"Linda Evans - Time Scout 5 - License Invoked" - читать интересную книгу автора (Evans Linda)

"An assignment. Official business."

"Ah," the old woman said, pulling her dog away from sniffing
Elizabeth's ankles. "Have a nice time, dear."

"Thank you."

Mrs. E. tottered away. Thanking heaven for the native British tolerance
for eccentricity, Elizabeth finished up storing as much Earth energy as
she could take on a brief "charge," and sealed it into herself with a
few more words to prevent any from dissipating unnecessarily. She'd
need it to ground herself. It wouldn't do at all to find the
"batteries" empty if she was forced to do any magic-working on the fly.
With a smile at the driver's puzzled expression, she gathered up her
small suitcase and purse, and climbed into the rear seat of the car.
Now she was ready for anything.

Her triumphant mood didn't last long. She was prepared, but prepared
for what? She didn't have a clear idea of what she had to protect
Fionna Kenmare from. The courier remained conspicuously absent while
they drove the rest of the way to Heathrow. Elizabeth kept turning
around in her seat to look behind her. No motorcycle. No official car.
Her heart sank.

Traffic was horrible as usual. Three miles before the turnoff for the
airline terminal, the limousine slowed to a creep, then a halt.
Elizabeth looked around frantically for any signs of movement.

"Afternoon rush hour," the driver said, sympathetically. "It'll get you
every time."

Elizabeth looked at her watch. Forty-five minutes to go before the
Irish flight arrived. Perhaps she could hurry things up just a little
bit. She generally balked at using magic for personal gain, but this
was in service to OOPSI, wasn't it? Rationalizations a specialty, she
thought wryly, trying to recall if there was an appropriate cantrip in
the office grimoire. No, of course not. Flushing poltergeists out of
cottages, yes. Bringing up secret writing, naturally. Opening up
traffic jams, of course not.

Time for a little impromptu poetry. "Let all cars move to there from
here," Elizabeth said in a low voice, trying out the chant, "open the
way to my goal clear." Not brilliant, but it should do the job of
persuading everyone to hurry up just that much more. It was risky, but
she could not miss meeting that flight. Repeating her chant, she
released a little of her stored-up Earth power, feeling it worm its way
forward along the lanes of traffic. It seemed as though it would work
when the tiny psychic thread smacked into an overwhelming strong
counterforce as firm as concrete that stopped it cold: England itself.
Do not interfere with the status quo, the presence said. Nice girls and