"No. That doesn't pull any energy from it," Ca.s.sie explained finally joining them at the door. "It pulls it from Graham."

From what Tony could remember of the caretaker, he didn't seem to have much energy to spare.

Wiping sweat off his forehead, Graham sat back on his heels and sucked in long, slow lungfuls of humid air. "This Tony kid," he said after a moment, "he needs you to turn the laptop on its side or it won't fit through the door."

Henry flipped the computer up on one edge. "Like this?"

"Yeah and line it up like the door was open this much." He held his thumb and forefinger apart, both of them shaking.

"Like this."

"Like that. Okay . . ." Wrapping one hand around the porch rail, he hauled himself up onto his feet. Henry could hear his heart racing. "I need a beer."

"When we're done."

"Done what? Done this? Done the next thing? Guy could die of thirst around you," he muttered, then added quickly his heart beating faster still. "Not that I want you to think about being thirsty."

"You're right. You don't."

"It's just you might be a little more sympathetic because you're still not looking a hundred percent after having been knocked on your a.s.s and . . ."

"Shut up." Tony was just inside the door. Less than a body length away and he might as well have been on the other side of the world. So close, the song of his blood should have been an invitation. But Henry sensed nothing but the power keeping them apart.

The power that had, as the caretaker so elegantly put it, knocked him on his a.s.s.

The computer case creaked in his grip. It took an effort to let go and a greater effort to stop the growl rising in his throat.

When the laptop quivered, he loosened his hold further so that it barely rested against his fingers. It inched forward, stopped on the edge of the bucket, and then disappeared. Mortal eyes couldn't have seen it move, and Henry barely made out a silver blur disappearing through what seemed a solid door. His fingertips were warm and so was the galvanized metal.

After a moment, Graham sagged against the rail and started to cough. "It's like yelling across the friggin' Strait of Juan de friggin' Fuca, but I think he's got it."

"You think?" Not quite a snarl.

"Okay, okay, he's got it."

"Good." Rising, Henry dusted off his knees and then moved down off the flagstone slab, moved in such a way it would be obvious to anyone watching that the power wrapped around the house gave him no trouble at all. Didn't make him want to tear through it and yank Tony free. Didn't remind him of pain.

"So." Arms folded, feet planted shoulder-width apart in the damp gravel, CB scowled at the door. "We have done all we can."

"You know," Graham snorted, pivoting shakily toward the driveway, "when you make p.r.o.nouncements like that, there's b.u.g.g.e.r all anyone else can say."

"Good."

"I can't find anything about talking to the dead."

"How about conversing with ghosts?" When Tony glanced up, Amy shrugged. "Hey, it's all about what you punch into the search engine. Also, try necromancy."

He frowned. "How do you spell that?"

He wasn't surprised she knew. Sitting cross-legged, the laptop on the floor in front of him, Amy on the other side of the laptop, he typed in the word.

No results.

Nothing for connecting with the dead.

Nor connecting with the spirit realm.

"I don't think there's anything in here."

"Try spirits all by itself. Broaden your search parameters," she added impatiently, reaching for the computer. "Give it to me, I'll do it."

"Don't . . ."

Too late. She jerked it out from under his hands and spun it around. "Tony! You're playing spider solitaire!"

"It's a glamour!" he snapped spinning it back. "It makes you believe . . ."

"I know what a glamour is," she told him, emphasis adding volume. "I have a complete set of Charmed on DVD!"

The silence that followed accompanied raised brows and general expressions of disbelief.

Amy flashed a sneer around the circle. "h.e.l.lo. Vampire detective? It's not like we can claim the creative high ground here!"

Tony glanced up in time to see Mason open his mouth, but before any sound emerged, the lights came up and all he could hear was Stephen and Ca.s.sie dying while the band in the ballroom played a waltz.

"That was 'Night and Day'," Peter told him when the house returned to lamplight and Karl. "Cole Porter wrote it for Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers in The Gay Divorcee. We all heard it this time. Well, all of us except Amy, Zev, and Ashley. Why not those three?"

"They're not Fred and Ginger fans?"

"Hey, Fred's brilliant during that number. 'Night And Day' is one of his ch.o.r.eographic peaks."

"Not the point, Zev." Arms folded, Peter glared down at Tony. "Try again. Why not those three?"

"How would I know?" Tony was afraid the question sounded more than a little defensive. Still, a little defensive was better than the can of worms he'd open with "Because they were never shadow-held."

"You'd know because you know lots of things, don't you, Tony." Kate shoved Pavin away from her with enough force that he slammed into Sorge and the two of them nearly went over. "Lots of things you never thought to tell us before people started dying."

"I couldn't have stopped it. Any of it."

