License Invoked Read Online Free PDF Page B

once.”
    The green-headed singer turned idly to see who was leaning over her. Without interest, she went back to her drink, her magazine, and her stereo headset, without saying a word. The blond woman looked from Kenmare to Elizabeth with her lips pressed together in exasperation. Elizabeth suddenly thought it was better to retreat than explain.
    “I'm so terribly sorry,” she said. “I thought it would be all right.” She turned on her heel and marched with dignity toward the back of the plane. A better opportunity would come along later.
    * * *
    “Oh, God, not you again,” Fionna Kenmare said in an amused whinny, when Elizabeth reappeared next to her an hour later. With her slim, blunt-tipped fingers, she picked up a cocktail napkin, one with a ring in the center from where her drink had been resting, pulled a pen out of her pocket, and signed it. “I'm after giving you points for the Lord's own tenacity, lady dear.” She extended it to Elizabeth, who reached for it automatically, then was outraged at herself and at the ego of the woman who assumed she had stormed the barricades for an autograph. Reasserting her professional persona, Elizabeth summoned up the words of a protective cantrip her gran had taught her as a child, hoping it would come out sounding like embarrassed gratitude. It would at the very least alert her if something happened to Kenmare. All she needed to do was touch the other's skin. . . .
    As soon as her fingertips closed on the damp morsel of paper, the First Class attendants abandoned the caviar cart and champagne bottles, and converged upon Elizabeth.
    “Madam!” the British woman exclaimed.
    Distracted, Elizabeth sprang upright, still holding onto the seatback. The attendants, accustomed to dealing with intruders, expertly pried her loose. Elizabeth, vainly trying to complete the words of the spell, thrust out her free hand to reestablish contact. The first woman, a British woman about ten years older and an inch shorter than she, took her wrist firmly and turned it aside. The burst of power misfired. Now Elizabeth had offered protection to the seat beside Fionna Kenmare's. The big man had been holding her hand. Would the Law of Contagion, an ancient principle of magic, extend the benefit to Kenmare because of the touch?
    “Now, madam, this won't do at all,” the attendant said. She tucked a hand around Elizabeth's upper arm and steered her backwards. “Please return to your seat at once.”
    “But . . .” Elizabeth said, attempting to break free, realizing that no argument that followed would be as convincing as the first word.
    “We are very sorry, but this area is reserved for our First Class guests,” said the taller attendant, a black American woman with exquisite cheekbones and pale hazel eyes, in which Elizabeth could see blunt determination behind the affable exterior. “We are sure you understand.”
    “But . . .”
    “This way, madam,” the older woman said, holding onto her as she moved inexorably in the direction of the gray curtain. Elizabeth glanced back over her shoulder. The green head had disappeared back into the gray leather cocoon. Fionna Kenmare had already forgotten her existence. No, that wasn't true. She was sharing a merry laugh with her seat companion over the persistent intruder. At least the woman was unharmed, and amused.
    Her captors urged Elizabeth into the Business cabin. Once she was in their jurisdiction, two more attendants took charge of her at once. They had a sharp word with the woman at the head of the Economy cabin, whose cheeks turned a discreet but definite red. That flight attendant marched Elizabeth back to her row and lectured her while she sat down and buckled herself in. Elizabeth was to stay in her seat, except when nature absolutely dictated that she rise. Then, she was not to pass beyond the curtain. She would only use the lavatories at the center and back of the section. If she tried to get through the curtains again they would