There they'd stood, waiting for the chosen hour. Kingston had quivered with anticipation under his postulant's robe of red-dyed camel hair. The needle on the special receiver rose higher and higher until it pinned on the right side of the meter. Then the power came pouring into the studio.
The Council members expected to be bathed in glory, but it was more like standing in a meteor shower. Sparks shot everywhere, setting fire to his precious props: the altar, the black silk hangings, the posters, and worst of all, the gauge that told them how much money the ongoing telethon had raised for Satan. He remembered the disbelief on their faces as they could smell the sticky, gooey love wrapping around the rush of power, three times as much as they expected. Howling, the men batted at their arms and robes in disgust, unable to bear the purity. The love and happiness were overwhelming. The men, powerful black magicians in their own right, started spinning in circles, unable to stop. Some of them floated up to the ceiling, pursued by animals made of brilliant colored light. The Council was getting their power, all right, but not an erg of it could be used for evildoing.
Kingston tried to turn the receiver off, but he couldn't get near it for the force of the energy flow. The grand master had ordered the members to channel all their black sorcery into it, to try and get a hold of the wild magic and send it away. The transmitter had overloaded. Sparks began to shoot out of its base, then it rocketed through the roof. The rest fell in on them. The power burned up everything in the studio, followed by a rush of water power that drenched the ashes. All the equipment in the place just overloaded on goodness. One by one the cameras blew. Kingston himself had narrowly escaped being riveted in the gut by a 70mm zoom lens that went through the wall into the lobby.
Within minutes, it was all over. Without saying a word, the Council, covered in confetti, crumbled acoustical tile and broken glass, had filed out into the night. The last to leave had been Eldredge Mooney. He'd given Kingston a look that could have killed.
After seeing the morning national news Kingston almost wished it had. Fionna Kenmare was completely unharmed. Nothing out of the ordinary seemed to have happened to her. Green Fire had enjoyed a triumph in New Orleans. The reporter was particularly taken with the special effects which were, she said, “just like magic.”
Three million dollars down the tube. The plan had been so perfect! How could it have failed? What the hell had happened to his focus person and his conduit?
The receptionist's voice came thinly through the hole in the wall. The public address system had blown out with everything else.
“Telephone for you, Mr. Kingston.”
Nervously, Kingston picked up the telephone receiver.
“Hello, Eldredge. Yes, I was expecting to hear from you. No, I can't explain it. You can't blame me for that. I had everything set up just the way we planned. It would all have worked if . . . No, we can't use her again. What'd be the point? I hate to admit it, but even my own viewers are going to lose interest because nothing happened to the woman. They'll think everything reported was part of the show. After this she'll be so popular that any attack on her will only enhance her and affect us negatively. Well, there'll be another victim. We'll strike again. What about my membership in the Council?”
“You must be out of your mind!” Mooney bellowed. Kingston removed the receiver from his ear to frown. “Don't ever call me again!” The connection went dead, and Kingston found himself staring at the phone.
“Well, to hell with the rest of you, too!” he snarled.
It was all going to be so beautifully evil, and now his dreams were wrecked. Kingston looked at the mess, not even knowing where to begin cleaning it up.
What in hell was he going to do for the morning broadcast?
* * *
Liz scraped up the sweet apricot sauce on the deep plate with her fork.
“This is very nice of you,” she said, looking across the white tablecloth at Boo, whose clothes looked shabbier than ever in the genteel ambience of the dark wood paneled restaurant. “Even I've heard of having breakfast at Brennan's. I'm surprised you were able to get a reservation. There's quite a crowd here.”
“Oh, I know someone,” Boo-Boo said.
“You always do,” Liz said, smiling impishly. “Forgive the impertinence, but are you certain you can afford this meal? I would be happy to split the check with you.”
Boo gave her a cheerful smile. “My superiors approved the expenditure. They're feelin' pretty good today. Department BBB gets to keep its budget intact for another year. I made it clear how much you'd contributed to the success of my mission.”
Liz ate the last of the Bananas Foster instead of biting her tongue. She was not going to overreact again.
“It was my mission, after all,” she said, pleasantly, and was gratified to see Boo-Boo's bright blue eyes harden slightly. They'd never agree as to who should have been in charge. She sat up, remembering a detail, and fumbled in her purse. “Here's the cell phone. Thank you very much for the loan. I rang my chief. He's passing along the good word about the outcome to Lord Kendale.”
“Well, all's well that ends well,” Boo said, “as your Shakespeare said.”
Liz let out a sigh, sitting back for a moment as the hovering waiter refilled her cup with excellent coffee. As soon as he was gone, she leaned across the table.
“You realize that all we've done is stop this conduit. There might be others out there. Kenny Lewis disappeared before we could question him.”
“There's always somethin' or someone out there,” Boo said, shrugging. “Y'can't keep on worryin' every minute. We've stopped this round, the end of our assignment. If it starts again, we'll stop it again. That's all we can do. Anythin' else is chasin' our tails. I think Miss Fionna is safe, now. They won't try it on her again.”
“I agree.” Liz couldn't help but feel that if she'd had a tail, it would be wagging. Her assignment was over, and it had been a success. Boo-Boo paid the check with a shiny gold American Express card and escorted her out to the curb where a taxi was waiting. He helped the driver sling her bags into the boot. “Do you know, I've only been here three days, but it feels like I've been here for years.”
Beauray Boudreau grinned. “That's N'Awlins, darlin'. It creeps into your soul, and it never lets go.”
“I hope I can come back sometime, and just be a tourist,” Liz said wistfully.
“I hope you can,” Boo-Boo said. “It'd be my pleasure to show you around.” He leaned over and gave her a peck on the cheek. “ 'Til next time, darlin'. Keep an eye over your shoulder. There's always somethin' out there.”
“Stay in touch,” Liz said, squeezing his hand impulsively. “If you ever need me, call.”
“Same goes for you, darlin',” he said. “We're friends now.”
Boo gave her a brief wave. Then, he turned and shouldered his way into the dense crowd on the street. Within a few steps he'd disappeared into the mass of tourists and genuine characters that were as unmistakably a part of New Orleans as the jazz. Just like Boo.
“ICE cold Coca-Cola!” shouted a vendor pushing a cart along the street.
“Lucky Dogs! Get your Lucky Dogs!”
Liz smiled and settled back in the seat as the taxi drove away.