Her lip curled. "But you're a wizard." Bent fingers tapped out patterns in the air. "Oooo!"

"At least he's more than a pain in the a.s.s," Amy spat as she stood.

"Put another record on," Mason drawled, shaking free of Ashley's grip. "b.i.t.c.h, b.i.t.c.h, b.i.t.c.h, yap, yap, yap. Who the h.e.l.l cares what he knows as long as he gets us the h.e.l.l out of here before I end up spending eternity doing an undead rumba!"

"I haven't heard a . . ." Tony began, but Mason cut him off.

"It doesn't have to be a f.u.c.king rumba. Just type, okay?"

Brianna poked Zev. "What's a record?"

"It's like a great big CD."

She snorted. "No one cool uses CDs anymore."

"They're like from another time," Ashley agreed with a disappointed look up through her lashes at Mason.

Tony let the argument about music downloads wash over him-on one level grateful the others were distracted. The less time they spent chewing at their situation the better, especially since they seemed to invariably end up chewing on him. Meanwhile, Ashley had given him an idea.

Time.

The replays were like pieces of time trapped by the malevolence. Mosquitoes in amber if Jura.s.sic Park could be trusted. He had a certain amount of confidence about the science in one, very little in two, and none at all in three-even with the return of Sam Neil.

Time had its own folder on the laptop.

Time, Determining.

Look at watch, he snorted and scrolled down.

Time, Keeping Track of Pa.s.sage.

If I tossed a couple of dozen Timexes through the gate, I could make a fortune.

Time, Finding More.

Time, Traveling Through.

That might do it. If he'd had a little more time, he could have learned more spells and been better prepared. Ah, who am I kidding; if I'd had more time, I'd have gone clubbing. He double-clicked and found himself staring at a single word on the screen.

Don't.

Oh, ha ha. Back a screen.

Time, in a Bottle. Not going there.

Time, Speaking Through.

Possibly.

There were two subfolders. Speaking with the past. Speaking with the future.

He double clicked the first option.

"Warning: Speaking with the past can cause paradoxes and time splits. Changes made will never be for the better. Do not attempt to send a message to yourself to get yourself out of your current situation."

So much for that idea.

"Okay, I found something under Elementals. Apparently, they're kind of spirits that are always around and there's a way to contact them." He felt like a total idiot talking about this, but they'd all insisted on knowing what he was about to do.

"Secrets get people killed," Kate had snarled.

Even Zev had nodded.

"So I have to go to the back stairs where Lucy Lewis is in order to cast the spell." There, he'd said it: spell. Could he sound any geekier? "Because I got her name from Ca.s.sie and Stephen, it should be easy enough to manage." Where easy was a distinctly relative term. Easier than trying it without her name, one h.e.l.l of a lot harder than s.n.a.t.c.hing illicit snack food from Mason. "At first I thought I was going to have to work with a banishing demons spell, but . . ." Oh, c.r.a.p. Did he say that out loud? Apparently, yes. "What?"

"There is a spell to banish demons on that thing?" Sorge asked, nodding toward the laptop.

"Yeah."

"Then why haven't you banished it?"

"Banish Lucy's ghost?"

The DP rolled his eyes, hands curling into fists as he visibly searched for the English words. "Banish the thing in the bas.e.m.e.nt!"

"Oh." Good question. He only wished his answer didn't sound so much like he was scared s.h.i.tless. Which he was- but the actual reason was equally valid. "Because I don't know that the thing in the bas.e.m.e.nt is a demon, and if I go down there and I try to banish it and the spell doesn't work, then it knows we're on to it and we've blown our one shot. I need more information before I face the big bad. I need to know what's in Caulfield's journal."

"Ghosts aren't elementals," Peter informed him.

Obvious much? "I know, but. . ."

"You're using a spell for an elemental on a ghost."

"Yeah, but I know her name, so if I slot that into the spell, it should take me to her, and if it doesn't work, there's nothing Lucy can do to me. She's just a captured image." Totally ignoring any indication Stephen or Ca.s.sie had given to the contrary because, well, why the h.e.l.l not. "If I try something in the bas.e.m.e.nt and it doesn't work, I've just poked the big bad with a stick."

"So?" Peter spread his hands like he'd be the one throwing magical energies around. "Worth trying. We're already up s.h.i.t creek."

And, hey, heads were nodding again.

They just weren't getting it.

"All right. . ." Tony reached for an explanation from their world. ". . . let's say the thing in the bas.e.m.e.nt is CB in his office. His power extends through the soundstage and out onto location; he's sitting there quietly running our lives.

Now, suppose someone who knows nothing about him goes into his office and pokes him with a big f.u.c.king stick! What happens to that person?"

"Is this a real stick or a metaphorical stick?" Adam asked before anyone could answer Tony's question.