License Invoked by Robert Asprin Read Free Book Online

huge. “Secret identity. Come on, be a sport, Liz. Don't tell.”
    “I won't,” Elizabeth whispered back, “but you do have to cooperate with me. I'm here to protect you.”
    “Protect away,” Fionna/Phoebe said airily, fluttering both hands. The accent came flowing effortlessly back, and the consonants rolled together on her tongue. She had so ingrained herself with the Irish persona that not only didn't the accent slip when she was drunk, it became even more flowery. “I'll not stop you. In fact, I love a party. I love all mankind, all the world.” She was three sheets to the wind, Elizabeth realized, and taking on more sail all the time. The bodyguard took a few steps forward to catch Fionna and hold her steady. She leaned back against him and caressed his cheek with a languid palm. “And Lloyd will look after me, won't you, looove?”
    Lloyd Preston wrapped one arm around her lean waist. Elizabeth saw the possessive look on his face, and knew she had to get him on her side if she was expecting not to be locked out of dressing rooms and stage wings, accidentally on purpose. In all the wide angle photographs of Fionna, the dark-haired, thick-eyebrowed man had been an aggressive presence hovering at her shoulder or in the background.
    “You do understand that I've got to investigate any threats,” Elizabeth said over Fionna's head to him. “I'm just here to do a job, same as you.”
    The man growled. “I know about you. I can do all the protecting she needs. Go home.”
    “That isn't possible,” Elizabeth said. She cleared her throat and pitched her voice higher. “I will be riding with Fionna and you in your car to the hotel.”
    “Not a chance, sunshine,” Preston said flatly.
    Elizabeth fixed him with the stare that she had perfected in years of cadet service to teachers and school librarians.
    “I know who you are,” she said with great confidence, although all she had to go on was the information she had gleaned from reading the glossies. “You've been with Fionna for two years now. It's been . . . rewarding, hasn't it? If something happens to her, that'll be the end of it for you, won't it? You can't guard her against supernatural attacks.”
    “And you can?” Preston regarded her with suspicion and dislike. The feeling was mutual. Elizabeth knew his type. He was the kind of big brute who got loud and dangerous in pubs, and waited for his mates to quiet him down so the police wouldn't have to come in and arrest him when he beat someone bloody. The short, dark-haired woman with the peculiar eyeglass frames standing with the roadies was keeping a close, anxious eye on them, and looked as if she was going to rush in at any moment. The good-looking, brown-haired man at her side put a hand on her arm. They must be familiar with Preston's blustering.
    “Come on, children!” the manager said, clapping his hands together to break them up. “We're all tired. Here are the cars. Fionna, Lloyd, and myself in the first car . . .”
    “And me,” Elizabeth said.
    “And who the hell are you, duckie?” the manager said, wheeling on her. He was a dark-haired, well-built man with a clipped beard. He looked about twenty-eight, except for the fine creases in his skin next to his eyes and mouth, which suggested he was actually in his middle forties.
    Elizabeth pulled him away to a handy overhead streetlight, and showed him her badge from OOPSI.
    “Ah,” the manager said, his eyebrows climbing high on his forehead. “I'm one of those people who doesn't need to be hit on the head with a brick, love. I believe. I absolutely believe. Of course you'll join us. I'm Nigel Peters, ringmaster of this circus. Glad to have you here.” He clapped his hands again. “Everybody! The band in car two. Everyone else in car three. Anybody else will have to cab it, I'm afraid. I think these bloody hearses only seat sixteen.”
    There was a strained guffaw from a couple of the roadies, each of whom had charge of what looked