Smoke and Shadows (26 page)

Except Mouse's shadow was also stretched out behind him; across the floor, up the side of a chair, behaving its two-dimensional self.

Two shadows?

Seven shadows had come through the gate.

“I'm not getting out of the car, Nightwalker.” Arra locked both hands around the shoulder strap of the seat belt. “If I get too close, the shadow-held will know me.”

“Then why . . .” When she turned to face him, Henry realized there was no point in finishing the question. He knew terror when he saw it, knew what it could do, how it could hold a person. The wizard's reasons for accompanying him this far were moot—she wasn't going any farther. “Fine. How do I fight it?”

Her grip relaxed slightly and he wondered if she'd honestly thought she'd be strong enough to prevent him from dragging her out of the car had that been his decision. “I'd use the same light you used last night.”

“Will that work while the shadow's still in a host?”

“I doubt it.” Her gaze turned inward for a moment; when she focused on him again, her expression was bleak. “Kill the host and the shadow will leave.”

“Kill the host?”

“Don't even try to tell me you have a problem with that, Nightwalker.”

Another night, questions from another wizard. The similarity was . . . ultimately unimportant.

“I don't kill the innocent.”

This wizard shrugged. “Suit yourself, Nightwalker. But it's the only way.”

The other wizard had also called him Nightwalker; used it as this one did, as a definition. He turned into the production company's parking lot. “Call me Henry.”

“It doesn't matter what I call you,I know what you . . . Mouse.”

“What?”

She nodded toward the red Mustang as Henry pulled into the parking place beside it. “That's Mouse Gilbert's car. He's one of the cameramen. He's big. Strong. If he's shadow-held, you might have a little trouble.”

Henry stopped the car, slammed it into neutral, and turned off the engine. “No. I won't.”

He was at the back door before the sound of the engine died.

And then back at the car again.

Arra jumped as his face appeared outside her window, a pale oval suspended in the night. A pale
pissed
oval. She rolled down the window.

“It's locked. Do you know the code?”

“Why would I?” she snorted. “I never go in through the soundstage; I have a key for the front door . . . oh. Right.”

The front door lock was stiff. After a moment wasted, Henry reamed the key around hard enough to twist half of it off in the hole—fortunately,
after
the tumblers had turned. He slipped inside, leaving the ruined key where it was.

There were people in the small offices to both his right and his left. Two right, three left; five hearts beating out an espresso rhythm. They were noted in a heartbeat of his own and ignored. He moved on. Farther in.

The doors on the far wall were labeled, black letters on sheets of white office paper, the contrast so great that in spite of the darkness even mortal eyes would have been able to read them. WARDROBE. POST. SPECIAL EFFECTS. KEEP THIS DOOR CLOSED.

Henry opened the last door and found himself pushing through racks of clothing. He couldn't hear Tony. He should have been able to hear Tony. If Tony's heart was still beating. If it wasn't, a second death became a lot more likely. Easy enough to race along scent trails to another door and another sign: DO NOT ENTER WHEN RED LIGHT IS ON.

The soundstage.

Soundproof.

As he pushed open the door, the terrified pounding of Tony's heart rushed out to fill all available spaces. Snarling, Henry ran toward the source, following it unerringly through the maze of walls and cables and equipment. There was light, but he didn't need it. Tony's terror acted as both guide and goad.

He found Tony on the floor under the gate, half-sitting, cradled in a parody of affection against the body of a large man. His heels drumming on the floor, Tony clawed at both meaty arms wrapped around his chest.

Henry came one running step closer.

And saw the band of shadow across Tony's eyes.

Two steps.

The shadow disappeared.

Three steps.

Tony stopped struggling. His heart slowed between one beat and the next to just below normal speed.

The man—Mouse—let go. Head cocked to one side, Tony folded his legs and sat cross-legged on the concrete. Then he looked up and met Henry's eyes.

“I see you, Nightwalker.”

Henry snarled to a stop inches from Tony's folded legs.

“Just so you know, I'm not going to let you stop this,” the thing that wasn't Tony added as Mouse rose slowly to his feet.

In his own time, Henry had not been tall. In this century, he was short. Mouse—the thing that was Mouse—towered over him.

“You have no power over us, Nightwalker.”

Henry glanced down at Tony, back up at Mouse, smiled and swung, not particularly caring about the crack of bone. From the look of him, the cameraman had probably been in hundreds of fights. This one ended before he had a chance to join in. His head snapped back, his eyes rolled up until only the whites showed, and he crumpled to the concrete.

