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“Quarantine,” Ethan said, and my grandfather nodded.
“We don’t know why this is happening, or if it’s actually transmittable. So we have to take precautions. The CDC’s Chicago field office is doing some testing, just in case. But they don’t think this is a biological contagion, either.”
“We need to talk to them,” Ethan said. “Get more information about the delusions they’re experiencing.”
My grandfather nodded. “Winston Stiles is awake and communicating. He’d like to see you, to apologize.”
“Maybe he can give us some damned idea of what’s happening here,” Ethan said.
“It can’t hurt,” I agreed.
“And tonight’s meeting?” Ethan asked, gesturing to the elevator.
“We’ll report,” my grandfather said, “and offer ideas for resolving this thorny little problem.”
“And do you have an idea?” Ethan asked.
“No,” my grandfather said. “Here’s hoping the elevator ride is productive.”
• • •
If City Hall was built to inspire, the mayor’s office was built for business. It was a big open room of golden wood floors and paneling, curtains covering the windows. Mayor Kowalcyzk had settled her dark, curved desk beneath an enormous aerial photograph of Chicago, in case anyone forgot the realm over which she ruled.
The mayor sat behind her desk, her brown hair carefully coiffed and sprayed, makeup still polished, even though she’d probably already been on the job for twelve hours. She wore a power suit in deep crimson, hands crossed in her lap as she watched video on the flat-screen on the opposite wall, which showed footage of the fight, the image shuddering left and right as the camera was jostled.
A man I assumed was her aide—in his forties with a paunchy build and receding hairline—stood behind her against the wall, one arm crossed over his chest, the other holding a small tablet.
When an anchor appeared on-screen again, the mayor pressed a button on a flat remote and glanced at us, fingers now interlaced in her folded hands. She looked at each of us in turn, then settled her gaze on my grandfather. “Mr. Merit.”
“Madam Mayor.”
“You know my chief of staff, Lane Conrad.”
They exchanged nods.
“It’s snowing outside for no apparent reason and from no apparent band of moisture,” the mayor said. “That is disturbing. And that video, of course, is disturbing in its own right.”
He nodded. “Agreed on both counts, Your Honor.”
“And their cause?”
“Both phenomena are under investigation. That said, we’ve just been informed the wards have been tripped.”
Both the mayor and her aide went very still.
“She is back in my city?” the mayor asked, forcing the pronoun through a tight jaw.
Good, I thought. At least that anger was directed appropriately. That might make dealing with the problem a little bit easier.
“Not that we’re aware of, but that’s within the CPD’s jurisdiction. The wards were tripped when the snow began to fall.”
“So she created the snowfall?”
“That’s the logical conclusion. The timing suggests either she created it or she caused it to happen by some other magical manipulation. We’ll begin investigating that as soon as we leave here.”
“And the delusions?” the aide asked, without looking up from his tablet. “Early reports say they’re magical, too.”
My grandfather kept his gaze on the mayor. “We don’t have any definitive evidence one way or the other. But there are indicia of magic.”
