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

she'd have to go home. What would her bosses say when they knew she
hadn't been able to keep her subject under her eye, even though it was
absolutely, positively not her fault? The aborted cantrip tingled at
the end of her nerves like the irritation from a plucked-out hair. Her
fists clenched in reaction. She looked down, and a smile spread slowly
over her face. Never mind. She had the napkin that Fionna Kenmare had
signed. By the Law of Contagion, she had made all the contact with her
subject that she needed to.

She uncrumpled the square of paper and touched the squiggle of green
ink. Yes, there was enough of a link to build upon. Thank all powers,
but the point of a pen was a great focus for the soul, however little
conscious attention Fionna Kenmare had put into the autograph.
Elizabeth put a fingertip down on the end of the last wild flourish and
concentrated. Reaching into the reservoir of power inside her,
Elizabeth brought to mind the words that would form a protective ward
to send past the curtains to hover around Fionna Kenmare until they
landed. It was a very minor magic, as fragile a line as the one drawn
with the pen. She felt it catch, and concentrated deeply. Faint as a
heartbeat, she sensed the other woman's emotions: worry, excitement,
but boredom overwhelming all else. Elizabeth urged the little spell to
wrap itself around Fionna and keep her safe. The trace of worry
lessened slightly, as the cantrip took effect.

Elizabeth put the napkin away. She had done the best she could, under
the circumstances. The only thing that comforted her was if someone was
threatening Fionna Kenmare, unless he was flying in First Class, he
didn't stand a chance of getting to her until they landed in New
Orleans.

***

With nothing else useful to do, Elizabeth began to read the fan
magazines. She had little hope of getting a clue as to the peril facing
Fionna Kenmare that had caused Upstairs to take such immediate action
from the full-color public relations hype, but it was worth a try.
Opening the first one, she began doggedly to read.

Fan digests were as disgustingly simpering as they had been when she'd
been buying them as a preteen. She thumbed past photo after
undistinguished photo of unwashed hair, made-up faces, and pierced
outcroppings of flesh, until she found the article she wanted.

The "real-life, totally true" bio of Fionna Kenmare sounded like a load
of rubbish, not even as good as the cover stories MI-5 made up for the
agents going on undercover assignment, which were always unlikely in
the extreme. And they dealt very delicately with the subject herself,
suggesting she was worthy of the reader's sympathy and admiration.

Fionna, one columnist tenderly offered, was orphaned as the result of a