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“Yeah,” Marla said. “We do. I’m tired of chasing Mutex around town, and now that
Ch’ang Hao is going to get a snake for me, we’ve got other options. I’d rather get ahead
of Mutex for once. It’s time I found out just what, exactly, you can do, B.”
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F ind me an oracle,” Marla said, and crossed her arms.
B frowned. “Right now?” He looked around. They were just outside the limits of
Chinatown, near the City Lights Bookstore, where Marla had cast her first divination to
try to find Lao Tsung—yesterday afternoon, and a subjective hundred years ago. “Right
here?”
“I need to know where to find Mutex,” she said. “I need to know where he’s going to be
tomorrow.” That would give Ch’ang Hao time to return with the snake. It might also
give Mutex time to kill every sorcerer in the city, but that was a chance she had to take.
More importantly, it might give Susan time to act against her, but there was nothing
Marla could do about that, not now. The spell Susan planned to cast was complex, and
Marla just had to hope it wouldn’t be ready today. She knew Hamil was doing his best
to stall things.
“Okay,” B said. “I’ll do my best.” He went toward Jack Kerouac Alley, between
Vesuvio and City Lights. He stopped near a pile of stacked pallets, and put the palm of
his hand against the wall of Vesuvio. “Hey,” he said. “Anyone here? I could use some
help.”
Marla had her spirit-eyes on, and she didn’t see anything, not so much as a shade or a
specter, let alone the concentrated power of an oracle.
Suddenly something rose from behind the pallets, a mist that took the shape of a man
with ash-gray skin and monochrome clothing. Its skin—or its semblance of skin—was
slack and wrinkled, and it mumbled something incomprehensible. B mumbled
something back, then gestured to Marla. “Come on,” he said. “Ask him what you need
to know.”
Marla nodded, and started forward calmly enough, but inside she was caught between
shock and elation. B had conjured this oracle, drawn it up out of the stones and memory
of the city. This being was, in truth, nothing but a semi-physical manifestation of B’s
own incredible perceptive powers. He was no mere seer, but something far more rare
and valuable. Some of his visions were so powerful that he couldn’t experience them
via direct perception, and so he had to manifest outside sources to present the
information. Marla had heard of such individuals, oracle-generating seers, but they were
as legendary in their way as Merlin or Sanford Cole. Bowman thought he was
summoning an oracle, and there was probably some sort of supernatural entity here—a
ghost fragment of a dead Beat poet, perhaps—but that merely provided a focus and
form for the expression of B’s power. She turned toward the oracle. “I need to know
where Mutex will be tomorrow afternoon,” she said.