Smoke and Shadows (31 page)

“There could be a hundred reasons for that.”

“He was on the soundstage, on the set; practically under the gate and his wife gave me the impression that this was very unusual behavior.”

“Yeah, Alan's pretty dependable.” He stood, folded the paper in quarters, and shoved it in his pocket. “So let's go get him back.” Two steps toward the stairs, he paused, and turned to see Arra sitting where he'd left her. “Are you coming?”

“You do realize that in the long run it won't matter. The moment the actual invasion begins . . .”

“. . . you're out of here. I know, you've said.” Over and over and over. “But if you go home now, Julian's just going to ride your ass about cleaning the party room.”

She looked startled, then, to Tony's surprise, she smiled. “True enough. So we find them one shadow at a time and we make sure that one doesn't get back to the gate.”

We.
She'd used it twice. Tony figured he'd better not point that out. “It's a big city.”

“But they're searching for the light.”

“Henry told me his theory.”

She shrugged and stood. “It seems sound.” Opening the middle drawer on her desk, she pulled out the Greater Vancouver Yellow Pages. Turning, she jerked her head to one side, indicating that Tony should move out of the center of the room. The instant he was clear, she heaved the massive book up into the air and shouted two words that seemed made up mostly of consonants.

In the midst of a shower of pale ash, a single box ad fluttered down to the floor.

Tony grinned. “Cool.”

The Royal Oak Community Church was a large, fake Tudor building on Royal Oak just down from Watling Street. The multiple additions gave it a comfortable, welcoming appearance only slightly offset by the disturbing presence of a pair of trees so severely pruned they looked like giant gumdrops on sticks.

Tony leaned forward and peered through the streaks of rain on the windshield. “You figure he's inside?”

“That would be where they keep the light.”

“Yeah, but they don't usually keep the doors unlocked.”

“That wouldn't stop a shadow.”

“No, but it would stop the guy they're riding. Unless these things come with break and enter already downloaded.”

Arra pulled in behind a battered station wagon and turned off the car. “I expect Alan Wu called the minister and asked for a meeting.”

“It can do that?”

“It knows everything Alan knows. I imagine Alan knows how to use a phone.”

Since that level of sarcasm seldom required an answer, Tony got out of the car. The sky was still overcast and threatening although the rain had stopped. He waited until the wizard joined him—not entirely positive she was going to until she was standing beside him—then started up the three steps to the concrete walk. “Everything Alan knows?” he asked after a moment.

“That's right.”

“So, that'd include pages and pages of really crappy dialogue.”

“Probably.”

“You know, it'd almost serve the Shadowlord right if we let this one back through.”

“No, it wouldn't.”

“That was a joke,” he pointed out, glancing over at Arra's profile.

“It wasn't funny.”

Okay.

The front door of the church was locked. The side door was open. Even though it was just past noon, so little sun shone through the many windows that the lights were on. A lone figure stood at the front of the sanctuary staring up at the altar. Even at this distance there was no mistaking Alan Wu's great hair. Or the fact that his shadow was facing in another direction entirely.

Arra closed her hand around Tony's arm and when he turned toward her, she laid a finger against her lips.

Momentarily distracted by the depths to which the wizard chewed her nails, he jumped when she pinched him. Since he hadn't planned on bellowing a challenge as he charged forward, he nodded, rubbed his arm, and together they started up the aisle. Twenty feet. Fifteen. Ten . . .

Alan Wu's body turned. His eyes widened. “You!”

Then they widened further as the shadow surged free in one long whiplike motion, clearly trying to escape.

No. Not escape. Attack. It was heading straight for . . .

He dove into a pew as Arra lifted her hands and shouted out the incantation. This time, the third time he'd heard them, the words almost made sense. Might have made sense had they not been immediately followed by a scream from Alan Wu. Tony lifted his head over the barricade of polished wood just in time to see the actor hit the floor in convulsions.

Scrambling back out into the aisle, he raced forward, dropped to his knees, and ripped off his backpack. He had one hand inside, fumbling for a thermos when Alan's back arched, his shoulders and heels the only body parts touching the floor. Then he collapsed, apparently boneless.

“Fuck!”

Throwing the backpack to one side, Tony pressed his fingers into the cold and clammy skin of Alan Wu's throat searching for a pulse.

“What is going on here?”

No pulse.

“I said . . .”

“I heard you!” Tony glanced up at the astonished minister as he started CPR. “Call 911!”

“Tony Foster.” RCMP Constable Elson stepped out of the path of the paramedics as they wheeled Alan Wu out of the church, but his gaze never left Tony's face. “Another body and here you are again. It's a small world, isn't it?”

Tony nodded. He wasn't going to argue the point, not when explanations were going to be . . . complicated. Two deaths connected with
Darkest Night
and he'd found both bodies; a guy didn't have to be on the crew of
DaVinci's Inquest
to know that wasn't good.

Interesting to note that not only was Arra nowhere in sight, her car was gone.

