Massha was frantic. "What can you do?" she pleaded.
The doctor frowned. "I'll do my best to corrupt this spell. You know, as a fellow professional, I can't undo it without knowing the spell that made it possible, but we'll fit you out with a firewall spell that will keep any more attacks on your psyche from getting through." The doctor rummaged around in her pocket and came up with a little white pad. She scribbled on it and handed the top sheet to Massha. "Take that to the nearest alchemist and have it filled."
The alchemist, a gnarled male Gnome in a white jacket, attached a little gold box to Massha's necklace. We all crowded around them in the small shop, trying not to brush the myriad of little gadgets crammed onto the shelves lining the walls.
"This is a very powerful spell. It needs to be renewed about once a month, but I hope you won't need it for longer than that. Keep it on you at all times."
"Thanks." Massha sighed heavily, clasping the charm. "I feel better already."
"How's it work?" I inquired.
"Reflexively," the Gnome replied. "If anyone tries to read her mind or put any other predatory spell on her, the firewall rebounds on them."
"Like this?" Cire asked. He whipped up his hands and pointed them at Massha.
Luckily, Cire's back was to the door. A ring of fire sprang up around Massha, gathered itself into a huge mass, and kicked outward, sending the Walroid sprawling into a cluster of shoppers. He staggered to his feet, shaking his head to clear it. The shoppers picked themselves up, gave Cire a resentful look, and went back to their browsing.
"Whoa!" Massha exclaimed, as the fire subsided back into the little box. "That's some gizmo!"
"You want to take a break?" I inquired solicitously, after we paid the alchemist and left.
"No. Now I want revenge," she insisted, sailing above our heads with renewed confidence. "It's not just for Skeeve, but a little bit for me, too. How do we get this Rattila?"
I thought for a minute. "We need an attraction," I decided. "One that will pull in as many of the thieves as possible. Something they can't resist. An event that Moa can publicize the hell out of. A promotion of some kind?"
"Oh, but there are sales promotions every day," Parvattani pointed out, marching along beside us.
He wore his uniform, since the subterfuge was now pointless. Everyone, including our opponents, knew who we were.
"Our customers see everything, and they want to be a part of everything. You'll get thousands of people participating. We will be no better off than we are now."
"Cardholders only, of course," I stated. "It'll be irresistible. A members-only event featuring a raffle. For a date with a celebrity."
"And where are we going to find a celebrity?" Massha asked.
I looked around at our party. "Eskina?"
She snorted. "You are joking, of course."
I changed my mind on the spot. No, she didn't have the kind of big personality a celebrity needed. "Yes. I'm joking. I didn't mean you."
"What about me?" Cire asked, hopefully.
"Yeah, right," I scoffed. "With your credibility and attention to detail."
Cire clutched his chest in mock outrage. "That was one time in Imper! Well, maybe a few times. Who else are you going to ask? The purple bath mat here?" "Not I," Chumley interjected at once. "If I employ unaccustomed loquacity to make a good impression, I shall spoil my marketability as a hired threat."
I fixed my eyes on Massha. She levitated away from me in alarm.
"Oh, no, Big Spender! We just spent a load of money and magikal energy putting up a firewall around me. And aren't they going to recognize me as the owner of Massha's Secret?"
Parvattani cleared his throat. "Madama, you would be surprised. To the shoppers, you can-a put on a pair of glasses, and you are disguised. Different clothes, a different hairstyle, and you are another person!"
She played her final, desperate card. "What would Hugh say?"
I advanced on her. "He'd be proud of you, stepping into the face of danger to save a friend. We're doing this for Skeeve, remember?"
She stopped floating backward. "Of course I remember, Green and Scaly. That's why I came. But what good will it do if Rattila gets my soul because I put myself up where he can take another crack at me?"
"Because he won't get anything real out of you," I assured her. "In fact, if we can get him to overload, maybe we can contaminate some of the talent he's already gathered, set him back a ways."
Massha looked dubious. "And how are we going to do that?"
I grinned. "Lie."
TWENTY-TWO
"No push!" Chumley cautioned an overeager Deveel who tried to climb over the velvet ropes surrounding Massha's lush throne inside her scarlet silk pavilion.
Gold-plated standards shaped like medieval trumpeters held banners with her picture on either side of the doorway. It didn't surprise me at all that The Mall had a huge supply of set pieces and furniture to support every kind of promotional activity under the sun. It'd be a good investment, if you had the space to store it, and space galore was one thing The Mall had.
In the days we'd been there I had seen raffles, drawings, talent contests, concerts, circus acts, square dances, formal dances, sock hops, animal acts, makeovers, caricaturists, fortune-tellers, food tastings, and product demonstrations of every kind, as well as the endless and ongoing hall music. The latter convinced me that whoever held auditions Moa—or his agent—had a tin ear, to make sure they were getting the worst possible performers in the entire universe. I knew street musicians in a hundred dimensions who played on homemade instruments who were a thou- sand times better. I needed my concentration intact. After an hour or so of persuasion, I had managed to convince the Mall manager to silence the bands within a half-block radius of Massha's encampment. Otherwise, I was going to go crazy, and I needed my wits at their sharpest. Even with the full complement of security guards sprinkled through the crowd, it still looked like a disaster bubbling toward overflow.
I admit that I had underestimated the number of cardholders, or maybe word had spread to other dimensions over the three days we had had the posters up advertising Massha's appearance. meet the red fairy ! the one-sheets screamed, win a
DATE —AND A WISH!
In smaller print below the rules of the contest had been set out: only holders of credit cards would be allowed to enter the drawing, one entry per person, winner must be present to collect the prize. We intended to winnow out the duplicates; all of those would be frauds, whom Par couldn't wait to arrest.
In the meantime, each of the lucky contestants would get a chance to meet the Red Fairy. Massha sat in her tent, sprawled a little uneasily on a pile of cushions in the triple-wide throne intended to be roomy enough for any kind of pseudoroyalty from the Lollipop Queen to the King of the Elephant Gods. What remained of her harem costume had formed the inspiration for her present getup, filmy red robes covered with rhinestones and sequins. On her feet were shining ruby slippers, a crown adorned her freshly coiffed, newly dyed scarlet hair, and on her back, the cause of her uneasy posture, were a pair of huge, filmy wings, tinted garnet red, iridescent as soap bubbles but more durable than fast-food condiment packets. She had gotten over her initial discomfort and was now dispensing beatific smiles and gracious nods to the awed passersby through the fine veil over her face.
"I look like the Ghost of Christmas Hangovers," she murmured to me, out of the corner of her mouth. I stood at her side, dressed in a spiffy herald's uniform.
"You look terrific," I shot back. "Hugh would be crazy about you in that outfit."
She paused, as Chumley roughly escorted a family of Imps out of the tent. "You think so?"