"Fortunately, yes," Henry corrected deliberately. "I think we're looking at this the wrong way." He waved the other two quiet and began to build the ending as though he were building the final chapter in one of his books. "When the doors open-at sunrise, if not before-your people will come out of the house claiming it's haunted. That they saw ghosts. That they were under an attack by a malevolent thing in the bas.e.m.e.nt. They won't be able to prove any of it, though, and the general public will think they're nuts. And given that they're television people, they won't get the benefit of the doubt. Everyone knows television people are slightly crazy."

"Is this true?" CB wondered.

Graham nodded. "Common knowledge around Hollywood North, that's for d.a.m.ned sure." "Now then, put hallucinating television people in a house with a history of gas leaks and what do you have?"

"Probable cause of crazy. What?" Graham demanded as eyebrows raised. "I watch a lot of Law and Order."

"Who doesn't?" CB wearily asked the night. "Suppose my people say nothing at all about hauntings or ghosts or things in the bas.e.m.e.nt? Suppose they collectively agree on a more plausible story?"

"It won't matter; even if they could agree on a story-and most groups that size can't agree on where to have lunch- there's no way they'll all be able to maintain it throughout a police investigation."

"The truth will out?"

"And not be believed."

His next question was less rhetorical. "Did we not use a gas leak to explain what happened at the studio last spring?"

"There's a reason it's a cla.s.sic," Henry reminded him. "And I'm guessing-given that the police know the other deaths in this house were murder/suicides-that the actual cause of your wardrobe a.s.sistant's death will be obvious.

People were trapped in a house. They all went a little crazy. Someone went a lot crazy and killed someone else."

"And that someone is probably dead, too," Graham added. "If the house stays to the same MO."

"So the actual crime committed becomes an open and shut case. Why did they go crazy?" Henry spread his hands.

"Not our problem. What exactly caused the doors to jam shut? Also not our problem. One of the people trapped did amazing magical things? But we've already established that they all went a little crazy, so no one can be considered a reliable witness."

"But these two . . ." Graham nodded toward the driveway. ". . . think something is up."

"And it's one thing to tell us what they think is going on and another thing entirely to put it in an official doc.u.ment.

They're not stupid, they've proven that already. If they find out what actually happened, who can they tell? Not only is there no empirical proof, there's no way to get it."

"Whoa. What about you? You're walking, talking, empirical proof, eh?"

"They don't know about me."

Graham snorted. "You're standing right there." As Henry's eyes darkened again, he backed up a step. "Oh. Right. They don't know about you. And no one who does is going to say anything. Not a word. Lips are sealed. Hey, I talk to the dead; who am I to point fingers, right?"

"Right." The masks were back in place. The smile held only the faintest hint of warning. "Given that there's been a death, the sooner the police are involved, the better our people . . ." CB's people except for Tony. ". . . your people . . .

look. And given that these particular police are already somewhat sympathetic to the situation . . ."

"Sympathetic?" CB growled.

"To the situation," Henry repeated. "And if they do mention anything about hauntings, well, there's no faster way for anything else they say to lose credibility with the powers that be." A quick glance at the house. "The judicial powers that be."

"Yeah and what about the press?" Graham demanded. "Friggin' tabloids'll be all over something like this."

Henry glanced up at CB, one eyebrow c.o.c.ked.

After a moment, CB smiled. "Of course. Given the right slant, this may even provide Darkest Night with a bonanza of free publicity. May even jump our ratings. If there's a chance that ghosts are real, why not vampires?"

"You might want to go easy with that."

"Of course."

Chapter Seventeen.

TONY REGAINED consciousness slowly, pulled out of a comforting darkness by the suspicion that while he was gone, people had been sticking red hot needles into the left side of his body. When he forced his eyes open, Brianna's face swam into focus.

"He's awake!" she yelled without turning her head.

Amy's face appeared almost immediately behind her. "You okay?"

"Maybe. You?"

"I didn't even go out." She sounded disappointed. "I just got woozy. Define maybe."

"Define okay."

"Not about to kick it."

Fair enough. "Not sure," he told her in turn. "Help me sit up."

Relying on Amy and Brianna's help, he ended up slumped against familiar lower cabinets. Still in the butler's pantry, then. Not good. Expressions on the half circle of faces staring down at him seemed to support that conclusion.

"The doors are still locked." The voice of doom from above.

He blinked up at Peter. "It didn't work?"

"Worked," Mouse told him before Peter could say anything more. "Caulfield's rotting. The wall's clean. Cleaner," he amended, clearly remembering he was speaking of a field-stone foundation. Peter's lips were thin, white lines. "But the doors are still locked."

"Okay." Tony managed to raise his right hand. "Let me think about this. Caulfield's gone . . ."

Mouse shot a hard look at Peter and nodded.

". . . the symbols that held the acc.u.mulated power to that specific spot on the bas.e.m.e.nt wall are gone . . . Lee!"

"Lee's fine," Zev told him, handing him a bottle of water. "All right, he's not exactly fine, but he's back. He's himself.

Tina and Mason and Ashley are . . . dealing with him."

Comforting. Zev had been going to say comforting, but changed it to dealing at the last moment. Tony could see another pair of legs in dark trousers tucked in behind Mason, but he couldn't see Lee. He wasn't sure he wanted to see Lee as long as he knew Lee was fine. Back. Himself.

