He hadn't heard from the Concert Hall for the whole night since he had come back from the Pollos's house. His Sunday had been a perfectly normal one. At least, in Francesca's eyes.

They had spent the whole day in the family on the shores of the Cochituate, with Francesca basking in the sun while Garaham tried to come to terms with Michael running around and Joan begging him to teach her how to swim.

With the typical goofiness of someone not used to spending time with his kids, he had spent two hours inside the lake, thanking his British physiology for cold resistance, but still coming out freezing. Joan had barely learned how to float but was overenthusiastic. Michael had caught some crabs that Garaham had to convince him not to bring home with him, with a long and wordy speech about the importance of nature, the respect for life and especially the respect of Mum's nerves, shivering at the thought of Francesca finding crabs all over her precious white marble bathroom.

Of course, he hadn't breathed a word to his wife about the. She would have exploded in a hissy fit.

But he needed to do that. He needed some closure. He had faced his own pettiness and decided that he didn't care. He deserved to be petty, occasionally, before dedicating the rest of his life to a career he never wanted.

Once the family was safe and sound at home, Garaham teleported right in the Concert Hall, trembling at the thought of what Banshee and ten teenage mages could have reduced it to.

He couldn't believe his eyes.

Garaham was facing a perfectly oiled machine.

Three girls were hanging wonderful garlands of leaves and flowers. Two boys were putting gel filters on some of the floodlights. Three were apparently cleaning. The last two boys were moving around decorations on the stage. They were talking softly without stopping what they were doing, in a peaceful climate of concentration and hard work.

The room itself was gorgeous. Garlands and wreaths of green leaves and white flowers hang orderly in waves along the high part of the walls, covering the whole hall circumference. Lengths of emerald green cloth had been arranged in creases and folds as stand-alone curtains, disposed at a regular pace and tied with golden cords, around the columns.

The stage was simple but well organized. There was a wonderful forest at night with a perfectly painted moon hanging right on the black back of the stage. Leaves and white flowers had been used to create two bushes put right at the front. Two boys were moving around chairs, bookstands and mic poles, looking at the ceiling with a worried expression.

Nobody had noticed him entering. And that was strange. As strange it was not seeing Banshee anywhere.

«Good evening.» he greeted, maybe a tad too loud.

«Oh! Enforcer!» jumped up one of the guys washing the floor.

«Donaghue! Where the hell is your supervisor? And don't try to cover for her, I know the kind of natural...» he was launching in one of his usual speeches, but Donaghue looked at him quite puzzled and then simply pointed his index up in the air.

Before Garaham could connect the very simple information, he found the sight of Donaghue covered by a descending braid of red hair, followed by an upside-down quite pissed off, not to mention tired, Banshee. Magic was the only explanation why the tools in her utility belt weren't falling down.

«Ye never go fer the simple answer, aye? I always have to be an irresponsible idiot, not simply in the air trying to explain to Abbott and Costello there the simple rules o' symmetry!» she shouted, turning a menacing gaze towards the two boys on the stage.

«Hey, it's difficult to understand where the things have to go from down here!» protested the newly christened Abbott.

«Did me tell ye could talk Abbott?»

«Nay miss.» he retracted back on the stage.

«Banshee how...» Garaham started to ask.

«Are ye kidding me? I was babysitting since I was thirteen. When ye learn to keep in line Irish Country kids these city-spewed rugrats are a piece o' cake. All right gang, take five, then I want to see everything shimmer. If it shimmers, ye can go home!»

The teenagers scattered.

«You didn't use violence, didn't you?» asked Garaham, terrified.

«Define violence.» she said, with an unfazed gaze. Then exploded in a laugh in seeing Garaham's face turn paler than the flowers around. «Just kidding. O' course I didn't use violence. I'm simply good with kids, and those may look grown but they're still kids. A bit o' stick, a bit o' carrot and I can keep 'em working fer a day or so.»

Garaham started to feel the blood coming back to his face.

«You did an excellent work.» he admitted.

«Thanks. I made sure that the space over the stage was clear. Ye can come and go as ye like.» she lowered her voice enough that only Garaham could hear.

«How did you know?» asked Garaham «You haven't developed mind-reading as well, have you?»

