"I'll have whatever she's having."

"All right, sir," the bartender said, in a musical voice. "One Hurricane, coming up."

Unhesitatingly, she moved to an array of bottles on the back counter, and started to mix the drink. Ken noticed she kept a close eye on him, either directly or in the mirror on the wall. Long experience enabled her to prepare his order and serve it without looking at it, but not missing an ingredient or spilling a drop. The tall glass she set down in front of him was filled to the brim with Day-Glo red liquid and had a toothpick with a cherry and a slice of orange in it. Ken blanched, but he put ten dollars down on the bar and pushed it toward the server. He hated sweet drinks. The bartender left him his change, still wearing a warning expression. Robbie was watching him now, so he took a good sip, and smiled at her.

"Are you okay?" he asked. "You took off out of there so quickly."

"I got fired, remember?" Robbie said, bitterly. She drained her glass and held up her finger for another one. With a glance at Ken to make sure he was watching, the bartender poured another Hurricane and set it down in front of the young woman. "What did I have to stay around for?"

Ken almost said, "to see the fireworks." He patted her on the shoulder.

"You didn't have to take off like that. Nigel's not such a bad guy. He knows you're a stranger in this city. He was going to arrange for you to get home again. He was going to exchange your ticket."

"He was?" Robbie asked, amazed.

"Yeah! Swear to God," Ken said, hoping she wouldn't notice that he stuck his hand into his pocket so he could cross his fingers. No sense in giving the Other Side anything it could use against him. He might practice black magic, but he was honest about it.

"Oh, Ken," Robbie said. Her hazel eyes, slightly rimmed with red, fixed on him. They filled with tears. "You're so nice."

"I'm your friend," he said. Robbie drained her glass in a few gulps. This time Ken signaled for the next one. "Come on, everybody gets fired a few times in their life. There's more bothering you than that. You want to tell me about it?"

"It's nothing," Robbie said, hunching over her drink.

"It's Preston, isn't it?" Ken said gently, patting her wrist in a fatherly way. Robbie nodded. "Oh, come on, you could do better than him."

"No, I couldn't," Robbie muttered. "He's the one I want. No offense, Ken, because you're really a great guy." She regarded him blearily. "And you're good-looking, too. But Lloyd's the sexiest man I've ever seen. I feel so... It's like lightning running through..." She began again, blushing more than ever. "When I'm near him, I just want to throw myself at him. But I can't."

"And he'd like you, too, if it wasn't for... Fionna." Ken put all the scorn he could into the name, and was pleased to see the young woman straighten her spine and glare at nothing.

"Oh, yes," she said, decidedly. "I wish the bitch would fall on her face."

"Maybe she will. Have another drink?" Ken said. They had the back corner of the bar to themselves. The bartender had other customers to look after, and no one could hear them over the combined noise from the speakers. "C'mon, you can tell me all about it."

The French Quarter seemed more crowded that late Saturday afternoon than London during the legendary January sales. Boo and Liz struggled through knots of happy people with stacks of beer cups, and skirted by acrobats performing in the middle of pavements, psychic palm or tarot readers speaking intently to their clients at little tables under beach umbrellas, and artists painting or sketching in chairs set against walls or fences where their wares were displayed. Countless tourists clogged the streets, drinking, taking pictures of one another, diving into bars and shops, and emerging with plastic cups full of beer and armloads of sparkling plastic beads. As the sun tipped westward, the neon on the buildings looked more garish and threatening.

Everywhere, Boo reached out to tap a local man or woman on the arm and chatted for a moment before bringing out the photo of Robbie. No one could remember having seen her. All of them promised they'd keep watch, but they didn't hold out a lot of hope. Liz's heart sank at the enormity of their task. It wasn't going to be as easy to find an ordinary-looking woman in blue jeans and a T-shirt on her own as it had been to locate Fee with her short green hair and personal entourage. Even that search hadn't been simple. If it hadn't been for Boo-Boo and his connections... which weren't doing them a lot of good just then. His friends were observant, but they'd have to be superheroes to pick out one nondescript stranger in this scrimmage.

They came away from speaking with a very limber Jamaican man in Jackson Square who was trying to fit himself inside a small glass box.

"We coulda just missed her, or she's on the move," Boo-Boo said, putting the photo into his pocket as they left the square. "Robbie's a stranger in town. I'd say she could be anywhere, but there aren't too many places that she'd feel comfortable about goin' to if she was in trouble."

"The hotel," Liz said, as a thought struck her. "Perhaps she just went back there. She might want to go directly to the airport or the bus station. We should find out if she's taken her luggage."

Boo raised his fair eyebrows. "Maybe that ought to've been our first stop. I wasn't even thinkin' when we came running' out of the Superdome." He looked so chagrined that Liz felt sorry for him.

"To tell you the truth," Liz said, "neither was I. That can't be helped now." Boo-Boo recovered quickly, and gave her his brilliant smile. They were equals again. Partners. A small benefit to come out of this awful mission. Only, he had to remember that she was in charge.

The tall, blond manager of the Royal Sonesta Hotel came bustling out to greet the two agents waiting at the lobby desk at the summons of one of the uniformed clerks.

"Does one of our guests need help?" he asked in a discreet undertone as soon as he reached them. "Does... she need help?"

"Not she," Liz said, "but one of her employees. Ms. Unterburger. Roberta Unterburger."

The manager and the attractive clerk behind the desk frowned.

"I'm not certain I recall her," the clerk said.

"She's kind of an everyday-looking person," Boo explained, producing the photograph. "It's important that we find her pretty quickly."

"She might be ill," Liz explained, hoping they wouldn't ask for details.

"Well, we'll be happy to call a doctor if she needs one," the manager said, friendly and ready to help.

"It's a serious condition," Liz said hastily, thinking of the poor doctor who might encounter a wild magical talent without warning.

"We have some fine medical facilities in this town," the manager said. "Why, Tulane Univ—"

"Can we check her room?" Boo-Boo asked. "As I recall, she's sharin' room 2153 with another woman who works for Ms. Kenmare. She might have come in without anyone noticin' her. She's kind of a shy young lady."

"Certainly," the manager said. He disappeared into his office and emerged with a set of passkeys. "Just in case she's collapsed."

Liz shot a look at her associate. They couldn't be that lucky to find Robbie present and unconscious.

They stopped a maid in the hallway to ask if anyone was in room 2153. The woman shook her head. The manager knocked on the door. When no one answered, he used his passkey to open the room. Liz was relieved to see the ordinary clutter of two women sharing temporary living quarters. Heaps of garments stood on the bed and the dresser. The luggage piled in the closet seemed of sufficient quantity for two. Liz checked the name tags. Some of them belonged to Robbie. Liz opened them, and found them empty. Thank heavens, the girl hadn't packed up her bags and disappeared out of town. Not yet.