It helped her a lot to have other people's energy to throw at the building wave of darkness, yet what they had to offer was limited by their lack of training. As Nigel had said, he had commitment problems. Others were blocked for just as many reasons. There just wasn't enough power. If she could have made contact with audience members, she might have been able to channel them into creating a more positive cycle. She was afraid to try. Such an action could backfire hugely if word of trouble started going around the auditorium. One whisper of black magic, and 80,000 terrified people would stampede for the doors.
All the people gathered around were depending on her, and her alone. She wished that Boo-Boo was there with her. It was a frightening thing to be left to her own meager devices. She wanted desperately for her mission to succeed. She gave a short, bitter laugh. Yes, she wanted to save the world. Willingness must count for something.
Not enough, she thought forlornly. If Boo-Boo failed to stop Robbie and Ken, all was lost. She sensed the bottom of the well in what the others had to give her, and drew hard on her stored fund of Earth power, the last drops of which Boo-Boo had fed her before he went away. Once again she felt herself tiring, almost falling back into Lloyd's strong arms as she surrendered even the last ergs of her own life-force to stop the evil from taking over. She was sorry for Fionna. It must have seemed like an amazing bit of good luck for her to have an old friend assigned to protect her. Too bad that Ringwall hadn't seen fit to send a more able and experienced agent to her rescue.
In a moment Liz would lose her grip on the containment spell, and the whole maelstrom would wind itself up into the largest force of darkness that this city had ever seen. She started to feel dizzy as the drain leached away her very consciousness. In a moment she would collapse like a deflated balloon.
Softly, a trickle of psychic energy began to creep up through the soles of her feet into her body. Liz felt it rise from the floor, running along her legs and body, straightening her spine and flowing out of her hands and her mouth. It couldn't be coming from Boo-Boo. He wasn't this powerful. Liz grew concerned as a mental probe she sent to feel for the bottom of the well of energy dove down for ages. There was no bottom. It felt gigantic. Endless. What incredibly powerful person could have arisen out of nowhere to help her? It couldn't be anyone in the company, nor a member of the audience, yet it poured from a single source. Who was her mysterious benefactor?
Suddenly, she realized she knew its identity. Not a who, but rather a what. The power was issuing from New Orleans itself. It didn't like this intrusive darkness being pressed down upon it, like a thumb in the eye. It wanted to bottle up the intruder to prevent it spoiling the ease of the Big Easy. As much as pure power could be, this was flavored with spice and lilting voices—and music. The city, and the French Quarter particularly, was protecting itself from outside malignity. It saw Liz as the means to protecting itself, and offered the wealth of its own influence to that end. Liz offered herself gladly as a conduit.
Energy coursed through her every vein, came out of every pore. She was afraid that it would surge through her with the force of a fire hose striking a tissue paper wall and tear her fragile body into pieces, but it didn't want to destroy her. It wanted to carry her along, make her a part of it. She opened up like a camera aperture, wider and wider, until the whole calm, easygoing identity of that unique city was coming in through her feet and out through her fingertips. Let les bonnes temps roulez. The city itself, with the driving backbeat of the Mississippi River in the background like Voe's drumming, provided the overwhelming music Liz lifted herself on. It was as though Bourbon Street itself raised up and tied around the Superdome like a gigantic ribbon of sound. Not only the goodness of rock and roll, but the cool breath of jazz, the warm embrace of soul, the heart of the blues, the edgy ribs of zydeco and the wry glue of Irish folk music wove together under her hands to form a leak-tight, flexible basket. The music of this great place stood against the evil infecting the acid-folk rock—the ultimate battle of the bands. Her enormously heightened sense allowed her to hear all of these pulses, the good outside holding the bad inside. She could contain the malignance, for now. But she couldn't hold it forever. Sooner or later one of these people was going to want to go home.
Oh, Boo, do something! she pleaded mentally.
Boo-Boo felt as though he was feeling his way blind in the dark. Ken Lewis had shown a distinct talent for concealment. Boo checked with friends, but neither he nor they had seen a good-looking man with a plain girl in blue jeans. When he stopped to consider his throbbing feet, he must have walked up and down the length of the riverfront twice already. He hadn't spotted either of his subjects. The trail wound around too many places. He was frustrated. Liz was back there alone trying to calm a nuclear bomb with a cup of chamomile tea. This exhibition would end pretty soon, as would the concert. Once the crowd broke up, his chances of finding two people in the mob dropped to parts per billion as everybody would make for his or her favorite bar. And that was just to start the night off.
It was beginning to look as though he would have to ask for a search of the waterfront warehouses. His heart sank as he counted the myriad windows reflecting the flying sparks of color. Robbie could be behind any one of them.
He'd give the Moon Walk five more minutes, and then call in the forces. Where could he get a view with some perspective?
The band shell, a modern gazebo, was raised about five feet above the cobblestone path. If he stood on the railings he would be able to see a good section of the walk. As he made his way through the crowd towards the structure, the magic detector started flashing as it picked up one mighty strong trace. Boo followed it, hoping he had found them at last.
When he had taken no more than six paces, the last of the lodestone powder ran out. The witchlight fizzled and went dark. Boo came to a halt, staring at his empty hand in dismay.
A little boy nearby on the grass looked up at him with sympathy in his large brown eyes.
"Aww," he said. "Here." He offered Boo one from his box of sparklers.
"Thanks, little brother," Boo-Boo said, giving the child a pat on the back. Might do in a pinch. He lit it and held it toward the gazebo, chanting the Words of Finding.
The silver flame ran down the length of the wire and exploded outward in a single, blinding blast. Pay dirt! He ran toward the gazebo, shoving past dozens of holidaymakers with their faces to the sky. Just in the shelter of the slanted roof on the far side he saw a couple of familiar profiles.
Boo-Boo stabbed the auto-dial button on his phone. "Liz!" he cried. "I've found 'em!"
Ken Lewis rolled back on one elbow, watching Robbie operate her invisible equipment. Now and again in his earphone he heard the crackle of confusion coming from the Superdome. He might have had a hard time in the beginning getting the sabotage under way, but now it was going so easy he was sorry he couldn't do it all over again.
He could cause anything to happen that he could get Robbie to visualize. That opened up the range of possibilities for mayhem to well... everything. But there wasn't much time left. Once the power had been converted the way Mr. Kingston wanted it, he needed to cause a massive reaction to make it go back into the transmission line and sent off to SATN-TV. A devastating disaster would cause the appropriate reaction.