Smoke and Shadows (19 page)

“That's a fiver for the hockey jar, Lee.” The hockey jar was a direct result of differing opinions during the previous season's playoffs; differing opinions that had resulted in a black eye, two broken fingers, and an assault with a blueberry muffin. “And line . . .”

“Unfortunately, Mr. and Mrs. Mackay . . .”

As he delivered the line once again, Lee seemed fine. He was a little hyper, but his energy levels were always high while the camera was rolling. Had Tony not been specifically looking for the effects of yesterday's adventure, he would have missed the pinched looked around the actor's eyes or the way his usual fluid gestures had picked up a slight staccato movement—like a physical stutter. It could have been a lot worse—he'd expected it to be a lot worse—and it could, in fact, be nothing more than a perfectly normal reaction to being force-fed half a bottle of warm, catnip-flavored vodka.

The shadow appeared to have caused no actual damage.

Tony glanced at his watch. 11:10.

That
shadow appeared to have caused no actual damage. And as much as he wanted to believe it was over, lessons learned from a thousand movies and a hundred television shows were telling him it couldn't possibly be that easy.

A thousand movies, a hundred television shows, and one real downer of a wizard

Arra had every intention of staying away from the set—from the set, from the gate, from the whole inevitable disaster. At 11:11, according to the clock on the tech monitor, she was standing behind the video village wondering just what, exactly, she thought she was doing.

Gathering information?

Yes. That sounded safe enough.

She needed information in order to plan, in order to survive, which meant that vested self-interest had brought her out of her workshop—not curiosity nor, heaven forbid, an inexplicable desire to become involved. Once was enough. More than.

The big carbon arc lamp was on, maintaining ambient light for the close-ups. It was throwing an uncomfortable amount of heat, and was clearly the reason her T-shirt was now sticking to a line of sweat dribbling down her spine. As long as it stayed on, she couldn't see a shadow making it through.

Peter sat back and pushed his headphones down around his neck. “That's got it.”

And the light shut off.

Cue dramatic irony
.

“No!”

As all eyes turned toward him, Tony suddenly realized he'd spoken aloud.

Yelled actually.

Peter leaned around the edge of the monitor to fix him with an interrogative gaze. “Problem, Mr. Foster?”

Mister
? He was so screwed. He could feel the vibration beginning, the gate opening. What difference did it make if he looked like an ass? He had to say something! Arra! Arra was there. Behind Peter. She'd back him up.
Right. Who the fuck am I kidding.
“Sorry. I uh . . . thought I saw one of the lights shift.”

Everyone looked up. Everyone but him.

He looked at Arra. Who was looking up. But
not
at the lights.

Her face had paled and she was panting; even from ten feet away, he could see her chest rise and fall. He could almost see the terror oozing off her like . . . like the maggots oozing out of the corpse.
Oh, yeah, I really needed that image.

The vibrations grew stronger.

“Can anyone else feel that?”

Together, Tony and Arra stared at Lee.

“Feel what?” Laura asked cautiously.

Frowning, the actor rubbed his jaw. “It's like there's a . . . I don't know, like a bee trapped in my head.”

Tony would have said dentist's drill, but bee was close enough. No one else seemed to be noticing.
Because of the shadow in him?
he mouthed at Arra.

She shrugged—he had no idea if the gesture was an answer or because she couldn't lip-read.

“All right people, if we give it some gas, we can get Dad's reactions in the can before lunch. B-camera, you ready?”

“Good to go, Boss.”

“Lee?”

A shadow brushed across Lee's face. He stiffened and screamed.

T
ONY JUMPED forward as Lee's knees began to buckle and managed to slide an arm under his head just before bone impacted with concrete.

He'd reacted as much for his own benefit as Lee's; he didn't think he could bear hearing that particular sound again. A line of cold air brushed feather light against his cheek, and he turned his head in time to see a shadow pour off his shoulder. And another slide across the floor.

When Lee screamed again, Tony turned back toward him so quickly he courted whiplash, saw a tendril of shadow pool in the hollow of the actor's throat, saw it dribble down to join the shadow cast by solid flesh, saw it separate and disappear behind the camera mount.

“What the hell is going on?”

“Shadows.”

Arra's whisper pulled Tony's gaze past Peter to where the wizard stood, visibly trembling.

“Shadows?” The director looked as well, and when no answer was forthcoming, directed his next question out at the floor. “What the hell does that mean?”

Multiple shoulders lifted and fell.

No one else had seen them. Or, possibly, no one else was willing to admit that such a thing could exist. It was a defense mechanism Tony'd seen a hundred times. Henry and his kind survived because of it. And Henry'd made it pretty much impossible for him to use it.

He pulled a word from the air. “Seizure?”

Someone dropped down at Lee's other side. A hand moved his arm away gently and placed a pad of fabric between concrete and skull. Tony looked up to see Laura on her knees, her sweater off and her fingers against the pulse point in Lee's throat.

