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Friends. It’s been said that nothing tastes better than thin.” Brad strode out onto the stage, teeth blinding, his image repeated three times on screens behind him a story and a half tall. He paused, and then gave a conspiratorial wink. “But we all know that’s bull, isn’t it.”
The audience laughed obediently.
“We all want the miracle food, the one that will help us control our health while still tasting amazing. But I don’t know about you, I don’t have Gwyneth Paltrow’s personal dietician on call. And I definitely don’t have those house elves my mom always blamed me for wanting when I left things a mess growing up. But what if I told you there was a way to hit your personal wellness targets with something you’ll enjoy consuming over and over, no drugs involved, nothing unnatural, and without the pain of meal prep or the endless clean-up? Sounds too good to be true, right?”
The audience was well warmed up. They’d sat through the opening monologue by a technologist everyone else seemed to recognize, who said almost nothing of substance but got everyone very fired up about the notion of progress. Then there was the fireside chat with a CEO who tried to explainhow visionary his very old-school company was being, and an inspirational speech from a pro athlete she once again failed to recognize. Now they were doing five-minute Pitch Wars, mostly for the entertainment of the audience. Morgan wondered briefly what had happened to the company who originally had the slot Brad had taken over and decided she didn’t want to know.
“You all know Zabloom, the leading health and wellness SaaS platform.” No, they did not, but just as no one wanted to admit being too out of touch to recognize the technologist or the athlete/motivational speaker, no one was going to challenge this in the moment. “Now, we bring to you something for us all. Whether it’s the office kitchen or your personal breakfast nook, Zabloom will help you along your wellness journey with a revolutionary technology that embraces the synergy of the subscription-based home brewing systems we all have on our counters and the amazing health benefits of lifestyle trends like the paleo diet.”
Behind him, the first of Gisele’s slides shimmered into view, a monumental kale press that in no way resembled a reassembled Keurig machine, mostly because the plastic extruded in a different direction and came in a fashionable warm brown.
“Behold—Kaleo! Your new subscription-based kale juicer, which produces the perfect blend of plant-based protein and superfood kale smoothie: delicious and guaranteed to quell cravings across the whole day.”
The audience murmured appreciatively. Too appreciatively.
“With these proprietary packets, delivered to your door, you’ll be on your way in seconds with no mess to clean up. Optimize your routine so you can be your very best.”
Brad flashed another megawatt smile. The woman next to Morgan fanned herself unconsciously. What was going on? She knew he was charming, but he’d never been this charming. The pitch was good, she’d been extremely proud of the silk purse she’d made of the kale ear, but it wasn’t anywhere near as good as the audience seemed to think.
“And what is your best worth? Why, it’s enough most of us would sell our soul. After all—health, performance, and… what’s the word…thin. We’re not supposed to say we want to be thin these days, are we.” He winked. The woman next to Morgan nearly swooned. “But we’re all thinking it. And it won’t even cost you your soul, even though we all know we’d sell it.”
That’s where Luke was, she realized with a cold start. Probably backstage, mind-whammying an entire auditorium of people. That’s the level of magic budget Bel’aliol had approved to make this succeed. Because even Brad wasn’t this charming on his own. This was the Deal in action. He was literally charming them, winning over the audience more through magic than his pitch. It wouldn’t take as much after, she knew; once the technorati and the press had embraced a trend, they’d force it on the public whether they wanted it or not. No one would want to be the one to point out the emperor’s new clothes.
“That’s why we’re only asking a leeeeeettle bit of your soul.” Brad held his forefinger and thumb up in front of his eye, the tiniest bit apart. The audience laughed. “After all, we all know we value something more when we’ve paid more for it. Only, we don’t want to pass those costs on to our customers. And what are you using that fraction of a soul for, anyway?”
There was just one problem. If Luke was using demonic magic to make Brad more compelling, the Council magesmight be able to sense it. Not the Infernal magic itself, but the unnatural compulsion on the audience. Luke was going to fall into the very trap they’d tried to set for House Valefar. Could Luke really have been that stupid? Then again, how could he have refused Brad’s demand under the terms of his own job, without telling Brad more about the magical world than any of them wanted him to know?
Brad was wrapping up his pitch, but she didn’t have time to watch him close it out. The only mercy was that, with the stage lights, he wouldn’t be able to see her in the sea of people as she left. Because there was only one way she could think to hide the traces of demonic magic—blind them with the full force of the summoning. She had to make sure GreenField UnLtd. was taking the bait.
“Excuse me. Pardon me. Excuse me.” She’d ended up in the middle of the row, and people were not happy about her climbing over them. They wanted to keep watching Brad, hypnotized by his pitch. She tripped, her foot caught in the handle of someone’s bag. She knocked over a cold brew. The surrounding audience members flinched, cursing quietly and racing to rescue various electronics. “Sorry, sorry, so sorry.”
By the time she’d managed to fight free of the auditorium, she had a shoeful of caffeine and a blush hard enough to make her ears hurt.
Downstairs, the show floor was not completely deserted; the booths still had a skeleton crew, and a few people were taking advantage of the quiet to roam. But most of the show attendees were up at the Disruptors Stage presentations, as the organizers intended. It was easy to see her mother standing in the intersection of the main aisles with her colleague, her eyes shut.
“What’s wrong?” she said, trying to sound cheery and not at all like she was about to try to distract them from arresting her demonic boyfriend.
“Someone’s beguiling the audience. An entropy mage working for one of the investment banks complained of a reaction headache,” Steve said.
“Oh, that’s great!” she chirped. No, that was too much. She tried to dial it back. “I mean, good that you can sense something. What’s the plan?”
“The mage isn’t sure when or where the headache kicked in; we’re having trouble getting a fix,” Steve said. “There’s apparently some other kind of energy that’s interfering.”
Her mother took a sharp breath. “Folks, we have a problem. The interference is because there’s an angelic counter.”
Morgan could feel the blood drain from her face. “There’s an angel? Here? In the convention center?”
She thought of the story of the Central Park battle. Two mages were not enough to take down an angel if it wanted to wreak havoc. And she didn’t think the Javits Center staff would appreciate a new statue in the middle of the exhibitors’ hall.
“I hate to say it, but I think so.” Steve and Fiona exchanged glances, again leaving Morgan on the outside. “If our seers are getting visions of disaster, it’s not surprising it might have echoed into other planes.”
She needed to move fast. The sooner Hawk summoned GreenField’s demon, the faster the human mages could take them down and the less likely the angel would have reason to strike.
“I have to go,” she said as the mages debated quietly with each other.
“I think that’s a good idea,” her mother said. “Go home, I’ll meet you there.”
