"Yo! Earth to Tony! Is there like a laser site aimed at my forehead or something because you've been staring at that same spot for a truly uncomfortable amount of time?"

"What?" He blinked and focused on Amy's face. "Sorry. I was thinking."

"It looked painful."

"You'd be surprised." Oh, man, I'm going to need gallons of that potion.

"What about?"

He dragged his focus back into the production office and away from the thought of trying to get half a liter of warm, green, sparkly vodka down the throats of seven semiconscious people. Next thing to impossible even with Henry's help. "What was I thinking about?"

Amy snorted. "Duh. Are you dehydrated or something because ..." She spun her chair around and glared at Veronica, seated at the office's third desk, receiver under her ear and an expression of near panic on her pale face. "Are you going to get that?"

The office PA's eyes widened and "near panic" inched closer to losing the word "near."

"I'm already talking to three people, well one person and two on hold, and Barbara wanted me to go through last week's files to find an invoice from Everett and Ruth wants the phone bills entered and filed and ...""Never mind." She turned back to her desk, mouthed wuss at Tony, and picked up the phone. "CB Productions ..."

Allowing the familiar sound to wash over him, Tony turned away from the desk just as Zev emerged from post. Zev! Zev hadn't been on the soundstage in days. There was no way he could be a minion. Although he was clearly a little confused by the way Tony was smiling at him considering how things had been left between them earlier.

Time to fix that. Tony needed to be with someone he knew wasn't possessed and work a little of the twitchy out. Get himself grounded so he could plan. Fill at least some of the time between now and 11:15. Amy would be likely to ask him about his "script" and besides it was Friday night. She probably had a date. Arra-well, he'd had a bellyful of her for one day and he still had to approach her about the potion. Given the cooperation he'd got from her this afternoon, he was definitely going to need Henry for that and Henry wouldn't be awake for another three hours. But Zev! Zev was . . . starting to look just a little nervous.

Ratcheting down the smile, Tony crossed to where the music director was standing.

Hang on. Maybe he has a date, it being Friday night and all. A little late to worry about that now. "Hey. Sorry I was such an a.s.s yesterday. Can I make it up to you?"

"By not being an a.s.s?"

"Well, yeah. That, too, but I was thinking maybe we could go out for coffee or a beer or you know, something."

Zev's brows rose-arched innuendo.

"No, not that kind of something. I mean, I just thought. .." He sputtered to a halt and was relieved to see Zev smile.

"Coffee or a beer would be fine. When?"

"Now. Well, as soon as I finish up which should be no more than half an hour. With Lee gone, we're stopping early."

Zev glanced down at his watch. "I've got to be parked by sunset so that might be cutting it a little close."

"Sunset's not for three hours," Tony pointed out then added, as Zev's brows rose again.

"They list it in the paper. I just happened to remember." After all those years with Henry, he couldn't stop remembering-no need to mention that.

"Friday night traffic can be a problem, even heading into the city, but I guess half an hour won't make that much difference. It had better be coffee, though. There's a place that carries kosher about four blocks from my apartment; it'd make it a little easier for me if you don't mind."

"I don't mind."

They agreed to meet back in the office and as Zev disappeared back into post, Tony turned to see Amy giving him two thumbs up. f.u.c.king great. Now everyone would a.s.sume he and Zev were out on a date. And, except for in Amy's tiny little mind, it wasn't a date. He liked Zev and all, but the music director just wasn't . . .

. . . Lee Nicholas.

G.o.d. I really am an a.s.s.

The clientele in the coffee shop/bakery was mostly the same Gen-X group that hung around in coffee shops all over the city; the main difference being that most of the men wore yarmulkes and the bakery sold hamantaschen, the triangular Purim cookies.

"Oh, man, I love these things," Tony enthused as the counter staff put two on a paper plate.

"So do a lot of people," Zev sighed as he moved his tray toward the cash register.

"That's why they bake them all year now."

"Is that a problem?"

He shrugged and smiled a little sheepishly. "No, I just think it makes them less ..."

"Special?"

"Yeah."

"Just part of the whole strawberries in February thing. I have a friend who thinks the world went to h.e.l.l when we started being able to get strawberries in February," he elaborated as Zev looked confused. "He says we've lost touch with the circle of life."

"I'll pa.s.s on the singing warthogs if it's all the same to you."

"Okay, I'm paraphrasing a bit. He doesn't actually quote Disney." Although the thought of Henry facing off against the Mouse was pretty funny. Reaching for his wallet with one hand, he grabbed Zev's arm with the other. "I'll get it. I asked."

"I made you come all the way to South Granville, I'll get it."

"You drove and I'm a lot closer to home than I was."

"I make considerably more than you do."

"Okay." Grinning broadly, Tony stepped back and motioned him forward. "That's convincing."

Although they'd said very little during the drive into the city and had barely spoken during the short walk after parking the car, the silence when they sat down was suddenly weighted. Watching Zev take a swallow of coffee, Tony tried to come up with something they could talk about besides work. Talking about work would just remind him of shadows. Seven shadows. Seven shadows possessing. Seven shadows spying . .

"Tony?"

"Sorry." He took a bite of apricot hamantasch, chewed, swallowed, and said, "So, what do you do when you're not working?"

It was a good thing they weren't dating. He sounded like a major spaz.

"Um . . . you know. The usual stuff. Laundry. Television. Scrabble."

