"Down by the Moon Walk."

"The Moon... of course! The exhibition we heard announced at the radio station." The gal had a great memory. Too bad she had that ol' stuffy accent that made her so hard to understand. "Have you found our subject?"

"There's probably about as many people here as there are where you are," Boo said, scanning the area around him, "and most of them are standin' up." A family of obvious tourists pushed between him and a stainless steel sculpture, being careful not to touch him. "It's also pretty dark. The street lamps distort things a little. This is goin' to be a challenge. I'll try a findin', but I don't know how it'll do. I'd better not run down the phone battery. I'll get back to you when I find 'em."

"You do just that," Liz said, calmly, as though she was asking him to tea with the Queen. The connection ended. He switched off the telephone and stuffed it back into his pocket.

The finding spell he liked to use best took a good pinch of lodestone powder. Boo-Boo felt around in his coat for the various packets and bundles of cloth he kept handy. He had a bad feeling that he might be short on lodestone. The call from Washington hadn't left him much time to stock up before he had to meet the jet. His fingers explored the threadbare recesses of the inside lining of his jacket, coming up with little bits and pieces. Here was henbane, holy basil, a small bunch of chili peppers tied with red thread, and a whistle. There was that last bite of beignet left over from the stop he'd made at the Café du Monde with Liz and the group. He chewed on the stale chunk while continuing to sort out the contents of that deep pocket. If lodestone powder was anywhere, it was there. In the meanwhile, he recited the words of the incantation to himself. It helped if he got it right the first time.

Nothing in his preparations required that he stand still. He kept moving, hoping to catch sight of Robbie. There was half a hope that Ken Lewis wasn't with her anymore, but Boo-Boo couldn't rely on that. His profile of the missing Ms. Unterburger still would not stretch to make her the mastermind that had engineered small psychic attacks on Ms. Kenmare, let alone sabotaging a whole concert. A pity they hadn't looked closer at the quiet Mr. Lewis. Now that Boo-Boo thought about it, there might have been an offensive cantrip going on to keep them from paying much attention to him. And all that time Boo thought it had been the man's aftershave.

The park had its own soundtrack going. Jazz belted out of the loudspeakers clinging to trees and light poles. You could see people walking along sort of bouncing to the beat. That was healthy, he thought. It was just like he'd been telling Elizabeth Mayfield. Give in to the rhythm, and let it move you with it. Too many tourists came to New Orleans and just brought a bubble of their own homelands along with them. They never got to feel what the city had to offer. Of course, Liz's circumstances were extraordinary. It wasn't often he got to work with an agent from any other department, let alone a foreign national. Kind of nice for a change.

The next fusillade of Roman candles filled the black sky with their lines of white fire. The noise surprised his ears a moment later, almost making him drop the minute bundle in his fingers. He imagined that if there was a correlation going between this display and the mayhem being visited on the Superdome, they'd have a kind of delayed reaction, too. A shame that the delay wasn't enough to give much notice to Liz what was coming before it happened.

There was barely enough of the vital component left for the spell. He had a hair and a little fluff from the upholstery of Robbie's chair that he mixed in with it, all the while chanting the ancient words, with a few new twists that the government researchers had worked out over the last fifty years. Passersby saw him talking to himself and playing with pocket lint. The other local practitioners would understand, but strangers would leave him well and truly alone. That kind of anonymity was what the Department required of its agents, part-time or full-time.

Eighty percent of the people in the park were stationary, having staked out a good place to watch from. The other twenty percent strolled around. Kids with sparklers ran around sketching glittering arcs in the air. Made a pretty good disguise for the glowing witchlight of the finder spell once he got it going.

Strangers in the thick crowd made plenty of room as he wandered past them. He guessed he was describing such an irregular path that they thought something was wrong with him. He had to look carefully into each of their faces. The kind of heady magic he was pursuing could interfere with perception.

He gave them a reassuring kind of smile, but they backed off anyway.

Within a few moments he located a trace. This might be easy after all. He followed it back to the concrete steps where the two must have entered the park, but from there the trail meandered around and around. Boo didn't like the crazy psychic vibes that he picked up as he went. The girl was messed up somehow. Probably had a lot too many drinks somewhere, making her far too suggestible. Boo-Boo winced as the sky filled with fireballs, picturing the same thing happening back at the Superdome. He followed the silver pointer wherever it went, hoping that his meager supply of lodestone would hold out until he located his quarry.

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.