Smoke and Shadows (45 page)

“I think . . .” CB dropped his voice to a level most of his employees wouldn't have recognized as his, “it might be best if you speak with Mr. Foster another time.”

Constable Elson snorted. “Trust me, Mr. Bane. I'm not put off by puke. I've questioned suspects covered in it.”

“Have you? And Mr. Foster is a suspect in . . . ?”

“He's not a suspect,” Constable Danvers interjected smoothly before her partner could answer. “We just want to speak to him, which . . .” Her voice sharpened as she directed it at the other officer. “. . . we can do later.”

CB inclined his head toward her. “Thank you, Constable. It seems that Mr. Nicholas was among the first on the scene. Would you care to speak with him?”

“No, thank you,” Elson began. “That's not . . .”

“Yes.” Danvers flushed slightly as both men turned to stare at her. Given her skin color it was difficult to tell for sure, but he was fairly certain she was blushing. “I mean, we're here. Let's get something out of the trip.”

“Like what?”

“Mr. Nicholas was second on the scene.”

“And?”

“It wouldn't hurt to get a statement.” Her tone suggested that she'd been promised some one-on-one time with a very attractive actor and she wasn't leaving until she got it. Elson heard the subtext, opened his mouth to protest, and finally shrugged.

He beckoned the actor over. “Mr. Nicholas, if you could give Constable Danvers and her partner your full cooperation.” He locked eyes with the younger man, making sure he understood he was to dazzle them with celebrity and get them the hell out of the building.

“Tony . . .”

“Will be fine.”

“Peter?”

“I'll speak with Peter. I'll let him know you're doing me a favor.” Nothing as crass as emphasis on the second sentence. Mr. Nicholas knew very well for whom he was doing a favor and the director had undoubtedly heard the entire conversation.

When the actor bestowed a brilliant smile on the female constable and she visibly melted, CB nodded once to the now oblivious officers and walked across the set to where his director stood watching Arra help Tony Foster to his feet. The police were no longer his concern. The one would have her full attention on the actor and the other would have his full attention on making sure she did nothing he considered embarrassing. After Mr. Nicholas turned his considerable charm on Constable Elson, they'd leave—if not convinced that they'd gotten what they came for, at least quite sure that their concerns had been taken seriously.

Mr. Nicholas was a much better actor than most people gave him credit for being.

He was destined for so much more than one small, straight to syndication genre program where he played second to a man with half the ability.

Fortunately, CB Productions had him tied up in a contract Daniel Webster wouldn't have been able to break.

“Arra, why don't you take Mr. Foster down to your workshop? He'll be out of the way down there until he's feeling better.”

He kept his face carefully blank as her eyes narrowed. “Yes, thank you, CB. I think I will.”

“Peter.”

The director started, looking from the producer to the two people slowly leaving the set and back to CB.

“I believe it's time everyone went back to work.”

“Right.” The big man knew what was going on; Peter could see it in his face. He could also see that he wasn't going to get an explanation. Whatever. He just wanted things to stop screwing up long enough for him to get this episode in the can.

“This is not, after all, the first time someone has been sick in the soundstage.”

Peter sighed. “True enough.” Raymond Dark's filing cabinet was still a little whiff under the lights.

“Can you manage without him?”

“What, without Tony? Jesus, CB, he's just the production assistant. I think I can struggle on. Adam!” The director's voice echoed off the ceiling. “Where the hell has Mason got himself off to?”

No one seemed to know.

“Well, find him, for Christ's sake. And count the fan club, a couple of them were minors! And get someone over here to clean up this puke.”

Confident that things were now back as they should be, at least on the surface—essentially business as usual for television—CB turned . . . and stopped as the director called his name.

“Yes?”

“Tony and Arra.”

“Yes?”

“Is there something going on with them? You know . . .” He waggled a hand. “. . . going on?”

Chester Bane favored the director with a long, level stare. “I wouldn't like to guess.”

In point of fact, he very much disliked guessing. He liked to know.

He intended to know.

“I
T WAS . . . It was in my. . .”

“Shhhh, not yet.”

Tony leaned heavily on Arra's arm as she walked him down the basement stairs and sighed in relief as they stepped out onto the workshop floor, realizing the significance of the observation he'd made the first time he came down here. There were no shadows.

He stumbled toward a chair, dropped onto it, and didn't have the strength to protest when Arra grabbed a folded space blanket from a shelf and wrapped it around him. The security of something between him and the world actually felt pretty good.

“Now tell me,” the wizard commanded as she sat.

So he did.

“It was hiding in your
shadow
?” She frowned. “That explains the deepening of the shadow-taint, but they've never . . . This is new behavior for them.”

Tony considered shrugging, decided his head might lose its precarious balance if he tried, and snorted instead. “They were in Hartley for just over twenty-four hours. You said that no one knows how to hide like an alcoholic. I guess they learned a few tricks.”

“No . . . I banished the shadow holding Hartley.”

“It slipped through the pauses in your banishing spell. You were breathing kind of heavy so it wasn't one long string of syllables like usual.”

Her frown deepened. “It told you that or are you guessing?”

“I touched it. Remember, I told you.” Unsure of what might be useful
wizardly
information, he'd told her everything.

“Did I tell you what a stupid thing that was for you to have done?”

“You kind of choked when I got to it the first time. So . . .” He was about to ask:
What now?
What happened now that the Shadowlord had the information he was waiting for? And then he realized he didn't really want to know. Not yet. He could use a few more minutes of ignorant bliss. “. . . so what's your story?”