"What?"

His cheeks slightly flushed, Zev stared into his mug. "I play compet.i.tive Scrabble."

"Really? I mean, I don't doubt you or anything," Tony hastened to add, "it's just that's so cool. I had a cheap Scrabble CD-ROM I got attached to a box of cereal and the computer kicked my a.s.s, even at the idiot level. And you play compet.i.tively?"

"Yes.""Wow."

"Sometimes I play in Hebrew."

"Now, you're bragging."

"A little."

They shared a smile and all of a sudden it wasn't so hard to find things to talk about.

Zev was an ardent Libertarian, slightly unusual in Socialist leaning British Columbia.

Tony, who'd picked up most of his political beliefs from the b.a.s.t.a.r.d son of Henry VIII, had to admit that a number of Zev's points made a lot of sense. Someday, when he thought life was getting dull, he'd mention them to Henry. Fortunately, before Zev could wonder just what he was smiling about, a fan of the show spotted their production jackets, enthused for a few minutes, and reminded Tony that he'd wanted to ask a question about the Darkest Night theme.

"That creepy bit under the t.i.tle; what instrument is that?"

"The piece under the t.i.tle is all voice. A trio, two women, one man-Leslie, Ingrid, and Joey are their names-I think, it's been a while-but they go by FKO."

"Okay, I get the KO; that's Knockout, but what's the F stand for."

Grinning, Zev raised both hands. "I didn't want to ask."

Eventually, they segued into a discussion of the Olympic highway extension up to Whistler-an obligatory topic when two or more Vancouverites got together.

Away from work, CB Productions' musical director let loose a sardonic sense of humor and was actually a pretty funny guy. And it wasn't a date or anything, but Tony was having a good time. Starting to relax. No longer jumping at shadows. Much.

"Is that the time?" Zev shoved his chair out from the table and stood. "I've got to get going."

Tony checked his watch as he got to his feet. 7:25. A little more than half an hour until sunset. Still plenty of time to get Henry and have him convince Arra to prepare more sparkly green vodka.

"I hadn't realized it was so late," Zev continued as he hooked the strap of his laptop case up over one shoulder. "I'm sorry, but I can't drive you home."

"It's okay, I didn't expect you to."

"Do you even know how to get home from here?"

Smiling, Tony fell into step beside him as he headed for the door. "There's a transit stop about ten meters up Oak, Zev. I think I can manage."

"Up Oak along Broadway ..."

"I've got it."

"It's raining ..."

"It's Vancouver."

"Good point." Another awkward silence. "I'll, uh, see you at work on Monday."

"Sure." Unless the world ended over the weekend; and a 6,000 watt carbon arc lamp aside, Tony wasn't ruling that out. They stood in the rain for a moment, then Zev shrugged, waved, and headed west along Fifty-first.

There was one other person in the transit shelter, a big guy staring at the city map Plexiglas-ed into one wall. Shifting his backpack onto one shoulder, Tony projected the I'm not worth bothering vibe he'd perfected living on the street as he dug around in his backpack for his phone. Past time to call Henry.

Then the big guy looked up.

"Mouse? Jeez, I didn't recognize you."

The cameraman blinked at him, headlights from a pa.s.sing car throwing shadows across his face.

Except that when the car was gone, the shadows remained.

c.r.a.p.

Minion of the Shadowlord front and center.

Big minion.

Really wishing he'd gotten that whole hero thing worked out, Tony stepped back until his shoulders. .h.i.t Plexiglas and back was no longer an option.

Chapter Eight.

THE LEADING edge of the shadow army was less than a day's march away. Standing on the city walls, mirror raised to catch the late afternoon light, Arra could see past the pockets of battle, past the men and women struggling to defeat an enemy their superior in both strength and numbers, past the black tents well warded against magical attack, and into the swath of destruction that stretched back to the border.

Crops had been burned in the field and the ground salted. She could see the remains of livestock slaughtered and devoured by the invaders. After his victory, the Shadowlord would feed those who abased themselves before him; those who forgot pride and honor and crawled on their bellies to his feet.

Every building still standing after the front line pa.s.sed by had been put to the torch.

When winter came, only the abject would survive.

Above the camps of the captured were stakes that held the bodies of those who had tried to escape, those who had tried to stand up to the random cruelty of their guards, those who hadn't quite given up hope. Some of the bodies were moving, but they were still bodies for all that. The living were prisoners now, slaves when the conquest was complete.

Arra looked away from her mirror and out at the empty landscape between the city and the army. She could see shadows lying where shadows should not be. Moving in ways shadows did not move. The vanguard of the Shadowlord- his eyes and ears.

Magic kept them from the city-hers and the two remaining members of her order. Three.

All that was left. Four had died in battle, unable to stand against dark magics fueled by a seemingly endless supply of pain and blood. Two had been killed when they returned to the city controlled by shadow-but not before the shadows had used their power to do great damage. The eldest had died finishing the wards that protected the walls, wards fraying under the constant onslaught of power, wards that would fail, by her calculations, just about the same time the invading army reached the gates.The last three wizards would walk out together to face the Shadowlord.

In spite of all they had done, in spite of all they had made ready, in spite of all they hoped, their linked power would not be enough.

Arra had looked into the crystal. She knew how this would end.

They would die, then the wards would fail, the gates would fall, and the city, filled to overflowing with those who had thought it a refuge, would be destroyed.