Reserved for the Cat

Now normally one dowsed for water. Jonathon thought to himself that Alan was actually dowsing for the direction of the absence of water. Or rather, of Water Magic. And he was doing it, not in the present, but in the past. He had found the place in time when what was now a repaired sinkhole had been created. With that mark to guide him, he was following the path of that magic, by tracing where it had in essence shoved everything out of its way in passing.

This was a tour de force that Jonathon knew he would never have been able to duplicate.

He’s good, isn’t he? Jonathon sensed that the cat was “speaking” for his “ears” only.

Remarkably so, Jonathon thought back at the cat. I was skeptical—I’m not anymore. Even if— But he did not finish that thought, which would have been, “Even if Ninette does seem to enjoy his company more than I like.”

Well no one can be a young genius forever, the cat said with amusement. If nothing else, young geniuses become old geniuses, and a newer, younger genius is always coming up, nipping at his heels. Being in those shoes is somewhat less than comfortable.

Their journey took them long enough that Jonathon’s feet were beginning to hurt. He was by no means used to walking great distances; he was, after all, a city dweller, and men of his class took cabs. They would certainly need to take a cab back to the theater to be in time for the first performance. But just when he was about to ask Alan how much longer he thought this would be, Alan looked up and gave an exclamation of mingled triumph and disappointment. Jonathon looked in the direction he was gazing and saw—

A hotel.

“Oh curse it!” he said , annoyed, knowing exactly what Alan was thinking. “I don’t suppose—”

“With over a hundred people coming and going from there every day?” Alan shook his head. “There is not a chance I could sort through all of that. Besides, I much doubt that the magician confined his work to a single room. He more than likely expanded it to the whole hotel. I would have.”

Jonathon nodded. “All right then, we are not completely helpless. I can get a listing of all the people registered to that hotel on that day, as well as the servants and employees. That will narrow our search down from the entire city to at most two hundred people. I call that progress.”

Alan reluctantly agreed.

“Now, you may not need to hurry, but I have an act to perform,” Jonathon continued firmly. “So right at this moment, we need nothing more magical than the ability to get a cab in front of a fine hotel.”

Ninette stepped out of the cab in front of the theater and immediately had the sense that she was being watched.

Or to be precise, she had the sense that there were two sorts of watchers. The first sort were those who were watching her with admiration, varying degrees of recognition, and varying degrees of intent to find out if she could be enticed into a bed. There was a warmth to that which was friendly, even with those who dreamed of her being in their beds. Not even the ones who wanted her in that way had any intention of doing anything other than making her, and themselves, happy. And for the rest, she was something to be admired, like a sunset, or a lovely hat.

This she did not in the least mind. It was the same sort of thing she got when she performed. Even on stage, there were those who thought of her in their beds, and that only made sense, since her legs were clearly on display, though her bosom was not exactly as generous as those of the lady that sang “Champagne Charlie.” For the rest, again, she was like a fairy, a magical little creature that they watched flit about the stage so lightly they were sometimes afraid to breathe lest she break.

That was the good sort of being watched.

No, it was another sort of watcher, a single one, that startled her and sent a chill of fear down her back. How she knew this, she could not tell. Maybe Thomas could; maybe it was simply being around so much magic that it was rubbing off on her. But she knew, absolutely, that someone in front of the theater wished her only ill. That person, whoever and wherever it was, watched her with loathing.

Was this their enemy? Was this the magician who had sent all those terrible things to plague them? Had Jonathon and Alan gone in search of him only to have him come here?

And which person in the crowd at the theater entrance was it? Her eyes flitted over the crowd, lined up to buy tickets for the evening performances. They were all sold out these days, and even the standing-room sections in the backs of the galleries had plenty of occupants.