"Not a soul."

Spae snorted slightly.

"This weather can't be doing that cold of yours any good," I lolger said to cover her slip, but she continued to press.

"Perhaps we could go inside now. I'm sure it will be wanner."

Sergeant Willis shook his head. "I don't think it would be a good idea just yet. We'll have to check it out first."

Holger nodded in agreement. "I understand your concern, Sergeant. Perhaps Dr. Spae could get out of the wind and wait in one of your vehicles. I'm afraid ours is parked just outside the building. Returning to it might hot be the best of ideas just yet."

"I want to go inside," Spae protested.

"One of our vehicles would be better, ma'am."

"We all share your concerns, Doctor. The officer is only concerned for your safety, Doctor. As am I. We will get you in to check on your precious antiquities as soon as we may do so safely."

"I think it would be better if you waited out here too, Mr. Kun," Willis said.

"Whyever for, Sergeant? I am a licensed security technician. Interpol certified."

"Interpol, huh?"

Sergeant Willis seemed about to say more, but headlights flashed across them from Route 12, and he turned to check out their source. The lights swung away as the vehicle took the next curve, moving more slowly than necessary for a vehicle traveling about its business. The car was a late-model luxury sedan, a Nissan Silhouette. The Silhouette pa.s.sed their position, slowing further as it took the corner onto Barber Avenue. The car pulled up behind one of the police vehicles. The car's windscreen bore a parking sticker with the Mitsutomo crest. Holger recalled from the travel guide he'd read that Mitsutomo was one of the museum's sponsors.

Having an interest in the place, they'd naturally be concerned over any problems. Sending a company rep demonstrated that concern; the Silhouette, a car expensive enough to be out of the reach of anyone below upper management, suggested that Mitsutomo's concern was quite serious.

The driver got out of the car and scampered around to open the door for his pa.s.senger. The man who emerged was a j.a.panese. No surprise there. He wore a heavy overcoat that added to an already substantial girth. The driver fell in behind him as he clumped over to the group. He greeted Willis by name and immediately asked who Holger and Spae were. The sergeant told him Holger's fabrication and introduced them to him, saying, "Mr. Yamana is the head of security for Mitsutomo Metal Fabrications."

Head of security? To check on a communications malfunction?

Holger stuck his hand out again. "I must say that I'm surprised to see such an elevated person as yourself here tonight."

"I do my job, Mr. Kun," Yamana said as he shook hands. "There are very valuable artifacts on loan to the museum. It would be unforgivable if something happened to them while they were in our care."

"You mean the museum's care."

Yamana inclined his head. "As you say."

"Why aren't some of the staff here?" Spae asked.

"They will be informed at the proper time, Dr. Spae. The important thing at the moment is to determine what has happened."

Spae nodded briskly. "I agree. Shall we go?"

"I think this is a matter for the police, Doctor."

"We've just been having that discussion with Sergeant Willis here," Holger said. "I'm sure you will be able to set the sergeant straight."

"The sergeant knows his responsibilities."

"Mr. Yamana," Holger said sternly. "I have responsibilities as well. The Commission of Antiquities will not be happy if I am excluded."

"Time is wasting," Spae put in.

"You are correct, Doctor." Yamana's stiffness suggested that he was annoyed, but his voice remained calm and level. "We've no wish to make this a political issue, Mr. Kun. If the sergeant is satisfied that you are safe to yourself as well as to his men, I will be satisfied. But I must insist that Doctor Spae remain outside for the moment."

The sergeant looked distinctly uncomfortable as he fumbled through a few more questions, which Holger answered. Holger had to produce his Interpol-certified gun permit before the man would agree to include Holger in the search party. Even then, he insisted that Holger stay in the back of the party with Mr. Yamana and Ms driver. They left one of the officers at the cars to stay with a still-protesting Spae when they marched up the hill to the museum.