More interesting to realize that he had no idea if the shadow had been destroyed or if it had found another ride.

Where
interesting
had a number of meanings, each darker than the last.

“A
LL RIGHT, let's go over it one more time. Just to be sure.”

Tony fought the urge to roll his eyes and nearly lost. A messy desk away from a cop who clearly didn't much like him was not the time for street kid attitude to reemerge. Squaring his shoulders, he took a deep breath—hoped it sounded like impatience and not the start of a practiced speech—and stared down into his empty coffee cup. “I was driving along Royal Oak with a friend . . .”

“Arra Pelindrake. The special effects . . .” Constable Elson checked his notes. “. . . supervisor at CB Productions.”

“Yeah.” And now possibly the shadow-held wizard. Tony wet his lips and tried not to think about that. “Like I said, I was doing a little on the job training with her; learning a different bit of the business. She was working on this new thing and she says she thinks better when she drives, so she was driving. I was just along for the ride. Anyway, I saw Alan Wu go into the church and I remembered I needed to tell him that he hadn't filled out the ACTRA sheet on Friday . . .” A safe lie because Alan never remembered to do his paperwork. “. . . so I got Arra to stop and I went into the church and he fell over. I couldn't find a pulse. I started CPR. You guys showed up. Well . . .” He picked up the cardboard cup and turned it around in his hand. “. . . the paramedics showed up first.”

“And Arra Pelindrake is where?”

Looking the RCMP officer in the eye, Tony shrugged. “I have no idea. I guess she kept driving after she let me out.”

“What is it about her that makes you nervous?”

“What?”

Constable Elson's eyes narrowed, but he didn't repeat the question.

Oh, crap. He's not as dumb as he looks.
Unfortunately,
I'm afraid she might be a minion of the Shadowlord
wouldn't go over well.

Make them listen to bad tough cop dialogue. Make them piss in a cup. Make them miss the next gate so that a shadow gets back through with the information needed to destroy the world.

And Constable Elson was still waiting for an answer.

Tony shrugged again. “She blows stuff up. And there was this thing with maggots . . .” The shudder was legit. Yeah, not very butch of him, but so what.

“So you being there in the church when Alan Wu dropped dead, that was coincidence? Bad luck on your part?”

“Worse luck for Alan.”

“I guess it was. Bad luck for Nikki Waugh, too.”

“Yeah, well, if I am killing them, I wish you'd find out how because I'd really like it to stop!” He rubbed a hand over his mouth, gave some serious thought to puking—just, well, because—and looked up to find Constable Elson watching him, wearing what was almost a sympathetic expression. Or the closest he'd come to it all afternoon.

“No one's accusing you of killing anyone.”

“I know. It's just I was there and you were there and . . . fuck it.” He sagged back in the chair, confused by the outburst. It was either spontaneous method acting or he was more screwed up about all the shit going down than he thought. “Any chance of another coffee?”

“No.”

So much for that growing camaraderie. “Are you almost done with me?”

“Why? Do you have someplace to go?” Pale blue eyes flicked over to Tony's backpack sitting open on a corner of the desk. “That's right. The party you were bringing your vodka-catnip cocktails to.”

He could have said no when they asked if they could go through his backpack. He could have. But he wasn't that stupid. “Hey, there's nothing illegal about vodka or catnip!”

“Are you two still on about that disgusting combination?” Constable Danvers asked coming back into the squad room. “And it
is
illegal to carry open containers of alcohol.”

“They were closed.” Fortunately, not sparkling.
Wouldn't that have been fun to explain.

“Unsealed containers,” she amended, tossing the backpack into his lap and propping one thigh in its place on the scuffed wood. “Contents did wonders for our drains. I called your friend in Toronto, Detective-Sergeant Celluci—just as an unofficial character reference.”

This time, he let his eyes roll. “Yeah? He must've been thrilled.”

“Not really.”

“Let me guess. You mentioned the name Tony Foster and he said, ‘What's the little fuck got himself into now?' ”

She grinned. “Word for word. Then he expressed some concern and allowed that you were a good kid . . .”

“Christ, I'm twenty-four.”

One shoulder lifted and fell as the grin broadened. “Kid's a relative term. Then he said you should call and that Vicki wanted him to ask if you've forgotten how to use a phone.”

Elson snorted. “Vicki is?”

His vampire.
“His partner.”

“On the force?” Danvers asked, looking interested.

“She was, but she had to quit. Long story.”

“Skip it,” Elson growled.

Tony wondered if they were playing good cop/bad cop or if Constable Elson really suspected something was going on. The last thing he needed was to be on the wrong side of a cop playing a hunch. Hell, at this place and this time it was the last thing the world needed. But if a hunch had already done the priming, maybe he could tell him what was going on. Get some reinforcements with weapons. Back in the day, if he'd gone to Vicki with this, she'd have . . . assumed he was shooting up again and hustled his ass off to detox.