"Grevane did," I echoed. "The idiot. He never considered that Bony Tony might have been able to outfox him. So he knows that Bony Tony has got the key to finding The Word of Kemmler on him, but Grevane never even considers that it might be something he can't access. He just blunders along doing as he pleases, which he's used to."

"Whereas you," Butters said, "read books at the library."

"And magazines, 'cause they're free there," I said. "Though I have to give most of the credit to Georgia's SUV. I might not have thought of this if it hadn't had the same system."

"Note the past tense on that," Butters said. "Had." He glanced up at me pointedly. "I'm about to turn it on. Do you need to move off?"

I nodded at him and backed off all the way to the car and tried to think technologically friendly thoughts. Butters stood in the headlights for a minute, frowning down at the gadget and then peering up at the sky.

"What's wrong?" I asked.

"Signal isn't coming through very well. Maybe it's the storm."

"Storm isn't helping," I said back. "There's magic at work too." I chewed on my lip for a second. "Turn it off."

Butters did and then nodded at me. I hurried over to him and said, "Now hold still." Then I drew a piece of chalk from my duster pocket and marked out a quick circle around him on the concrete.

Butters frowned down at the chalk and said, "Is this… some kind of mime training? Do you want me to press my fingers against an invisible wall?"

"No," I said. "You're going to throw up a circle around you—an outwardly directed barrier. It should put a screen between you and any outside magical influence."

"I am, huh?" he said. "How do I do that?"

I completed the circle, reached for my penknife, and passed it to him. "You need to put a drop of your blood on the circle, and picture a wall going up in your head."

"Harry. I don't know magic."

"Anyone can do this," I said. "Butters, there isn't any time. The circle should hold out Cowl's working and give you a chance to get a signal normally."

"An anti-Murphyonic field, huh?"

"You've watched too many Trek reruns, Butters. But basically, yeah."

He pressed his lips together and then nodded at me. I backed away to the Beetle again. Butters grimaced and then touched the penknife to the base of his left thumbnail, where the skin is thin and fragile. Then he leaned over self-consciously and squeezed his thumb until a drop of blood fell on the chalk circle.

The circle barrier snapped up immediately, invisibly. Butters looked around for a second and then said, "It didn't work."

"It worked," I told him. "It's there. I can feel it. Try again."