The manager was watching with keen interest as the two agents inspected the room. Liz finally had to admit there wasn't a single clue that would tell them where Robbie would go if she felt troubled.

"I think we've learned what we can," she said. "Thank you for your assistance."

"Always happy to be of service to our guests," the manager said, with a bow, but Liz knew he was thinking of Fionna.

"We need to get Ms. Robbie to a specialist. Just let us know if she comes back here." Boo grabbed a pad of paper and a pen from the nightstand, and scribbled his cell telephone number on it. He handed the slip to the manager. "We shouldn't let her leave on her own. It could be very serious. If you'll just have her call us the moment she shows up."

"I'd be happy to," the manager said, tucking the piece of paper into his breast pocket. "You can count on us."

"I never doubted it," Boo said.

Boo left the same message and his telephone number with the doorman.

"That's about all we can do here," he told Liz. "Should we keep on searchin'?"

"The concert isn't long from now," Liz pointed out, checking her watch. "We'd better go back to the Superdome. We know the target is Fee. We ought to be there to protect her."

"And hope there aren't any fresh booby traps waitin' for us when we get there," Boo said, raising a hand for a taxi.

Feeling considerably more comfortable under the influence of alcohol and Ken's friendly overtures, Robbie reeled off into a catalogue of adolescent complaints about Fionna. Her looks, her habits, her money and fame were all reprehensible and unfair. How dare she be tall and beautiful and rich and talented? What right did she have to get all those clothes handed to her as though she was some kind of princess or something? What could fate have been thinking, sending all those millions of people to swoon at her feet? Especially a man like Lloyd, who ought to see past the makeup and the phony exterior? Didn't he know that that green hair was dyed?

Ken nodded and smiled at the right places, all the while keeping one eye on the clock. He had to get her back into the Superdome, reconnect with the machinery somehow and get it turned on and running, and avoid getting thrown out until he caused the chaos he had been hired to cause. Mr. Kingston had a lot at stake, and he wasn't going to take any excuses if Ken failed. He ought to get her moving soon. Not yet, he thought, but soon. She was still too skittish to react the way he wanted her to. In the meantime, he needed to keep her talking.

"If Fionna was out of the way, then he'd notice you. You're..." Ken swallowed, trying to think of a compliment. He had never really studied her before as a person. He hadn't thought much about her except how easily she responded to suggestion and magical manipulation. Robbie didn't inspire poetry, or even much thought beyond plain existence. She wasn't exactly pretty. Her voice was unremarkable. She didn't exude sexuality or sensuousness like Fionna did. "... You're smart. You do everything right. I've noticed that about you. You study your cues, and your timing is usually exactly right on. You've got a great memory. That's really special."

"Yeah," Robbie said, her voice breaking. "I'm efficient. Big deal. Except I left all my stuff hooked up when I left. The board is still hot, and all the switches are armed. Can you believe it? Normally I turn everything off. I'm so stupid! It's like Dublin all over again, when that poor man got knocked out during that rehearsal." Her shoulders heaved. Ken was afraid she was going to cry. The last thing he needed was an emotional outburst, and he didn't want her mouthing off about that nosy guy in Dublin. That had been a mistake. If it was ever connected to him, he was in big trouble. You never knew who was listening to you. Robbie started to cry, her shoulders heaving in deep sobs. He had to control her. He put his hand onto her wrist and squeezed sympathetically.

A tingle crossed between them, like a spark of static electricity.

Ken jumped up with surprise, then sat down again, trying not to show his eagerness. Robbie was still chock full of magical energy coming off the transmitter from the SATN-TV satellite feed. The Law of Contagion was still in force! She'd made the connection, and she was still channeling power. Maybe he could make the situation work without having to go back to the Superdome.

He glanced out the door to make sure the two agents weren't in sight. They could queer the whole thing if they turned up unexpectedly. Mr. Kingston had promised to do something about them, but he hadn't said what or when. In the meantime, the bar was wide open to the public. Anyone who came in could see them. Did he have any of the materials he needed for an obfuscation charm? He started feeling in his pockets. He couldn't improvise. Ken knew he wasn't much of a natural magician. He thought of himself more as a technical operator.

Robbie was talking, and looking at him as if she expected a response to what she was saying. Ken nodded whenever Robbie paused for breath. He'd only hope Ms. Mayfield and her grubby friend would keep chasing their tails until he'd managed to do what he needed to.

"Under the circumstances, I understand how you left everything running," Ken said, inwardly exalting. "It was pretty intense back there. It won't do any harm. If no one touches anything, it will all still be intact later. Come on, cheer up. Hmm?" He gave her a hopeful smile and chucked her under the chin. The tap was still open on the power feed from SATN. By 7:30 tonight, the full force of their stored-up energy would be coming down those transmission lines and trickling into the chair at Robbie's station, ready to spread out into the full arena. He eyed the girl speculatively. He had an idea. It was possible. It could work. He toyed with his glass, wondering how to begin.

Robbie watched his fingers. Her eyes looked solemn as an owl's behind her thick glasses.

"You have really long fingernails," she announced. "I think that's kind of creepy in a guy. It makes me think of that scene from Rosemary's Baby. Those scratches on her back." She hiccuped. "I'm sorry. I must be getting really drunk. I would never say something like that normally."

"It's all right," Ken said, somewhat put out by the comparison. The blather that those two agents had been making about Robbie being a sensitive was more true than they'd ever know. He wondered if she could smell the brimstone incense he burned at home, and whether it was affecting her perceptions. "You know, you're a really nice person, Robbie."

She hiccuped. "Creak, creak, creak," Robbie said suddenly, tilting her head and staring at the ceiling. "Do you hear that? It sounds like a rocking chair." Ken glanced up. He didn't hear anything. Whatever she was tuned into, it made him uncomfortable. Hastily, he brought the subject back on track.

"You know," he said, "Lloyd's such a perfectionist. If Fee made a total fool of herself, like screwing up the concert, he'd reject her."

"You think so?" Robbie asked.

"I'm sure of it," he said almost casually, making a spinning gesture. "Throw her out flat on her tush. If she was out of the way, he'd go crazy for you."

A crafty expression appeared on her face. He made a note of it as he reached into his pocket for a small package he kept there. When the bartender brought the next installment of drinks, Ken slipped a tablet of LSD into Robbie's.

"Come on," he said. "Let's drink to watching Fionna fall on her face."