"Good. I'll see you then."

He disconnected and then eyed the mess the room had devolved into. He'd have to get it cleaned up before she arrived. That and he'd need a shower.

Invoking the Truman named had Housekeeping in his room and working feverishly within five minutes of his call down to the front desk. The outer sitting room was fairly clean, just strewn with datapads and other such tech, but he wanted them to do a good job on the bedroom. He really didn't think about why.

Hanna arrived dressed in a smart blue and black Raphael business suit. Probably cost her ten times what Bern had paid for hers, he thought.

"What's going on?" she asked.

"Something big, but I don't know what it is," he said. "My sources aren't telling me much. But they know something. And if they do, someone else does too. I want to see what we can find."

"Of course."

"You use the terminal"-he motioned toward the desk- "and I'll set up my datapad on the other table and use its cellular link."

Hanna set her briefcase on the couch and removed her suit jacket, dropping it down there as well. She sat down at the telecom terminal and immediately began setting it up to search the various online and national databases.

Kyle picked up a pad off the desk and wrote some telecom numbers and passcodes on it. "Here are some that I've still got access to. Federal Data Repository, Smithsonian-Rand WorldFacts. Try these first."

"What am I looking for?"

"Do a multi-criteria search. We're looking for key words like 'spirit', 'free spirit', 'anima', and related terms. Also 'essence draining', 'neuropsychological damage', and the like. Anything similar to Mitch Truman's case."

She nodded. "That shouldn't be too hard."

"And once you get that up and running, I want to see if you can find Shadowland."

"You're joking."

"No, I'm not. I'm afraid the only way we'll get anything of real value is from the illegal databases, not the government and corp-supported boards."

"I haven't a clue how to get into it."

He smiled. "I know what's-his-name Devress does most of the 'independent personnel" hiring for the Truman family, but I'll bet you've got some connections of your own."

She smiled. "Maybe I do."

"Use them to find the local Shadowland node."

"And then?"

"Same multi-criteria search, but this time add in a few more. Add in 'Universal Brotherhood', 'Knight Errant', and anything else you can think of."

"Why the Brotherhood?"

He shrugged. “There might be a connection between what's going on here and them, but I don't know."

"All right. I can at least try," she said. "Where will you be searching?"

"Magicknet," he said.

"Never heard of it"

"No reason you should have. It's like Shadowland for magicians. I think I know where to access it, but it might take a little work."

She nodded, then began tapping in commands at the terminal.

A moment later Kyle was busy doing the same.

It took him just over an hour to track down the access number for Magicknet's Chicago node. It wasn't a public board, but one used by those interested in pirated spell information, formulae, and other non-public information on the subject of magic. He knew there were several continuously updated databases there on the subject of spirits, their abilities, and origins. If anyone who'd ever accessed the board had encountered anything even remotely similar, it would be noted in the archives. Unless he was dealing with a unique, or possibly small group of virtually unique spirits, Kyle figured his chances would be pretty good. But considering that the total database of Magicknet was measured in terabytes, trillions of bytes of data, that search could take hours… But that's what computers were for.

Across the room, Hanna was working her way diligently toward finding the more mundane Shadowland system. She was in mid-call, trying to cajole a news-snoop acquaintance of hers into giving her the telecom number of a data fiend who might know Shadowland's current access number. Not wanting to interrupt her, he simply waved, pointed to the door, and quietly left. Intent on her efforts, she barely noticed.

Ellen Shaw's apartment was on Chicago's west side, in the neighborhood known as Cicero. Kyle was surprised to find a parking spot so easily; he'd planned to double-park and let Truman worry about the five-hundred nuyen fine. Instead, he switched to manual control and guided the car into an ample spot one door down from where Ellen Shaw lived.

It was late afternoon, but the block was quiet Further up the street, a group of kids were playing with some kind of remote-control aircraft that buzzed in and out of a courtyard apartment. Two nearly white squirrels eyed him expectantly, waiting for some offering of food. He waved at them and kept walking.

His sister-in-law's apartment house was a deep U-shape, with four entrances and about six times that number of units. It was run-down, the courtyard choked with weeds and roving bits of trash caught in the breeze. He pressed the apartment buzzer, but couldn't tell if it worked since there was no answer and he heard no sound of it from the window two stories above. He tried to remember if he had heard the bell the only other time he was here.

Stepping back from the door, he looked upward at the closed and curtained windows of Ellen's apartment. There was no sign of movement, and on an August afternoon, he'd have expected at least one of the windows to be open to catch the courtyard breeze. He stepped forward again and examined the entrance door. The lock was old, mechanical. That was good.

He pressed the buzzer once more, then placed his hand over the lock. Senses extended, he focused the forces of magic through him, his hand, and into the lock. He wove them together until the lock was infused with mystical energy, ready to obey his command. He willed it open. The door swung inward.

The inner door had once also carried a lock, but it was long gone, with only a shabby hole remaining. He moved through it, up the broken and musty staircase to the second floor. He stopped in front of the door at the top of the stairs, apartment 2S.

Kyle listened at the door, but heard nothing. He knocked firmly, and was surprised to hear a sudden scrambling from inside. The sound moved quickly toward him, snapping and clicking across the hardwood floor of the apartment. He stepped backward, a barrier spell ready, but the noise seemed to stop at the door.

He waited, and then whatever it was scratched, almost quietly, at the bottom of the door, near the frame. It scratched again and Kyle focused his magic and his senses, specifically his vision, projecting it forward, past the door and into the apartment. He looked down.

And the gray and white cat, as such small creatures are inexplicably wont to do, looked up at him. It was panting, thin, and starving, its nose dry and cracked from dehydration. It seemed to be trying to make a noise, but Kyle, on the far side of the door, heard nothing.

He disintegrated the lock with a carefully aimed dart of focused violet power. The cat, whose name he knew to be Grendel, scooted away as fast as it could, slipping and skidding across the floor as it disappeared around the corner.

Kyle expected a terrible smell when he entered, but the short hall was only musty, hot, and dry. Bits of metal lock and wooden door were scattered down the hall and into the Irving room, but he closed the door behind him, pushing at the twisted wood until it shut. The main room was as Spartan as he remembered it, and showed no signs of anything out of the ordinary. A single red light flashed repeatedly on the telecom.