” gushed the columnist in the second magazine's article, accompanying an even more weird photo. In this one the star clutched a dissipated black cat and a cross-looking black rooster with a red comb.
Magic important, eh? More so perhaps than even Fionna anticipated, Elizabeth thought. But she didn't know why MI-5 was involved at all. All of the complaints Mr. Ringwall had told her about could have been the result of drug-induced hallucination. The problem seemed more like a matter for Interpol or a good therapist. Chances were that she'd never know who or why was sending down pressure from Higher Up.
“Hey, that's Fionna Kenmare,” said her seatmate on the aisle, who was an American man about her age. He aimed a thumb at the picture and spoke to Elizabeth out of the corner of his mouth. “I thought I saw her get on the jet. Did you see her, with the makeup and the hair and all that? Cool, huh?”
He grinned at Elizabeth, who smiled weakly back. Should she confirm the star's presence, like any other fascinated passenger, or ought she to keep the information to herself? After all, this man might be part of the unknown threat.
“I don't know,” Elizabeth said, affecting an innocent expression. “You see, it looked like her, but it could be anybody under that makeup.”
The man brightened. “You mean, like Kiss? Wow, what if that's her double, and she's traveling incognito? Wouldn't that be something?”
“That'd be something, all right,” Elizabeth said, and wished with all her heart that the Service had thought of it first. Draw attention away from the target, and give them something else to look at. But misdirection wouldn't fool a magical foe. Probably the attacks on Fionna Kenmare were part of a great big publicity stunt. That wouldn't wear well Upstairs, since they'd been forced into acting sub rosa, and committing a field agent plus the requisite monetary outlay. If it turned out to be a hoax, she, Elizabeth, would be the scapegoat because the office had to spend half its meager budget on a trip to America. She'd better not go too far on her new wardrobe. Having swallowed the obligatory camel, the department was likely to choke on a gnat, no matter how fashionable or appropriate.
She tried listening up the cantrip-formed link, to find out if anyone was meeting Green Fire in New Orleans. No luck. All she got was a kind of psychic static. Too much Cold Iron and too many people were in the way. She was lucky that the spell had fired up at all. Not three hours on assignment, and Elizabeth had already lost control of the situation. No more. The moment they landed in New Orleans, she was taking charge.
Time Scount 5 - License Invoked
Chapter 4
As 9:00 P.M. Central Standard Time approached, the preliminaries of touchdown seemed to go on forever. Out of the constricted portholes, Elizabeth watched twilight advancing slowly across the flat, flat plains of the central United States. The chief flight attendant showed a lengthy video on the wild night life in New Orleans, followed by an information film on how to pass through Customs and Immigration into the United States. By the time the landing gear crunched and
And leaves, too, Elizabeth decided, eyeing the shocking green pate in the accompanying portrait. Sympathy was an emotion unlikely to be roused by the image of the aforementioned star wearing a mystic robe cut from khaki camouflage material and wearing a tongue-out grimace that would have scared away space aliens. But what was the source of the mysterious threats inferred by her supervisor?
“Magic has always been so important in Fionna's life,” gushed the columnist in the second magazine's article, accompanying an even more weird photo. In this one the star clutched a dissipated black cat and a cross-looking black rooster with a red comb.
Magic important, eh? More so perhaps than even Fionna anticipated, Elizabeth thought. But she didn't know why MI-5 was involved at all. All of the complaints Mr. Ringwall had told her about could have been the result of drug-induced hallucination. The problem seemed more like a matter for Interpol or a good therapist. Chances were that she'd never know who or why was sending down pressure from Higher Up.
“Hey, that's Fionna Kenmare,” said her seatmate on the aisle, who was an American man about her age. He aimed a thumb at the picture and spoke to Elizabeth out of the corner of his mouth. “I thought I saw her get on the jet. Did you see her, with the makeup and the hair and all that? Cool, huh?”
He grinned at Elizabeth, who smiled weakly back. Should she confirm the star's presence, like any other fascinated passenger, or ought she to keep the information to herself? After all, this man might be part of the unknown threat.
“I don't know,” Elizabeth said, affecting an innocent expression. “You see, it looked like her, but it could be anybody under that makeup.”
The man brightened. “You mean, like Kiss? Wow, what if that's her double, and she's traveling incognito? Wouldn't that be something?”
“That'd be something, all right,” Elizabeth said, and wished with all her heart that the Service had thought of it first. Draw attention away from the target, and give them something else to look at. But misdirection wouldn't fool a magical foe. Probably the attacks on Fionna Kenmare were part of a great big publicity stunt. That wouldn't wear well Upstairs, since they'd been forced into acting sub rosa, and committing a field agent plus the requisite monetary outlay. If it turned out to be a hoax, she, Elizabeth, would be the scapegoat because the office had to spend half its meager budget on a trip to America. She'd better not go too far on her new wardrobe. Having swallowed the obligatory camel, the department was likely to choke on a gnat, no matter how fashionable or appropriate.
She tried listening up the cantrip-formed link, to find out if anyone was meeting Green Fire in New Orleans. No luck. All she got was a kind of psychic static. Too much Cold Iron and too many people were in the way. She was lucky that the spell had fired up at all. Not three hours on assignment, and Elizabeth had already lost control of the situation. No more. The moment they landed in New Orleans, she was taking charge.
Time Scount 5 - License Invoked
Chapter 4
As 9:00 P.M. Central Standard Time approached, the preliminaries of touchdown seemed to go on forever. Out of the constricted portholes, Elizabeth watched twilight advancing slowly across the flat, flat plains of the central United States. The chief flight attendant showed a lengthy video on the wild night life in New Orleans, followed by an information film on how to pass through Customs and Immigration into the United States. By the time the landing gear crunched and
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