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the location without thinking about it; those with the training as well would probably be able to make a good guess at what was making their hair crawl. The chance of taking a whole slew of powerful Shadowspawn adepts by surprise that way were somewhere between zip and nada. That was the drawback of fighting people with turbocharged luck.
    What
encased
the bomb was a…field…that turned aside the Power. That blocked all traces of what it shielded from the whole web of possibilities, regardless of how strong they were. Peter Boase had gotten his start by investigating why silver baffled the Power, but unlike the traditional silver sheathing this didn’t shout its presence either. It just…wasn’t present unless you could eyeball it.
    When he tried to focus the Power on the truck himself, it was just
there
, without the fuzz of world-lines everything else had. He couldn’t see its past, or its potential futures, or anything that it affected. It was as if around it the world was the deterministic set of blind billiard-balls that Newton had imagined, rather than the will-driven sea of ultimately arbitrary malleability that it really was.
    The problem right now was that while a seer couldn’t locate the bomb, or even trace it back from the impact it would make on the world, ordinary logic and evidence worked just fine. And while thePower couldn’t
see
the area inside the shield, as far as he knew there was nothing to stop a Wreaking from
affecting
it. Someone was using the shotgun principle, and ready to spend a lot of the Power on it. Luckily it had been a truck-break-down curse, not a nuke-go-off one.
    Harvey had just enough of the
nocturnis
genes to Wreak consciously and to give him consistently useful hunches; not nearly enough to nightwalk or even feed on blood, which meant that everything came out of his own reserves. That made him a Chihuahua to the wolf of a real high-blood, though a Chihuahua to a mouse against human norms. Smarts and subtlety could substitute for raw power to an extent, though.
    “All right,” he muttered to himself. “It’s a generalized curse. Someone knew, or more likely suspected, I was in X number of square miles, and put a
vehicle-heading-east-go-wrong
Wreaking on the area since they couldn’t pick me up specifically. Heap big mojo, probably wrecked dozens of trucks even here in East Bumfuche. And maybe some donkey-powered stuff. Hell, I may have brought the Council and the Brotherhood together on somethin’…but they don’t
know
, not the specifics, or most of ’em don’t, or they’d be doing more. Am I using Adrienne, or she me? We’ll see about that at the end of the day. After which the secret part is moot.”
    He took out his tablet and tapped. It was a special model untraceable even when he hooked into the Web via satellite uplink, and it had GPS and a map of the vicinity. The nearest settlement was only three kilometers northeast, a wide spot in the road just above the farming-village level; the nearest city was a crapsack named Elâzığ whose main claim to fame was cement factories. Luckily it was fifty miles behind him and he hoped he didn’t need to go there again.
    “My Google-fu is strong, grasshopper,” he muttered, and got his backpack out of the truck.
    I hate to leave my beloved nuke alone for a moment, but I can’t very well stuff it in here.
    What looked like company logos on the side of the truck body were actually preactivated Mhabrogast glyphs. Ordinary folk would leave it alone without knowing exactly why.
    Twenty-four hours before the internal fuel cell runs out and the nuke is a blazing signpost. Just have to arrange things by then. Christ, I hate doing this alone, too. Nice to have backup…Adrian, if I had my druthers. As it is, I suspect someone with an unhealthy interest in me is in that little town up ahead. Let’s go and see who it is. Maybe kill ’em, maybe talk, maybe both.
    There was a machine-carbine and a couple of clips in the backpack,