No doubt Arra heard his original question in the pause. Less than no doubt that she didn't want to deal with the answer either. “The moment I realized there was more than one shadow remaining, I headed for the soundstage but was prevented from entering by the presence of CB and the two officers.”

“And the shooting light,” Tony muttered, wrapping the space blanket more tightly around him.

“The light alone wouldn't have stopped me—it's a social contract, not an impenetrable barrier—but barging in past witnesses would have required explanations I couldn't give. Not when two of those witnesses were police officers whose suspicions were already aroused. While we waited, they interrogated me about what we were doing together on Saturday, but I don't think they believed what I told them.”

“May/December fag-hag romance?”

“What?”

“Never mind. What did you tell them?”

“Exactly what you told them. That you were spending your time off learning another aspect of the business, expanding your skill set, and keeping yourself employable.”

“And they didn't believe that?”

“She seemed fine with it. He seemed reluctant.”

“Why didn't you . . . ?” He snaked a hand out from under the blanket and used it to wiggle his nose. As Arra stared at him blankly, he sighed. “You never watched
Bewitched
? No,” he realized, “how could you? You pretty much just got here. Why didn't you do magic? Make them believe what you wanted or forget you were there as you made a run for the soundstage?”

“The gate was opening. To use power so close to the open gate . . .”

“He would have known you were here. Well, he sure as shit knows now.” And things fell into place with a nearly audible click. “He was never looking for another world to conquer, he was looking for you.” Tony knew he was right. Knew it because of the way the color left the wizard's face, leaving her looking old and gray. Knew it because of the way she turned and walked to her desk and sank down into her chair as though her legs would no longer hold her weight. “You're the one that got away.”

“He killed everyone else in my order.” For the first time since he'd known her, Arra sounded old.

“And he wants to complete the set.” A flash of bodies nailed to a blackboard and Tony thanked God that his stomach was empty. Not everyone had died quickly and before these two were finally allowed an end to pain, they'd probably told the Shadowlord everything he wanted to know.

“They didn't know what variables I'd used to open the gate,” Arra said, as though she'd been reading his mind. “They couldn't tell him where I was. He must have had to keep opening gates at random until he got lucky.”

“Why didn't you keep moving? Open another gate and another until you crapped up the trail so badly he'd never find you?”

“Opening a gate requires precise calculations and a sure knowledge of how the energy flow of the world works. It took me a little over five years before I thought I might be able to do it and . . .”

“By then you had a life. Cats.”

“The cats have nothing to do with this.”

“If you gate away, he'll kill them because they were yours. He'll torture and kill everyone who might have known you just like he did before—just in case one of them might know where you've gone.”

She stared at him as though she'd never seen him before. “How . . . ?”

“The shadows are shadows of him. When I grabbed this one, I knew what it knew. It didn't know much, but it was pretty clear on that. He's obsessed with finding you.”

“He likes to finish what he starts. Vindictive bastard.”

That wasn't quite . . . Searching for the right memory, Tony ended up back at the bodies on the blackboard and shied away. He couldn't go there again. Not right now. Enough of the depths, they were dark and dangerous, and he needed a few minutes in the light and safety of the shallows. “Hey, shouldn't I be having my vodka-catnip cooler?”

“It's not necessary; I poured power into you directly. The potion is essentially a battery, holding the power for transport.”

“Okay.” From the little Arra had explained about the workings of wizardry that made sense. “I could still use a drink.”

“I expect your backpack is up by the lamp.”

“Right.” Crap. “So what was the baseball bat for?”

“I was wondering that myself.” CB's voice flowed down the stairs and filled all the spaces not otherwise occupied with a mix of anger and impatience. Arra started and watched through narrowed eyes as he followed his voice into the workshop. Grateful he wasn't between them, Tony decided it might be best if he remained a spectator in this conversation.

“You came through my wards.” When CB looked blank, she sighed, her frown deepening. “My protections. They were meant to keep out the people I don't want down here.”

“What you want is irrelevant; this is
my
building. My studio. What I want . . .” He stalked out into the center of the workshop and the space seemed suddenly much smaller. “. . . is information. You may begin with the baseball bat.” The bat was dangling from his left hand and from the businesslike way he was holding it, Tony realized he was half inclined to use it.

“Uh . . . CB . . .”

“Not a word, Mr. Foster. I'll deal with you in a moment.”

Great.

“It's all right, Tony. It's about time CB knew what was going on. It is happening in
his
studio, after all.” Sighing deeply, apparently unable to look the big man in the eye, Arra picked up a pencil and doodled on a scrap of paper as she talked. “I had the bat because I suspected Tony was going to be attacked by a . . .” Explanation and pencil paused. “. . . by another member of the crew.”

“Why?”

To Tony's surprise, Arra spilled the whole story. From the shadow glimpsed at the location shoot, right down to what Tony had just told her. She'd didn't give up Henry's secret identity as a creature of the night but laid out the details of everything else. CB's expression never changed. Tony had to give him credit for not interrupting unless, as was likely, he was too stunned to interrupt. Tony'd been a part of the story from the beginning and even he found it hard to believe.

When Arra finally stopped talking, he nodded slowly. “So it appears Constable Elson's instincts are correct. There is something going on at my studio.”

“The police,” Arra snorted, “are less than useless in a case like this.”

“Very probably. Why was I not kept informed from the beginning?”

“You were there when I fell through the gate. You would have realized much, much earlier than Tony here that the Shadowlord wasn't planning an invasion—no matter how much I personally wanted to believe that. You'd have realized he was looking for me.” She lifted her head then and met his gaze. “Given the destruction he's capable of, I wasn't entirely convinced you wouldn't just toss me back up through the gate.”