His shadow hit the concrete with him and no metaphysical shadows appeared. It seemed that an unconscious body produced an inoperative shadow. That was definitely something to remember.

“He'll be pissed when he wakes up.” The Tony-thing sounded almost cheerful as he stood. “Even think of slamming me like that and before I go, I'll fry the kid's wetware.”

Henry forced his fists back down by his side and growled, “Get out of him!”

“No problem. The moment the gate opens, I'm gone. I know what he knows and he knows what the boss wants to know.”

“He doesn't know anything.”

“And I'd believe that, too, except I'm in his head and you aren't, dude.”

“Dude?”

“Hey, that's in here.”

Perhaps, but it wasn't a designation Tony would ever use for him. The impersonation was off by just a few degrees. Something else to remember.

“And so's the info on what destroyed the earlier minion,” he continued. “Not as much about this world's tech as the boss'll want, but the other stuff he knows, that'll so make up for it. This guy . . .” An exaggerated tap to one temple. “. . . knows where that pesky wizard ended up. Who'd have thought she'd be stupid enough to stay so close to the gate?” The thing rolled Tony's eyes. “Wizards, eh? Too stupid to keep running, too fucking freaked to save the world. Boss'll be overjoyed to have found her after all this time. Unfinished business, you know how it is.”

Henry let the words wash over him as he circled around, looking for an opening. Although an opening to what, he wasn't certain. Tony's body turned with him, pivoting around on one heel.

“You're making me dizzy. I'm going to hurl hamantaschen.” It glanced down at Tony's watch. “10:02. A little more than an hour. What are we going to do with ourselves, Henry? You hungry?” Familiar fingers pulled the collar of the T-shirt down off Tony's throat, exposing bruises rising along the ridge of his collarbone.

The sight of blood pooling under Tony's skin, the knowledge of exactly what had to have been done to mark him so, pushed Henry back to the edge. He stopped circling. His lips pulled back off his teeth. He let the Hunger rise. Scavengers would not have what was his until he was done with it.

“Tony. Is. Mine.”

“I recognize your power, Nightwalker.” Tony's cadences were gone. “But you cannot move me from this body until I am ready to leave.”

The thing's words were drowned out under the song of Tony's blood.

He felt a warm weight wrap around his legs and he ignored it. All that mattered was the life he had claimed, not once but countless times. “Mine.”

“Not right now, dude.”

“MINE!”

Sudden recognition flared behind the shadows in Tony's eyes. Followed by a fear so primal all else fled before it. His heart began to pound. Faster. Faster.

Then his eyes rolled back and he doubled forward, retching.

Shadow poured from his mouth and nose, pooled on the concrete, moved toward Henry. He retained barely enough hold on self to realize this was not something he could fight and in the face of it, the Hunger began to fade. One step back. Two. He had no idea how to control the light they'd used the night before or even if it was still in place. Tony, who knew, was on his knees, arms wrapped around his body like he was trying to hold disparate pieces of flesh together.

Arra pulled the front door open, paused, and looked down at the broken lock. Maybe she should just stay here and fix it. Maybe she should have just stayed in the car. Actually, no
maybe
about it . . .

She stepped into the office.

The thermoses were comforting weights in her pocket. Their contents would be useless as long as the shadow remained in Mouse, but they were a clear indication of what her role was in this . . . this ridiculous attempt to save a world already lost.

She glanced toward CB's office and almost wished he was there. Almost wanted to walk through his door, walk past the fish tank, almost wanted to stand in front of his desk and confess all. Fortunately, he was in Whistler with two of his kids from his first marriage. She had no idea what they were doing in Whistler at this time of the year, but whatever it was, it was keeping her from making an ass of herself in front of the one person in this world likely to ask the right questions.

The costumes rustled as she passed as though they whispered among themselves; a choir boy's cassock asking a slightly shiny tux what was happening.

Good question.

It was curiosity; that was all, the same thing that had prodded her out of the basement and up onto the soundstage in time for the morning opening of the gate. Wizards were like cats. Curious. Sometimes, it got them killed.

She pushed open the door and heard retching. In the silence of the soundstage, it could have been coming from anywhere.

Tony was on his knees under the inactive gate, looking like crap, the last bit of shadow dribbling from his nose. Mouse was stretched out behind him. Maybe dead. Fully separate now from its last host, the shadow slithered across the floor toward Henry.