The cops organized their entry with reasonable precision. Two officers split off to watch the back entrance and loading-dock area, while the rest prepared to go in the front door. Holger readied his Glock and was unsurprised to see that Yamana's driver was armed as well; the man moved too smoothly to be a simple chauffeur.

They advanced on the door, but didn't get past the threshold. There was a pile of empty clothes just inside the door.

Holger swallowed hard, but kept himself from taking a step back. Yamana eyed him suspiciously while one of the policemen poked the pile with his foot. Nothing but cloth. The sergeant gave the sign to proceed. The cops moved into the quiet lobby.

Holger couldn't pa.s.s the pile without knowing. He picked at the pile gingerly. It was an odd lot, costumes and not real clothes. More important, there were enough garments in the pile for two or three people of different sizes. There was no way for this lot to be the clothing of a single person.

Holger felt relief.

He straightened up, ready to get on with the search, and was nearly run over by Spae. She was out of breath but didn't seem frightened. Significantly, the doctor was alone.

"You should not be here."

"Shove it."

"Where is the officer who was with you?"

"He'll be along as soon as he realizes I left. What have you found?"

"Nothing much."

She frowned. Folding her hands before her, she took a deep breath and let it out slowly. Her eyes lost their focus. "We need to go upstairs."

"Why do you say that, Doctor?" Yamana emerged from the shadows of an archway. Holger hadn't known he was there.

Spae, only half aware of the real world around her, answered, "It's up there."

"What is, Doctor?"

"The exhibit, of course," Holger said, hoping he was right.

Clearly not satisfied by Holger's response, Yamana nevertheless was forced to postpone further questions as Sergeant Willis called him. Dragging Spae along, Holger followed the security chief into a small room just off the corridor. A glance told him that the room served as both a ticket office and a security station. Willis was showing Yamana the security arrangement.

The monitor console showed that all was secure-a patent incorrectness, given the open front door visible through the window into the lobby. According to Willis, access to the security system was locked out, but the regular computer functions were available. Obviously someone had tampered with the system.

Ordering Spae and Holger to remain in the watch room, Yamana went with the locals as they searched the entry floor. Holger didn't object; when they were out of sight, he called up the personnel files and scanned through them. It was all he had time to do before the party rea.s.sembled in the lobby. Willis reported that the entry floor was empty and nothing looked disturbed. All of the building's elevators were on this floor; the police used their emergency keys to lock them there, limiting access between the floors.

They moved up, finding the second floor with its offices and "touch" gallery as empty and undisturbed as the lower floor. On their way to the third floor and the main exhibits, Holger began to smell cooked meat. One of the cops made a crack about something smelling good. Holger said nothing. The cop would learn.

A body lay sprawled in the junction of the vee formed by (he two arms of the great hall. The blackened corpse lay in a pool of dark, half-congealed fluid. The cadaver's contorted pose suggested the agony in which the victim had died. All was consistent with death by fire. Unfortunately, other than the corpse there were no signs of a conflagration.

Spontaneous combustion? Unlikely.

"Energies have been used here," Spae whispered.

No s.h.i.t. Holger didn't need a specialist to tell him that.

Over in a corner, the hungry cop was barfing up his last meal. Holger considered joining him, but not because of the corpse; he'd seen messier deaths. It was how this death had been accomplished that made his stomach rebel.

A charred corpse and no other sign of flames could only mean one thing. Magic. Holger hated magic.

The south wing held what the police sought, definite signs of a break-in. Hie exhibit was a shambles. There and in that end of the great hall, armor and displays were disarrayed, smashed, and scattered. Bullet holes pockmarked the stone walls of the great hall, starred its false windows, and maimed the more modern paneling in the special-exhibit hall. A small war had been fought here, but beyond the charred corpse, the only casualties appeared to be mannequins, artifacts, and the building itself.

Spae didn't want to go any farther to continue with the search. Willis admonished Holger and Spae not to touch anything pending the arrival of the crime scene van, but allowed them to remain in the special-exhibit gallery. He actually seemed relieved to be able to do so. Once Yamana and the police had left to sweep the rest of the building, Spae spoke with awe in her whispering voice.

