He gave the mike back to the sound guy, put on a different hat and jacket than he’d been wearing, and slipped away through the crowd.

Vahidi was collaring anyone he could find. “Where is she? What happened? Where’s Downey?”

Everyone was still in shock, with no answers. He never found Seamus Downey. He never would.

Dane went back into the house, walking slowly, dazed by the memories spontaneously popping up and replaying in his brain. Mandy flying under all those birds. The volcano, and then there was a fight—

Ouch! Somebody hit him while he was standing in the hallway. He looked around— Oof!Another blow, and it hurt. No one was there but he remembered: Clarence! He beat the snot out of me!

Zap! He went numb, then his feet hurt, his knees complained, he was out of breath … Oh! That car almost ran over me!

By the time he got to the living room he’d suffered more pain and bruises and a blow to his stomach that put him on the floor. But he remembered where it all came from, right up to the point when Lemuel pointed a gun at him.

So this is what it’s like. Mandy, you are one incredible trouper!

But what’s happened? What’d I miss?As he lay on the floor dabbing blood from his mouth and thinking he might throw up, he recalled, The TV stations were there!

He crawled to the entertainment center, grabbed the remote, and brought the big screen to life.

The cameras were focused on the nearly empty bleachers, the crowds milling around and leaving, the stage with the dead and silent volcano.

Kirschner and Rhodes were still there, talking it up.

“… and we’re still trying to find out exactly what happened. This, pardon me, but this does not look like part of the act, Mark.”

“No, Steve, it sure doesn’t. There’s damage, fire, no sign of Mandy Whitacre the magician.”

A remote, handheld camera was circling the burning wreckage. Fire trucks and firemen were there, hoses dousing the flames.

Kirschner went on, “You all saw it, that incredible flight of thousands—it had to be thousands—”

“Oh, at least,” said Rhodes.

“Thousands of doves and Mandy Whitacre suspended, flying beneath them, and now … we can only guess that this wreckage is all that’s left of the secret mechanism by which that illusion was accomplished.”

“And something went terribly wrong.”

“But we don’t know what, and it could be some time before we do know.”

The two announcers kept talking away, describing what was plainly visible on the screen and telling everyone they didn’t know anything.

Then Kirschner interrupted himself. “And as we look across the—Oh, my God!” Pause, some mike noise. “You won’t believe this. We’ve just been informed there’s been a major explosion at the Clark County Medical Center. Fire crews are on the site now, and … hang on to your hats: there are … thousands of dovesin the building!”

It hurt to run again, but Preston also had his Jeep Wrangler in the garage, and Dane had the key.

He parked and limped from three blocks away, past curious onlookers, police cars with lights flashing and radios squawking, fire trucks standing by with nothing much to do and, as he came within a block of the hospital, doves, more doves, and all the more doves the closer he got, as thick as soapsuds in the trees, on the sidewalks, on the overhead wires, on the street signs, fence railings, everywhere. The firemen and police were working around them, wading through them, with no apparent plan as yet what to do with them all. News crews were arriving, cameramen were leaping from their vans. Hospital personnel in uniforms, coveralls, candy striper outfits, even scrubs, stood around, ambled around, clustered in little groups to watch and guess what had happened. Some played with the birds, all of which were notably tame around people.

Police were stretching out their yellow tape, but Dane went to some candy stripers and let his bruises and bleeding speak for him. The candy stripers helped him along, slipping through the barrier and directing him to one of the hastily set up first aid stations. From there he directed himself into the milling crowds, scanning, jumping to see over heads, picking up information from conversations on every side.

There had been no major damage—things were knocked over, spilled, and broken, but nothing a mop or broom couldn’t handle. There was no fire, no loss of electrical power, the patients were all safe and were not going to be evacuated. The birds were the biggest problem as far as anyone could see.

The going story was that something had happened in the basement. The rumors included a gas explosion, a mental patient with a bomb, a terrorist with a bomb, a boiler explosion, a localized earthquake, a faulty foundation, and a sinkhole. No one knew for sure because the basement levels were restricted, only people with the right clearance could go down there, and those people weren’t saying anything.

Of course, the main question spreading all over the campus was the birds and how they got there. The name “Mandy Whitacre” and the words “Grand Illusion” were popping up.

The main door was open. Orderlies and janitorial staff were herding and shooing doves out the door with brooms.

“Dane!” a voice whispered behind him. A hand on his shoulder jerked him around. It was Arnie, wearing a jogging outfit and a billed cap. He immediately took off the cap and jammed it down on Dane’s head, the bill so low it blocked Dane’s eyes. “What are you doing here?”

“I woke up back in my bed in Preston’s house, back where I was at six this morning.”

“Don’t look around, just walk! This way!”

“It had to be Parmenter. He must have known I was going to get pulled into Mandy’s collective mass. He had the Machine spit me out someplace safe—more than nine hours ago.”

“No, I mean, what are you doing here? Are you crazy?”

“Have you found her?”

Arnie walked him under the ribbon and toward the trees on the edge of the visitor parking. “Oh, yeah, right, we had a lovely reunion in the lobby while all hell was breaking loose. You kidding? The place is nuts right now. They’ve blocked off the basement, all the doors, everything.”

“We’ve got to find her.”

“No, you’vegotta get out of here, that’s what you’vegotta do. The place is crawling with cops and cameras and everybody’s asking questions. And the two of you seen together? Eeesh! Why don’t you just hang a sign on her? What are you thinking?”

They ducked on the other side of a tree, keeping their faces toward it.

“We were wondering what happened to you. One minute you’re there, the next minute—man, what didhappen to you? You look like you had a scrape with somebody.”

Dane nodded. “Twice.”

“Ehh. Figures. Nothing halfway about you.”

Dane tried to look around the tree, but Arnie yanked him back. “Hey! Stick with your own plan. If she’s here, we’ll find her.”

“She’s got to be here.” He nodded toward the doves. “They made it.”

Arnie chuckled and wagged his head. “I hope to shout they did, and not a feather out of place.” And then, just taking in all the doves, he had to laugh. “Dane, you always were the idea man, I gotta tell ya!”

“Thank Parmenter.” Dane smiled, not in joy but in hope. “And Preston must have called in a thousand favors.” His attention lingered on some doves perched in the branches above them.

“Well let’s get you out of town. I’ve already gotten some calls, people wondering if you were mixed up in this.” Arnie noticed Dane staring. “What?”

There were four doves perched side by side. They were fidgeting, nodding, and bobbing in Dane’s direction, as if they knew him. He spread his arms out straight.

They flew down and perched on his arms, two on the left, two on the right.

Arnie did a jaw drop—then stood in front of Dane and the birds, trying to hide them. “What do you say we get ’em out of here?”