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The energy known as magic exists on a broad spectrum, much like light. Just as light can be split into its colors by a sufficient prism, magical energy can be more clearly distinguished by using the proper tools. The spectacles gave me a chance to view the energy swirling around the crowded room. It was strongly influenced by the presence of human emotion, and various colors had gathered around individuals according to their current humor.
Magic is well and good, but bullets are often swifter.
“Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy,” Coach Pete said, looking at the book. “That’s stupid. You can’t hitchhike onto a spaceship.”
“I was just wondering. You don’t, by any chance, have a Vogon in your family tree?” Coach Pete eyed me, his chest swelling in what an anthropologist might call a threat display. It might have been impressive if I hadn’t been talking to River Shoulders the night before. “That a joke?” “That depends on how much poetry you write,” I said.
“You’ve read the Hitchhiker’s Guide?” “Forty-two times,” I said. He smiled and then ducked his head again. “No one else here likes it.” “Well, it’s not for everyone, is it?” I asked. “Personally, I’ve always wondered if Adams might not be a front man for a particularly talented dolphin. Which I think would make the book loads funnier.”
You can use just about anything to make a magic circle, but salt is often the most practical. It’s a symbol of the earth and of purity, and it doesn’t draw ants. You use sugar to make a circle on the carpet only once. Let me tell you.
The giant echoed my actions, standing. “Already had your retainer sent to your account. By morning, his mother will have granted you the power of a turnkey.”
“The Cubs have the most loyal, diehard fan following in Major League ball. Those fans aren’t in it to see the Cubs run rampant over other teams because they’ve spent more money hiring the best players. You know they aren’t—because they all know about the curse. If you know your team isn’t going to carry off the Series, then cheering them on becomes something more than yelling when they’re beating someone. It’s about tradition. It’s about loyalty to the team and camaraderie with the other fans, and win or lose, just enjoying the damned game.”
“I can,” I said. “I am not a humanitarian. When I offer charity it is for tax purposes.”
“Dear child,” I said, “I am a criminal. One very good way to cover up one crime is to commit another, more obvious one.”
In the Midwest, if you show up to a college town on a weekend, you risk running into a football game. In my experience, that resulted in universal problems with traffic, available hotel rooms, and drunken football hooligans. Or wait: Soccer is the one with hooligans. Drunken American football fans are just . . . drunks, I guess.
In my house, makeup was for going to church and for women with easy morals. I know, I know. The mind boggles at the contradiction. I had issues way before I got involved with magic, believe me.
dance music from the ’90s. Nobody thinks that stuff is normal.
“We cannot expect our people to bear a burden that we do not,”
“That homeless guy on the bench?” I asked. “Yes.” I took a breath and said, “There’s a big yellow exclamation point floating over his head.” After a brief pause, I added, “I’m not crazy. My mother had me tested.” Michael sat back a little on the bike’s seat and rubbed at his beard pensively. He missed the reference. “Hmmm. Odd. Does that bring anything to mind for you, personally?” I snorted. “Yeah, it’s what every NPC in every MMORPG ever looks like when they have a quest to give you.”
“As far as I know, Uriel talks in person. The Call comes from higher up.” “What?” I asked. “You mean, like . . . God? God speaks video game?”
“Yes, Examiner Mulder?” “Scully was the ME,” I complained. “How come no one calls me Examiner Scully?” “’Cause you ain’t a thinking man’s tart,” Lamar drawled. “What you need?”
MOVING AROUND A hospital without being noticed is pretty easy. You just wear a doctor’s white coat and scrubs and some comfortable shoes and walk like you know exactly where you’re going. It also helps to have a doctor’s ID, and an actual MD, and to actually be a doctor who has sometimes worked there and to actually know exactly where you’re going. I’m a doctor, dammit, not a spy.
“Patterson,” I said to a lanky ER nurse with a buzz cut and a lumberjack’s beard. “How’s my favorite druid?” Patterson looked up at me from a form-field-filled computer screen and squinted. “Waldo Butters, aka I Put the Pal in the Paladin. Your guild stiffed our guild on a treasure roll two weeks ago.” I pushed my glasses up on my nose. “Yeah, I’ve been kind of busy. Haven’t been online to keep the power gamers in check. My word, I’ll have Andi look into it, and we’ll make it up to you guys.” The nurse scowled at me, but let out a mollified grunt. “Hell are you doing down here? They kick you
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Harry’s a dad now. He might not know too much about it, but at least he has the jokes down.
You humans have the potential to be the most wonderful beings there are—if you can get past all these enormous stupid spots you seem to have in your hearts. It’s not your fault. You just don’t know how to work your hearts right yet. That’s why there are dogs. I think it’s nice to know your purpose.
Nothing is truly safe in this world—and that being the case, why worry about threats that have not yet appeared? Far wiser to make what preparations one could, face trouble as it arose, and be happy in the meantime. That might be the saddest part of human heart-stupidity: how much happiness you simply leave aside so that you have enough time to worry.