"Lee is not your concern," Peter interrupted his train of thought, looking thoroughly p.i.s.sed. "Your job is to figure out why the h.e.l.l the doors are still locked!"

"Right." He could do that. It would keep him from thinking about Lee. Stalling for time while he got things straight in his head, he took a swallow of water and almost spat it out. Zev had dumped sugar into it. "Okay," he muttered, shooting his ex a thanks for the warning glare. "The power was cohesive down there for a long time. Maybe it stayed together even without the symbols-maybe it chose to stay together. It was definitely a separate thing from Caulfield, so maybe it had a kind of consciousness. It could go wandering off through the city, but it's choosing to stay as a part of this house."

"Why?"

The lights came up. The band played "Night and Day." In the ballroom, the dead danced.

"Because the house is feeding it," Tony sighed, knowing that although they couldn't see him, they could still hear him. "The ghosts are still trapped."

"If it's not trying to add us to the collection anymore, then we just sit tight and wait it out." Peter glared at Mason and Mouse who did their best to look sane. Kate glared back. "It can't be that long until sunrise."

"Probably not." Not knowing was making Tony a little edgy. Edgier. Was Henry still outside?

"They're not our responsibility; they've been dead for years."

It took Tony a moment to realize just who they were and switch back over to the problems inside the house. After four-hundred-and-fifty-odd years-some of these later ones, very odd-Henry knew enough to get out of the sun.

"Brenda and Hartley and Tom are trapped, too."

"You know, we only have your word for that."

"And mine." Brianna folded her arms, every line of her body daring Peter to argue. "I danced with her."

"Fine." He sighed impatiently. "Brenda, Hartley, and Tom are trapped, too."

"And Karl's still crying. I can hear him."

As Brianna pressed up against Tony's side, he felt something crumple in his pocket. The photograph of Karl and his mother. "I can hear him, too." He pulled the photo out and handed it to Amy. Multiple drinkings in icy water hadn't improved its condition any, but it was still painfully obvious who it. . . they were.

"So we have to free the ghosts." Amy left the duh silent but obvious as she pa.s.sed the picture to Peter.

He studied it for a moment, looked up, realized everyone was waiting on his word, and sighed again. "Fine. We free the ghosts." His gaze locked on Tony's. "What do we do?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?" Peter repeated and threw up his hands. "Great. Does anyone know?"

No one seemed to.

Tony glanced down at the top of Brianna's head, and frowned. "According to the journal, Caulfield used his son, Richard, to connect with the power and Richard is haunting the master suite bathroom."

"Are you going somewhere with this, Tony," Amy asked, peering into his face, "or are you just reiterating random bits of information?"

"He doesn't replay. All the other ghosts replay," he continued as the expressions he could see ranged the short distance from puzzled to confused. "Even Stephen and Ca.s.sie keep getting sucked back into the loop of their death although they're aware the rest of the time. Richard doesn't. And he's always there. Even Mason was aware of him."

"Hey." The qualifier got the actor's attention. "What do you mean, even Mason?"

"He means you're generally considered too smart to get mixed up in any supernatural nonsense," Peter interjected smoothly.

"Oh."

Amy reached out and poked him in the leg. "Get to the point, Tony."

"Richard Caulfield is the key."

A moment of contemplative silence. Then Adam asked what they were all wondering. "The key to what?"

"To freeing the ghosts, starving the thing, and getting us the h.e.l.l out of Dodge."

Peter took the photograph from Amy. The way he was staring at it made Tony realize he probably had kids of his own.

For a long moment, the distant sobs of a dead baby were the only sounds in the butler's pantry. Finally, Peter shoved the photograph into Tony's hand and jerked his head toward the door. "So, what are you waiting for? Go turn your key."

Right. Because, of course, it was his job to be the hero. They'd already established that. His left hand and everything attached to it was pretty much unusable with only minimal movement in the fingers and his entire arm felt as though someone had peeled all the skin off before seasoning it liberally with chopped jalapenos, but, wizard or not, he was just a PA and c.r.a.p jobs landed like sediment down there at the bottom of the totem pole. Standing hurt. h.e.l.l, breathing hurt.

He was working his way up to feeling really remarkably sorry for himself when a high-pitched voice slammed the door on his pity party.

"I'm coming with you."

"Bri."

She looked up at him and said very slowly and very pointedly, "He's not scared of me."

But he'd been terrified of his father and Tony was a man. Younger, thinner, and with more piercings, but still. . .

"Okay. Sure." He expected Tina to protest, but she was still too busy mothering Lee to even notice. "Can you carry the lantern?"

"She can, but she probably shouldn't." Zev picked the lantern up off the counter just before Brianna's hand connected.

"I'll come along, too."

"So will I."

"No." Peter physically put himself in Amy's path. "Caulfield might be gone, but this house remains dangerous. The fewer people we have wandering around, the better."

Amy jabbed a finger toward Brianna. "No fair! She's the boss' daughter and you're letting her wander around!" Her mouth closed with a sudden snap. "That sounded about six, didn't it?"

Tony and Zev nodded in unison.

"Brianna's going because the boy isn't afraid of her. Tony's going because this is his show . . ."