«Well, aye, but not fer this kind o' thing. Vopros came and explained to me what ye needed. Without any details, by the way, thanks fer always keeping me in the loop, ye chauvinist bastards. Oi Vopros!»

The Russian appeared from backstage, with a strangely satisfied expression, and reached the other two.

«Everything ready.» he announced, with a nod towards Garaham. Banshee flipped and landed.

«That's great. You didn't have to come here in person, though, I would have put everything in place.»

«I wanted be sure. Many things can go wrong. Better be prepared.» Vopros stated, matter-of-factly. Garaham nodded.

Then stopped.

He looked at Vopros with sudden suspicion.

Vopros painted his best innocent expression on his face.

Garaham closed his eyes and focused for some seconds. When he opened them again, they flashed for a second of a strange, orange light. He scanned the room, his face looking grimmer by the second.

«You put explosive in all the columns?» he hissed.

«Da.» Vopros didn't even try to hide it. Garaham turned towards Banshee with a jerk of his head.

«And you let him?»

«Hey! He said "it is plan". I didn't know shit, so instead of taking it up with me, next time include me in planning!»

«Have you gone completely mad? Why would you mine the concert hall?» he looked back at Vopros.

«You always need plan B.»

«I've seen Plan B in action. Remove the explosive at once! Banshee, you're responsible to check that he did!»

«Aye aye aye...» she answered, uninterested. She would absolutely not check if Vopros would remove his explosives. Because she already knew he wouldn't have.

«All right. The concert starts at 9 p.m., while the small buffet gala starts at 7 p.m. Try to be on time if you please. And with a dignified attire, the evening is formal.» Garaham recommended. Vopros simply nodded and then left.

«Oi, young forces! Yer free. The room's good enough!»

The youngsters cheered loudly, gathered their things and ran fast to the exit before anyone could change their minds. Banshee and Garaham observed the running flock disappear along the corridor and became immediately completely self-conscious of the fact that they were completely alone in a romantically-lit concert room.

«So. Later, then.» Garaham said, a bit too fast.

«Rite. I just hope that whatever ye've planned works,» she mumbled, looking out of the door.

«You know what to do?» he checked, nervously.

«Yes, I know.» then she moved her eyes on Garaham, looking upwards, and cleared her voice. «Speaking of later... you will come with...»

«Francesca, of course.» he nodded, a tad too hurriedly to feel as natural and self-confident as he would have liked to appear.

«Of course.» she nodded, a tad too hurriedly to sound as uninterested and cool with it as she would have liked. «So, I'll see you.»

He disappeared from the room, after one dry, last goodbye.

Banshee was left alone in the room, looking at the spot where Garaham had disappeared. She took out her phone and carefully chose a number from her speed dial list. The phone bleeped a couple of times, and then a cheery voice answered on the other side.

«Speak! For yes, the River knows!»

«Hi River, Banshee here.»

«Banshee! So happy to hear from you! This morning I had a great time at the workout. I had to knock down some energy before the boring concert evening!»

«Aye, speaking of which, do ye have a date?»

«Uh? A dozen proposals, still have to decide, I like to make them sweat a river about it bit. Why?»

She sighed. She was starting to think that he had chosen that particular warname especially for the tons of puns.

«Because yer going to say nay to all o' them, ye're me date tonite.» she said. Loud, clear and fast, like ripping off a band-aid. It was crazy, it was somewhat dangerous seeing what she had to do, but she simply followed a well-furrowed instinct. From the other end of the phone came a gleeful giggle.

«Thought you, of all people, would never ask! Of course, I'll gladly be your date.» he said, with just a bit too much amusement in his voice. He had completely understood. He might not be the sharpest tool in the shed sometimes, but on certain matters, he was pure quicksilver. «I'll rock your evening!» he laughed, and then they hung up.

She looked at the phone for some seconds, with a very feminine smirk on her face. She selected another speed-dial number.

«Banshee?» asked a puzzled voice on the other side of the phone. ù

«Irissa, listen, me needs ye. I have nothing to wear for this stupid concert.»

«Oh my God, are you asking me to go shopping together?» she suddenly lightened up.

«O' course! Who should I ask fer help? Vopros?»

From the other side of the phone came a sudden, thoughtful silence.

«Ok, I'll help you. On one condition.»

«Shoot, it's yers, whatever it is.»

«I'll take you out for shopping if you persuade Vopros to be my date.»