Looking around, I imagined New Millennium as it had been during construction. I remembered the bulldozers, the beds of concrete and rebar, the skeletal girders stretching skyward, built with magic and machinery both.

I wasn’t the only one up and about. To my right, behind the eastern residential building, three young children played on brand-new, brightly colored climbing equipment. The swing set and sandbox had been part of the original construction, but the monkey bars, dinosaur-themed slides, merry-go-round, and climbing wall had gone up just last month. The parents watched from a wooden bench. I waved and kept walking.

I’d seen every phase of development and construction. I’d flown to Vegas to argue the benefits of magic to the mayor and his staff. I’d hovered over our architect’s shoulder until she grew frustrated enough to banish me from her office. I was here for the groundbreaking, and I was here for the ribbon-cutting ceremony.

I was tempted to turn myself invisible and break into Babs’ office, but Babs was in charge of security for a reason, and if I got caught, she was in a position to have me kicked out of New Millennium altogether.

I passed the greenhouse, where a variety of magically enhanced plants grew under strict quarantine. I had lunch twice a month with Elvira Pop Caal, the Guatemalan libriomancer in charge of agriculture, to compare hate mail. The people who got upset about genetically modified crops had nothing on the folks who thought magic seeds were going to destroy the planet. According to Elvira, a few years of crossbreeding and research should be enough to create stable strains of rice and wheat and other foods that might someday feed the world.

Assuming the world didn’t wreck itself in the meantime.

Habit brought me back to Franklin Tower. I walked through the doors on autopilot, still lost in thought. Most of the animals were awake and scurrying about, eager to be fed. I nodded to one of Vince’s assistants and headed for the elevator. I waved my badge in front of the scanner, stepped in, and punched the button for the fifth floor. I might have better luck if I lost myself in work and let my subconscious worry about terrorists and Babs Palmer for a while.

Once the elevator doors slid open, I headed down the hall and unlocked Large Project Room number three, which had come to be known as Isaac’s Playroom. I flipped on the lights, illuminating an open area the size of a basketball court. I’d started the Gateway Project in my office one afternoon when I was avoiding paperwork, but it had grown like Lena’s garden, expanding to take up whatever space I could get.

High speed cameras stood on tripods like slumbering robots. A plastic wading pool sat in front of one. Another pointed to a simple chalk circle on the tile floor.