"How long?"

He shrugged. "Until the director feels he has what he needs."

"Jack ..." She turned to her partner who shook his head.

"No. I want a look around that soundstage and I want another word with Mr. Foster."

"We could come back."

Elson folded his arms. "We're here."

He translated the female constable's expression to read: You wouldn't have half as big a bee up your b.u.t.t if this wasn't television. She was probably right. Television, invited into homes 24/7 remained a mystery; to add mystery on top of that would be more than such a man could resist. Although the odds of him actually discovering anything were slim; he wouldn't be waiting to enter the soundstage if CB believed otherwise.

Running feet, pounding between the costumes, pulled all three of them back around the way they'd come.

Baseball bat held across her body, Arra stumbled to a halt by the hazmat suits and stared at the red light beside the door. d.a.m.n! Had CB been on his own, she'd have taken her chances with a line of bulls.h.i.t and charged right on in. But with strangers standing there . . .

Put them to sleep; you can call it a gas leak!

"Problem, Arra?"

Now would be the time . . .

Time.

11:16.

Too late anyway. Tony was on his own. She lowered the bat. "No. No problem."

"Arra Pelindrake?" The blond man stepped forward. "I'm Constable Jack Elson, RCMP. As long as we're all waiting here, I'd like to ask you a few questions."

Beyond the constable, CB's expression said much the same thing.The lamp was in place, a light blanket arranged behind it to prevent any possible leakage into the set in use. All Tony had to do was. .h.i.t the switch on the lamp itself-the gaffer had plugged him into the board and told him in no uncertain terms that if he came near it, he'd get a light stand up the a.s.s.

Oh, yeah. Things were going well.

He'd seen a PBS special once-or maybe it was a horror movie, details were fuzzy-about this guy who attacked people with vibrations until their eyeb.a.l.l.s melted. That was pretty much exactly how he felt. Like his eyeb.a.l.l.s were melting.

Definitely time to turn on the last best hope for humankind. And the part of the hero will be played by a carbon arc lamp.

As his hand moved toward the switch, his shadow surged up his legs.

He had time to jerk back futilely before darkness slammed into his head and he was no longer in control.

"I did a search for the last shadow this morning, it's in the studio."

f.u.c.k. f.u.c.k. f.u.c.k. It's in me! Except it hadn't been in him, it had been hiding in his shadow. How long . . . ?

And then the gate was open and he was walking-being walked-out underneath it.

Dejavu all over again.

The shadow hadn't taken over so much as pushed him aside. He was in his own mind, he just wasn't there alone. Henry could have pulled him free with a c.o.c.ked finger, but Henry wasn't here. Arra wasn't here. Just him.

And shadow.

"Hey. If you go back, youll die. You know that. You don't have to die!"

No response. And time was running out. Tony could feel the attention of the man on the other side of the gate. Could feel the pull. Could feel the shadow beginning to separate.

So he reached out and grabbed it. Not physically, of course. Physically, he was still standing like a total doofus in the middle of the set.

He wrapped his mind around the concept of shadow.

Contact.

Everyone has dark memories they can't purge. Memories that creep out of mental corners on sleepless nights, perch on the edge of consciousness, and gnaw. Lucky people remembered things they read in newspapers or saw on television; cruelties that didn't involve them personally but still cut deep. People who lived without the security of freedom or justice had darker memories, memories that often fit neatly into the inflamed map of physical scars. Tony had once seen an ancient Egyptian wizard devour the life of a baby while the baby's parents walked on, unaware their child was dead.

The shadows were pieces of the Shadowlord. Dark memories. Memories of a world where those parents would thank the G.o.ds that their baby was safely dead.

The shadow had known what he knew from the moment it had entered his body. Now he knew what the shadow knew. It was like seeing a private slide show of atrocities against the front of his skull.

Had Tony been in control of his mouth, he would have screamed.Then cruel intelligence on the other side of the gate called the shadow home and the slide show stopped.

Somehow, Tony managed to hang on.

"You don't have to go!" He fed it the memory of being absorbed, of becoming nothing once again. Of losing self.

* And if I stay.*

It sounded like Hartley, the boom operator, had Hartley been able to list "enjoys inflicting torment" as one of his hobbies. It also sounded remarkably like the voice in Tony's head.

"That was you. The bright lights in the elevator were freaking you out!"

*Yes.*

He was losing the tug-of-war. He could feel the shadow slipping away.

*If I stay, will you give me your body?*

Its tone went beyond innuendo. Tony shuddered, unable to control his body's visceral response and lost a little more of his grip. Strangely, the rush of blood away from his brain helped clear his mind. If a lack of information was all that was keeping the Shadowlord from attacking ... He couldn't ... He had to. Arra could deal with whatever that made him and Henry could call him back from wherever he'd gone and another little bit of shadow slipped free while he tried to work out the consequences. "Yes!"

Too late.

As the shadow roared free and his world became pain, he realized it had been taunting him, that however much it feared the loss of self, it had to rejoin the whole. It had just been indulging itself before it went home-offering a glimpse at hope, then s.n.a.t.c.hing it away again.

Tony regained consciousness to see a familiar face bending over him. Green eyes were concerned and a warm hand had a comforting grip on his shoulder.

"Tony?"

He clutched at Lee's voice as dark memories threatened to overwhelm him. Lee being there when he woke up was a bit of a dream come true and he was d.a.m.ned well going to hang onto it. "What. . . ?"

A slightly confused but comforting smile. "You tell me. You yelled and when Adam came over to tell you to shut up, you were on the floor." He glanced around and the smile faded. "I was on this floor ..."

Tony struggled to sit up, wondering, if the 1AD had come to check on him, where the h.e.l.l he'd gone. Through the gate? No. The shadow went through the gate.

Oh. f.u.c.k.

As his head cleared the floor, his stomach rebelled and just barely managing to turn away from the actor, he lost what remained of his breakfast and half a dozen strawberry marsh-mallows all over the fake hardwood floor. Oh, yeah, this was how he dreamed of waking up with Lee . . .

"Eww. Is that real vomit?"

Tony didn't recognize the voice, figured it had to be one of the fans, and briefly considered crawling over and puking on her shoes. In comparison to how he now felt, melting eyeb.a.l.l.s had been a good feeling. Coughing out what had to be a piece of his spleen, he managed to gasp, "Arra."

"You want Arra?"

From the sound of it, Lee had moved away, but he was still closer than anyone else in his extended audience. In between heaves that achieved nothing more than a thin stream of greenish-yellow bile, Tony managed a nod.

"He was doing some work for her."

Peter's voice. And running footsteps. More than one set.

"Tony!"

"Arra, don't kneel down there!" Peter's voice again. "He's been . . . Never mind. It looks like you missed it."

He felt a hand on his shoulder and . . . something. It settled his stomach, but more importantly it pushed the darkness back to where he could ... not ignore it but exist with it. Darker than what he was used to existing with, but he'd manage. Not like he had a choice.

Dropping over onto his back, he looked up into the wizard's eyes and felt tears rise in his own. So much for what's left of my macho image.

"It's all right, Tony ..."

"It isn't." He couldn't cope with plat.i.tudes, not from her. "He knows."

"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 h.e.l.l 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 cra.s.s 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 embarra.s.sing. 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 s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g 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 a.s.sistant. I think I can struggle on. Adam!" The director's voice echoed off the ceiling. "Where the h.e.l.l 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.