“I don't know about a seizure,” she said briskly, “but his heart's racing, his temperature is up, and there's a certain rigidity in his muscles that I don't like.” The silence that followed held so many questions, she looked up and frowned. “I've been a nurse for twenty years. You can't honestly think I can make a living doing the occasional character role on Canadian television?”

The murmur of agreement from cast and crew held distinct overtones of relief;
someone
knew what they were doing.

“We're heavily syndicated in the American market,” Peter muttered under his breath.

“Not my point.” Laura sat back on her sensible heels as Lee opened his eyes.

The clear jade green looked murky. Flawed.
Or I could be overreacting just a bit
, Tony admitted, his own heart working in quick time.

“Lee, are you back with us? How are you feeling?”

His eyes locked on Laura's face with a desperate need to know. “Is it over?”

“It seems to be.”

Question and answer held no subject in common, but Tony was just as glad he hadn't had to answer the question actually asked. No. It wasn't over. Including the original shadow that had set Lee off, he'd counted four, but with his focus so narrowed, he couldn't swear there hadn't been a dozen more.

Adam stood at Lee's feet, pencil tapping against the edge of his clipboard, eyes narrowed as though he was working out the logistics in his head. “Should we call a doctor?”

Suddenly aware he was flat on the floor and the center of attention—and
not
the kind of attention actors required—Lee struggled to sit up. “I'm fine.”

Tony inched back, aware he had no right to be inside the other man's personal space but unwilling to surrender his position entirely.

“Screaming and collapsing doesn't generally indicate fine,” Laura told him, helping him sit up. Her tone was so matter-of-fact it cut the ground out from under rising panic.

Drawing in a deep breath, Lee managed a wobbly smile. “That was then, this is now.”

“Can you tell me what happened?”

The smile wobbled a little more. “No. I was cold then . . .”

“He should see a doctor.”

“Hey, I'm good.” He sounded fine. But then three weeks ago he'd sounded like a fifteenth-century Italian nobleman by way of a Canadian screenwriter, so Tony wasn't putting much stock in the pronouncement.

Neither was Laura. “Something caused that reaction. It would be wise to see a doctor.”

He stood as Lee did, fairly certain the other man had no idea whose shoulder he was using and, considering their interaction over the past two days, just as happy. The last thing he wanted was to be tied in Lee's mind to personal disaster. Although given the whole memory-loss, screaming-and-falling-over thing, it might already be too late.

Lee glanced around at his audience. “We're behind already.”

Heads nodded. Someone had died and the show had gone on. Falling over and screaming was fairly far down the list in comparison.

“We'll be farther behind if this continues,” Laura pointed out reasonably. “It could be something serious. It might be nothing. But you should know.”

Heads nodded again. The same heads.

Hands spread, Lee smiled; the wobbles under control, the only indication that anything had happened a certain tightness around his eyes. He was a better actor than most people gave him credit for. “I'm fine.”

“Obviously, you're not.” The deep voice pulled everyone's attention around. CB, who never came out on the soundstage while they were shooting, stood at the edge of the set. It looked significantly smaller than it had. He waited until the murmurs of surprise died down—waited with an attitude that clearly said they'd better die down damned fast—and then continued. “You are too valuable to me and to this show to allow what might be a potentially serious situation to continue. Do you have a doctor in the area, Mr. Nicholas?”

“No, I . . .”

“Then you will see mine. I will take you myself. Now.”

“But the scene . . .”

“Reaction shots can be done without you.”

Tony wondered how CB knew they were on reaction shots. Direct video feed to his office? Psychic powers? Lucky guess?

“Mr. Wu . . .”

Alan jumped at the sound of his name.

“. . . can read your lines to Ms. Harding and Mr. Polintripolous. Mr. Polintripolous can read your lines to Ms. Harding and Mr. Wu. While I appreciate your willingness to do the job, at this exact moment I would rather you tend to your health. Mr. Foster.”

Tony's turn to jump.

“Accompany Mr. Nicholas to his dressing room and then, once he has washed up and changed into his own clothing, to my office.” As Lee began to protest, he raised a hand. “If whatever happened just now happens again, I want someone near enough to you to help.”

So much for not being associated in Lee's mind with personal disaster.

A lesser man would have extended his scene by sweeping those assembled with an imperious glare; CB merely turned on one heel and left, his force of personality such that Tony almost expected to see the swirl of an Imperial cape and hear the studded sandals of his Praetorian guard slap against the floor.

No one moved until they heard the door to the soundstage close.

“All right, people, let's reset for Laura's reactions. Alan, you're reading Lee's lines.”

As Peter moved back behind the monitors, Adam gently took hold of Lee's shoulder and shoved him toward the exit. “You'd better go; he's waiting.”

“I don't need to see a doctor.” He sounded annoyed. It wasn't quite enough to cover the fear.

“CB thinks you do, so . . .” Adam shrugged. “What can it hurt? It's probably nothing.”

“Probably,” Lee repeated, but from the look on his face he was thinking of some of the things it
probably
wasn't.