"Right," said Peters grimly. "Then, security's the main concern."

"Right," Elizabeth echoed. She accepted a gin and tonic from the waiter, and paused until he was out of earshot. She turned to Boo-Boo. "You already know how many people are with the party. Three band members, twelve permanent roadies, Mr. Peters here, her personal bodyguard, publicist, special effects woman, technical director, the costumer, and the makeup artist. None of them appear to have any connections with the United States other than professional contacts in the business, particularly Michael Scott, who is known as the Guitarchangel. He had quite an independent career going earlier in the decade, two platinum albums, and all," Elizabeth finished hastily, lowering her face so the others couldn't see it. She had hardly had to refer to her notes for Michael. She'd been a big fan for years. Working in proximity to him was going to be distracting.

"The keyboard player, Eddie Vincent, was well known in the American group Skywatch, a Christian rock band. He began to play with Fee—Fionna around five years ago." Better be careful about her old friend's secret identity. There was no telling whether she had enraged someone by her masquerade as a starving Irish waif and what they might do if they found out she was no such thing. "Voe Lockney's only been with her for two years. He replaced her last drummer..."

"Former boyfriend," Nigel said, dismissively. "They broke up, and he couldn't handle being around her. Too bad. He was stellar."

"How many other newcomers?" Boo-Boo asked.

"Because of the labor laws, we've had to hire most of our backup staff here in the States," Nigel said, taking a healthy gulp of his drink. "It's all I've spent the last three weeks doing. Six musicians, three backup singers, a couple dozen grips and technicians. They're really out of the picture. Most of them haven't even met Fee yet. They've been working with our stage manager, who's been here on site for a week with most of our techs. Only the key personnel flew in with us this evening."

Elizabeth dismissed the newcomers from her calculations. If they'd had no contact with Fionna Kenmare in Dublin, they could not have been responsible for the previous attacks, or the mysterious indisposition of the other agent.

"The costumer," Elizabeth read from her jottings, "Thomas Fitzgibbon, came to her from the West End theater scene. Did a lot of work for Andrew Lloyd Webber's Really Useful Company. Kenneth Lewis, lighting engineer. A New Yorker, he last worked in some off-Broadway theaters. Laura Manning, the makeup artist, is also from the West End. The special effects designer is a woman, too, Roberta Unterburger."

"Call her Robbie. She hates Roberta," the publicist advised.

"Yes," Elizabeth said, writing it down. "She's from Marin County, California, three years ago. They've all been with her for at least two years, predating the first attack by at least fifteen months."

"We didn't hear anything from our end, either," Boo-Boo said. "Any problems on your end, Nigel?"

"None," the manager said. He leaned forward, placing his open hands palms up on the table in appeal. "They're all good people. They like being part of the Fionna phenom. She's got something special. People gravitate towards her. She's been sort of protected by her fans."

"It sounds as if someone loony has broken through that cordon," Elizabeth said, matter-of-factly. "Possibly someone with special abilities. That's yet to be determined. I'm here to see that nothing more happens."

"What can you do?" Peters asked, his fists closing reflexively. Elizabeth shook her head.

"If someone tries to get to her again, we can detect him, or her, or it. I've examined her room. There are four doors to the suite itself, the one from the hallway on each floor, and one from the suite to a balcony and the pool on the third floor. One of those doors leads into my room, and I'm prepared to repel attacks. I've seen to it the other doors are securely locked, and warded."

"What'd you use to ward?" Boo-Boo asked.

Elizabeth eyed him, wondering just how far she could trust him. "Who brought you in?" she asked, suddenly.

Peters looked from one to the other, puzzled. "The FBI brought him in, you know that."

"No, that's not what she means." Boo-Boo gave her that easy smile, his eyes glinting. He understood. "She wants to know how I qualify to ask her questions." He leaned over so that his mouth was close to Elizabeth's ear. "A welcoming woman who smiles," he told her. She closed her eyes, relieved, and continued the litany.

"Where was it?" she whispered.

"In the heart of the world," Boo-Boo said, formally.

"Where was the moon?"

"Shining over our heads. And her name was Elmira."

"All right," Elizabeth said, relaxing. She recognized the name. Boo-Boo was not only qualified to help the department, he knew something about her grandmother's ancient tradition of magic as well. It would be easier to confide in him, because she wouldn't be breaking solemn oaths to tell him. She sat up. "I'm so sorry," she told the manager. "Department business. I used an... Earth-Fire ward, tapping into the hotel's electrical system."

Peters looked bewildered, but Boo-Boo nodded. If he was up on New Forest magic, he'd have recognized the reference to a Ward of Vulcan, from the Trilistene Grimoire of 1585, with modern variations that obviated the need to burn charcoal or use a focusing lens to provide the fire power.

"That'd give anything trying to pass it a mighty hotfoot," he said approvingly. "I mighta put down an Earth-Water combo, but that could get messy. What about the windows?"

"No problem. I left them so they can still open—it's so bloody hot in this city—but air's the only thing they'll let in."

Boo-Boo grinned. "You should see it come summer, ma'am. This is just warming up."

Nigel Peters reflexively unbuttoned the collar of his shirt. "Warm! If it were any hotter you'd have to mop me off the pavement."

Elizabeth referred to her notes again. "There wasn't time to bring much from the department, so what I have with me is rather a hodgepodge of government equipment and personal tools. What OOPSI does run to is a decent line of general issue psychic monitors. I've left some concealed amongst Fionna's personal effects to warn us if anyone is staging an attack using her own possessions. I've also been down to the kitchen to arrange for food analysis before any room service order is taken up to the suite. The only employees who will have contact with any of the band or the stage crew will be ones I have vetted personally. You can't concentrate on the arcane and overlook the mundane. Have I missed anything?"

Boo-Boo's slow smile spread across his face. "No, ma'am. You're plenty efficient."

With a smile for the compliment, Elizabeth read off the last of her shorthand notes. "And, finally, escorts to and from the New Orleans Superdome. I'll need the limousines here at least twenty minutes ahead of time to examine them for traps or tricks."

"As you wish," Peters said. "But that's not until tomorrow. Fee's itinerary doesn't have her doing anything until the morning, and that's just publicity. I'll have the cars here for you to inspect ahead of time. No trouble there. Until then, there's nothing more for us to do. She'll be perfectly safe here in the hotel overnight."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Boo-Boo interrupted them, rocking his chair back and forth on its rear legs. "While I was waiting for you all to come down, I saw her and that big fellah turn out the door and light out down Bourbon Street."

"What?" Elizabeth and Nigel exclaimed in unison, leaping to their feet. Boo-Boo didn't move.

"Why didn't you stop them?" Elizabeth demanded, staring down at him. If this was an example of American agents, then they were sloppy, haphazard, and careless. No wonder they were always having troubles over here.