The city center was becoming busy as shops opened for business. In spite of the congestion fee, the streets were soon jammed bumper to bumper with vehicles. The day was shaping up nicely, clear silver skies that would soon turn blue, and a brisk breeze that could stir even the most jaded time traveler. The unlikely trio strolled together through Mayfair, Chevie hoping against hope that somehow the Bureau had tracked them and there was a sniper drawing a bead on Garrick’s crown even as they walked.

Wishful thinking. And, even if somebody does shoot this Garrick creature, it might not even harm him. It could just make him angry. Who knows what this guy is capable of?

Chevie told herself not to give up. One of Cord Vallicose’s maxims was that there was always an opportunity waiting to be noticed; an agent had to be ready when it presented itself.

Whatever it takes to stay out of the past, she thought. I am not going into the past.

But Chevie’s subconscious knew, even if her conscious mind didn’t yet realize it, that she would hop, skip, and jump into the past whistling “The Star-Spangled Banner” if it meant getting away from this lunatic magician.

They arrived at the coordinates programmed into the Timekey without any sniper fire or indeed incident of any kind. Garrick held his two hostages tightly by their necks, long nails digging into their collars.

“Do you know, Agent Savano,” he said conversationally, “that I could kill you now with any one of these fingers?” To demonstrate which fingers, he drummed them in a creepy fashion on Chevie’s flesh. “One of my trade secrets is that for the last ten years I have been coating my nails with furniture lacquer. They are hard as steel and sharper than a barber’s cutthroat. I can slit any package with my thumbnail and explore its contents behind my back for my famous second-sight trick. I have never revealed that to a living soul, but something about you makes a person want to unburden.”

Chevie did not appreciate being told a magician’s secrets; it made her think that she might not live much longer.

Riley gazed down the length of the street. “Are we here, master? Is this the way home?”

They had arrived at Half Moon Street, and it looked just like the movies said a Mayfair street should look in the summer, with a row of fine old five-story buildings that had been converted into small businesses with a few cafés and pubs. The street was still quiet at this time of the morning, and the sidewalk was barricaded by stacks of cardboard and trash that had yet to be collected by the garbage truck. An old lady in boots was hosing the night’s detritus from the entrance to an antiques shop.

“Now, where would be a good place to pick up antiques?” wondered Garrick.