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They went back to the commuter train station and boarded an empty car on a San<br />

Francisco–bound BART train. Rondeau and B talked about restaurants, while Marla<br />

thought about where to start in her search for other sorcerers in the city.<br />

The door at the far end of the car opened, and two men entered. Marla looked at them,<br />

frowning. They were identical twins, in their twenties, with buzzed-short black hair and<br />

glasses with chunky black frames, and they wore matching clothing—red T-shirts,<br />

khaki cargo pants, black hiking boots. They each had mobile phones, PDAs, pagers, and<br />

other devices clipped to their belts, and carried matching black laptop bags over their<br />

shoulders. Marla figured they had more computational power hanging on their bodies<br />

than had existed in the entire world circa 1950. They stopped in the aisle beside Marla’s<br />

seat, each gripping the overhead rail left-handed, leaning slightly toward her at precisely<br />

the same angle. “You’re Marla,” one of them said.<br />

“You have to come with us,” said the other. Their voices were exactly the same.<br />

“We’re all on the same train,” Marla said. “Going the same way. So for the time being, I<br />

don’t have any objection to that.”<br />

They looked at each other with eerie simultaneity, then back down at Marla. “We’ll get<br />

off the train at Civic Center,” one said. “and you’ll come with us. Someone wants to<br />

meet you.”<br />

Marla crossed her legs, bumping one of the men gently in the knee with her foot in the<br />

process. He stepped backwards, out of her way—and so did the other guy, though she<br />

hadn’t touched him. She glanced at Rondeau, who raised an eyebrow, and Marla shook<br />

her head fractionally. B looked a little frightened, which just went to prove that he<br />

didn’t know much about Marla at all, since these were clearly people of the henchman<br />

variety, and Marla had never met a henchman yet that she couldn’t fillet one-handed if<br />

the need arose.<br />

“Who wants to meet me?” Marla said.<br />

“Mr. Dalton,” one of them said.<br />

“Let me guess,” Marla said. “He’s the new pro-tem chief sorcerer, since Finch’s<br />

untimely demise?”<br />

“You’ll find out who he is when he decides to tell you,” the other one said, clearly<br />

trying to be menacing.<br />

Marla rolled her eyes. “Well, it’s another twenty minutes before we get back to the city,<br />

so why don’t you two sit down?”<br />

“Don’t give us any trouble,” one said, as they both sat down on the seat opposite.<br />

“Do I look like a troublemaker?” Marla said. “You two just saved me a lot of walking<br />

around and asking questions. Hell, I’m thankful. I want to meet your boss.”

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