This was no time to trust exclusively to magic, particularly not when counterspells and black magic were at work. Whenever he spotted an acquaintance in the crowd, he showed them the photo of Robbie. None of them had seen her, but they all promised to watch for her.
Keeping a positive attitude also helped keep the spell strong. There were so many people that he had to dart his head around like a snake to see everyone. Plenty of fellow psychics abounded. All the local fire-worshipers were out in force. They gained strength from a display like this one, and each new surge pulled his magic finder off-line towards one of them. He didn't dare miss the trace he was looking for. He felt sorry for the girl, wherever she was. She wasn't getting anything out of this but grief.
If he had to take an educated guess, he would say that Ken Lewis would have to make his move by the end of the concert. He had an hour to find them—no, forty minutes.
It had better be enough.
"That's good," Ken said, shaking the sagging Robbie. "More rockets! Fill the sky with them! Beautiful explosions. Aren't they gorgeous? That's what everyone wants. Fire one!" he said, as a huge green blaze lit the sky. "Fire two! Fire three!" Robbie, her muddy brown eyes fixed on the sky, nodded. Her hands seemed to be working invisible controls. "Ready a barrage... and..."
"What's a barrage?" she asked, muzzily.
"Twenty-five rockets," he said quickly. Yeah, one for every point in a pentagram, squared. "Twenty-five in a row." That'd shake 'em up in the front rows.
"What color?"
"Red. Blood red."
"But this is a love song," Robbie said.
"Love hurts, baby."
"Oh. All right." Her hands fumbled in the sky, reached for the imaginary laptop computer to one side and put in the instructions. She held her finger poised.
"Now!" Ken shouted as Roman candles popped over their heads. "What are you doing?"
"Time for the laser show," Robbie said. "Can't be late again. Fionna gets so mad." Tears leaked out of her eyes.
"She won't get mad," Ken said, soothingly. "Give her a little spin around. She'll love that."
"Oh," Robbie said. "All right."
"Aaagh!" Fionna shrieked, spinning on her axis like a top. She'd been interrupted in mid verse. That, after the sudden series of explosions that nearly sent Nigel Peters straight through the roof with hysterics, and the imps made of green laser light that threatened the fans nearest the stage. The audience adored the deafening bangs, but the crew backstage was worried about the possibility of fire. The roof was only soft plastic. The danger of deadly fumes and falling, molten globs of plastic began to look like more and more of a possibility. The crew for the Superdome's fire truck had been scrambled to the main floor by order of the Master Control Room operator, who also began to ask if they shouldn't halt the concert and evacuate the building. Hugh Banks, looking years older than he had at 7:30, relayed the message to Liz.
"No!" Liz said, alarmed. Shouts of disapproval came from the arena floor as the fans picked up on her disturbed state of mind. Quickly, Liz took firm control of her feelings. "We can't stop now. There is a psychic buildup of epic proportions brewing out there. That gigantic hall out there is full of power. If we halt prematurely it may be set off. I cannot even begin to tell you what might happen. The best thing would be if we could force it to dissipate naturally. Give my associate time."
Banks spoke into his headset, and nodded at her. "We're all with you. How can we help?"
"Keep the music going, no matter what," she said. "Let the concert come to its natural conclusion. Maybe, just maybe the power glut will fade on its own. In the meanwhile Mr. Boudreau will try to stop the effects."
The organizers weren't satisfied. Liz wasn't surprised. They were accustomed to being in control of every facet of an event. To have an outsider dictating terms to them on top of all the disasters they had faced before would be intolerable if they decided not to face reality. If she kept her head all would be right. She hoped it would be all right.
Liz forced herself to keep a lid on the power in the arena. It was fighting her. What kind of spell was she fighting? It was strong. Malign influence was pouring into the crowd and giving feedback. Thanks to her grandmother and MI-5 her training was equal to the situation, but she simply needed more power to control than she had. A whip and a chair was no use against a hurricane.
She grabbed at her purse. The augmentation powder that Boo-Boo had left for her was right in front. She tore open the first packet she touched. Cough drops bounded to the floor, followed by the sandy remains of a spell to prevent drowsiness. No problem. She wouldn't need that. And as for the first, if she lost her voice, she'd just whisper the words to the incantations until her tongue fell out.
"This is a disaster!" Nigel Peters wailed behind her, tearing at his hair. "What can we do?"
"You can help," Liz said briskly, too busy to be polite. She simply began to remove everything in her purse and piled it in his hands until she found Boo-Boo's packet. "Ah!"
Government regimentation of magical and psychic phenomena might have seemed to be a foolish enterprise, but when they did something, they did it right. The instructions on the side were in very clear, legible print. Liz held the envelope underneath the nearest spotlight to read. Augmentation powder needed to be applied to the area where enhancement was required. It worked by the Law of Contagion. To her delight she saw there were instructions for group use. That ought to be the answer to her power problem. She stuffed everything back into her bag and set it on the floor. She opened the envelope and very carefully sprinkled it all over herself.
"They're going crazy out there," Peters said.
Liz opened her arms up and held them in the air. The force gathering around them was like a balloon pressed against her face, suffocating her. It was nudging against the walls, beginning to uproot the supports. If this didn't work, the whole building could come down on them.
"Nigel," she said. "Calm yourself. Put your hand on my arm and just concentrate on being open. That's all you need to do. Can you do that?"
"I don't know if I can just open up," Nigel said, backing away a pace. "My analyst says I have commitment problems."
That tore it.
"Do you want my old friend to continue to be your meal ticket?" Liz bellowed. Nigel, startled, halted in place and nodded. "Then, do it!"
"Can I help?" Laura Manning asked. "How about the others?"
"Anyone who can," Liz said, grateful for the makeup artist's take-charge attitude. "Touch me."
"Come on, you lot!" Laura shouted, waving her arm at the others. "Group hug!"
Roadies and stagehands gathered from all over the backstage area. In between renewing her incantations, Liz barked orders at the others who crushed into the cramped space between the speakers.
"If you cannot reach me, then put your hand on the shoulder of the person nearest you. Keep calm. Meditate if you need to. Do not panic! It is necessary to remain calm. If you can't do that, then please move away. Thank you. That is all." She started chanting again.
The others bundled around, trying to find a comfortable handhold. Liz was tugged and pulled in so many directions she felt like the last cashmere sweater at a jumble sale. She tried to catch her breath to protest. Suddenly, Lloyd loomed over her. He bellowed at the group.