Robert & Jody Lynn Nye - License Invoked

Patrick read them off from his list. Fionna personalized each picture in turn. Liz, reading them upside down, realized that Fionna was making each dedication a little different than the others. A real pro, she thought with surprise. She'd been judging too much by the appearance. Green Fire ran like a machine, and Fionna was truly part of it.

Elizabeth admired the staff. They were organized, genuinely concerned for Fionna's well-being, but very businesslike. Nigel had a cigarette for Fionna, but held it out of reach until she drank a repulsive, thick, pink shake he offered in his other hand.

"Brain food before you ruin your lungs, darling," he said, waving the glass under her nose. "Come on. You can't do an hour on an empty stomach. The cook in the Sonesta made it up just for you."

"Ugh, it's horrible," Fionna sputtered, after downing the shake in three or four gulps. She seized the cigarette, lit it from the flame Nigel held out to her, and drew smoke deep into her lungs. Liz scented fresh strawberry before it was drowned out by the stink of tobacco. "It's a sad thing when nicotine tastes better than something to eat. Thank God they let you smoke in this city. I thought it'd be another San Francisco." She blew a plume of smoke out of the corner of her mouth toward the ceiling. "Anything else I have to know, Pat?"

"That's all about the staff," said Patrick Jones, with his palms pressed together like an altar boy's. "Verona has the gen on the concert itself. All you have to do is talk about you .Now, remember, Fee, not a word about the attacks. They don't exist, right?"

Fionna took a deep breath, and clasped a hand around the carnelian necklace and placed the other hand in Lloyd's. He clenched it possessively, and shot an expression of triumph toward Liz. She refused to react. Let him protect her on this plane. Liz's job was to deal with the Unseen, not the Seen. "Right. Let's go in there."

"So what brings you to N'Awlins, Ms. Kenmare?" Verona Lambert asked, her voice as smoky as the studio air. She was a chocolate-brown-skinned, plump woman with round cheeks, round eyes, and a huge pouf of straightened brown-black hair flattened over the top of her head by the earphone set she wore. The party was jammed into a small, dim room with pinholed acoustic tile on every surface but the floor. There were only three chairs, one for Verona, one beside her for Fionna, and one for the sallow-complected, thin, male producer/engineer who sat across the cluttered, beige console from them. Lloyd Preston inserted himself in between a couple of high consoles so he could stand next to Fionna. Occasionally she reached up to hold his hand. The rest of the party stood against the walls, not more than a couple of feet away. Square plastic cartridges stacked on a floor-to-ceiling rack jabbed Elizabeth in the back. The room was so close and hot she wondered if she might pass out. Her white, raw silk jacket was already sodden with sweat.

"Call me Fionna, me lovely. I think it's one of the finest places I've ever seen," Fionna said. Her accent made the word "foinest." She looked Verona straight in the eyes while she talked. If she wasn't sincere, she was one hell of a good actress. "Music's me life. I've got to love a place where it's on every street corner every night, where everybody plays or sings or listens to something every day. Music broadens your soul. I could click into this scene like I was born here."

"Do you find much in common here with your music?" Verona asked, with a lift of her brows. "N'Awlins is a kind of a mix of Acadian French style with Afro-Caribbean rhythms. Jazz is like nothing else in all the world, honey. I have all Green Fire's recordings, Fionna, and you'll forgive me for saying so, but they don't sound a thing alike to me."

"They all come from the same place," Fionna said, pounding her fist to her chest. "The heart. I've seen some people here, they've got nothing at all in all the world but their music. It's lovely. It's the same way I was as a child. I had nothing else, so I put my heart into the beauty I could hear."

That was rich, Elizabeth thought. For someone who'd gone through finishing school, Oxford University and at least fifty thousand pounds of Daddy's money, Fionna/Phoebe was very convincing as a North Dublin waif. She talked touchingly about her fictional childhood, her poverty, and the spirit that she felt that wouldn't let her stop until she could share her songs with the rest of the world.

The radio presenter took it all nonjudgmentally, though, and led Fionna through a good interview, bringing out interesting facets of her career and the founding of Green Fire. She'd certainly done her homework. At five minutes to the hour, Verona looked at Fionna confidingly.

"And now, I've got to ask you, darling, why all the magical themes in your music? Is it a sincere interest on your part, or just a little something you throw in to please the fans? Because, I warn you, N'Awlins is a very magical place. If you fool around with the spirits, they're goin' to gitcha."

"It's sincerely meant," Fionna said, her large eyes wide with something akin to alarm. She certainly was very superstitious. Elizabeth thought her hands trembled. "I have a great respect for the powers that be."

"Wise words," said Verona, turning back to her console. "We've been talking to Fionna Kenmare. Remember, everyone, that's Green Fire at the Superdome at 7:30 on Saturday night. Hey, same time as the fireworks display over the river sponsored by WBOY. Tough choice, folks," she said, with a wry wink at Fionna. "Me, I'll be at the concert. I'll be back right after these words."

The engineer pointed to Verona, and hit a square button. Verona took off her headset. "Very nice, Ms. Kenmare. Thank you so very much for coming. I'm looking forward to the concert. Will any of us be able to sneak backstage and congratulate you afterwards?"

Fionna looked at Nigel Peters. "Should be, love," the manager said, noncommittally, shaking the announcer's hand and turning to the producer. "We'll see you're on the invitation list for the party to follow. Thanks for a good show."

Fionna rose and graciously offered Verona her hand. "Thanks, lovely. You made me feel very welcome. I hope the rest of the city's as warm as yourself."

"We're happy to see you, darling," Verona said, standing up and tossing her headset onto her desk. "And you!" She turned to Boo-Boo. "It's been a long time, you good-looking man. Where've you been?" She enveloped him in a huge hug.

"Oh, I've been around," Boo-Boo admitted.

"Do you know everyone in this city?" Elizabeth asked, with a wry grin, as they left the studio.

"Near abouts," said Boo-Boo.

Clinging to Lloyd, Fionna swirled ahead of them in a cloud of gauzy black skirts, and looked plaintively over her shoulder at Nigel. "Can we get something to eat? I'm hollow."

Nigel looked at his watch. "Pat, Laura and I have got to get over to the Superdome, but there's no reason you can't find yourselves a meal, my dear. Perhaps Mr. Boudreau will oblige?"

"I'd be delighted to," Boo-Boo said graciously.

"You are supposed to be our native guide, aren't you?" Lloyd asked, striding along in Boo-Boo's wake after they'd left the limo at the curb near the Royal Sonesta. "So where can we get a bite to eat before we go over to the arena?"

Liz winced at the barely concealed sneer in Lloyd's voice, but Boo didn't seem to notice.

"There's a pretty good restaurant right in the hotel you're stayin' at. It would give the ladies a chance to freshen up before—"

"We're going to be living on hotel food through most of this tour," the security man interrupted. "I rather hoped you could do better than that."

"Well, we do have one or two pretty nice eatin' places here in the Quarter," Boo said with a shrug. "Let's see if I can't find somethin' that'll suit you."