"Kun, there's more residual energy here than I've ever felt before. I feel invigorated just being here."

Holger did not consider the doctor's p.r.o.nouncement good news. "Perhaps you can do something with this energy to preserve our cover."

"Who cares about the cover?"

"I care, Doctor. And the Department will care. It is our job to hide what happened here until we know more about what is going on. We will be able to do that better if we preserve our cover. Yamana will soon be asking us whether anything is missing from the d.a.m.ned exhibit. I certainly have no idea. If we are exposed, our access to this site will be limited."

She was quiet for a moment. "There is a spell I could try, but I've never had a lot of luck with it. Without my tools, I can't promise much."

"Anything might help."

"Very well."

She spent a minute or so in meditation, then began a quiet chant in Latin. Holger waited: frustrated, unhappy, and very uncomfortable. Seeking something to distract himself from the doctor's efforts, he stepped to the doorway. From there he could, if necessary, give warning of the approach of Yamana or the police. Spae stopped talking after three minutes but remained standing, swaying slightly. It was another three minutes before she spoke to him.

"It's wonderful. I've never seen auras so clearly."

Holger didn't want to hear about it. "What did you learn?"

She smiled indulgently. "I don't think anything is missing, but several of the items have an odd quality to their auras. Sort of a freshness. It's not like anything I've experienced before."

She babbled on about the auras and energies for several more minutes before he had to hush her. The police returned, bringing word that there was no one in the building other than the searchers.

"That corpse must be the night watchman," one of the cops said.

"It'll take the lab to be sure," Willis predicted.

Holger doubted that. Having scanned the personnel files, including the physical statistics on the fellow holding the first shift, he knew the corpse was too short by at least ten centimeters. Far more than incineration shrinkage would account for.

So where was Mister John Reddy? Run away at the first sign of magic, if he had any brains.

"Hi, Mom, I'm home."

Marianne Reddy walked out of the kitchen, momentarily startled that John was not alone. "Who's that with you, dear?"

"Oh. This is King Arthur. A mad sorceress just pulled him out of thin air, and since he's new in town, he needs a place to stay. I told him you wouldn't mind."

"Not at all," she said, smiling. "I'm always happy to meet your friends and it's so lovely to have foreign guests. Do men wear dresses in your country, Mr. Arthur?"

Arthur glowered at her.

"It's a robe, Mom. We stole it from the museum."

Neither Arthur's scowl nor John's admission of theft had any effect on her ebullient mood. "I see. Oh my, what's that in his hand?"

"It's a sword, Mom. We stole that from the museum too."

"How nice."

From somewhere behind John a gun opened fire. Small black holes st.i.tched up his mother's body. A ball of fire roared over John's shoulder, engulfing her in a blazing inferno. Marianne Reddy smiled through it all, the grin as frozen and foolish as John's fantasy. The scene dissolved, forcing John back to the cold dark of the alley that served the commercial strip of Rezcom 3.

Not a good idea, John.

Now you show up. And not so loud, huh. People will hear.

Don't go home, John. It's not safe.

Where else is there to go?

Somewhere else. They know about you now. They will know to go there.

Maybe going home wasn't a real bright idea. An awful lot of people seemed to- know who he was, while he had absolutely no idea who they were. Bennett, for one. Those two guys who said they were FBI, for another two. Wouldn't home be the first place anybody would come looking for him?

His mind shifted into replay. Screams and gunshots. Scampering boggles. Flashing magic like a war of fireworks. Just fine in a vid or a game, but not the sort of thing you wanted to bring home to your mother.

The "federal agents" were clearly capable of violence. Bennett, too. Who knew what that madwoman Nym was capable of? Magical spells, for sure.

She's still out there, John.

Yeah? How do you know?

Trust me.

She must have beaten Bennett, then. The feds, too.

Nothing is settled yet, John. Don 7 go home.

All that magic and all those gunshots. Surely something must have happened?

Something has.

What?