"Right. Fine." Peter was clearly maintaining a fingernail grip on his temper. "Then he'll have a lot more to watch if you'd go over to the office so we can start scene seven.

Lighting's set and we've been ready for you for a while now, Mason."

"Which is why Tony came and got him."

Peter shook his head, clearly a little confused about why Mason's friend was speaking to him, defending a member of his staff; his shadow seemed to be on its knees. "Well," he said at last. "Nice to see someone's doing their job."

The Shadowlord held out a hand. "Michael Swan."

A cursory handshake. "Right. Mason, if you would . . ." As he turned, sweeping Mason before him, he added to the soundstage at large, "Let's go, people; we've got another nine pages to get through today!"

"Your thoughts were filled with this . . . television. Shadows made of light. We have nothing similar. I find the whole concept fascinating." His hand closed gently over Tony's shoulder. Under his shirt, Tony's skin tried to crawl away from the touch. "I do hope Arra cowers for a while-just think of what I could do with something like this." Evil television? Or was that redundant? He'd come to kill Arra himself because Tony's shadow memories had made television fascinating?

That was . . . unexpected.

As the Shadowlord released him, Tony had a strong suspicion that hysteria was one more touch away. He could feel it beating its fists against the inside of his skull. He watched the Shadowlord catch up with Mason. Felt the panic begin to ease with distance. Wanted nothing more than to run. And didn't. And followed. He didn't bother hiding, or skulking, or trying to be anything less than obvious. What would be the point?

Lee had moved to the edge of the set and was standing with his eyes closed, holding a cup of coffee. His lips were moving, so Tony a.s.sumed he was running over lines. Mason pa.s.sed him without acknowledgment, but the Shadowlord paused and glanced back at Tony, his expression clearly saying, So, this is the one.

Great. He hadn't given up Henry, but he'd given up Lee. Or at least his attraction to Lee.

Don't. . . Don't what, he had no idea. Just don't.

And the Shadowlord moved on.

Tony released a breath he hadn't known he was holding just as the color drained from Lee's face and his eyes snapped open.

Oh, s.h.i.t!

Spasm.

But the Shadowlord wasn't touching the actor. Wasn't even near him.

The coffee mug smashed against the floor, coffee spraying against the shadow that stretched from Lee's back to the Shadowlord's heels. It seemed to be driving serrated spikes into Lee's head.

G.o.d f.u.c.king d.a.m.n it!

No lights handy.

What else defeated shadow?

Darkness weakened them.

Gray-on-gray patterns flickered across the floor as a camera rolled into position.

Patterns . . .

Half a dozen running steps took Tony to the edge of the set-the edge of the lights. His shadow fell over Lee's and the Shadowlord's, wiping out the definition of the attack, leaving nothing but a formless shape of darker gray on the concrete.

Lee's breath caught on the edge of a scream and then eased out of him in a wavering exhalation. Then Elaine from craft services was there with a roll of paper towels. And Carol, who was on the lighting crew. And Keisha, the set dresser. With Lee surrounded by concerned women and no place on the floor for new patterns, the Shadowlord's shadow now extended no farther from his heels than it should.

Tony moved one tentative step away; moved his shadow one tentative step away.

Lee seemed fine.

As Mason ran over his blocking with Peter and Sorge, the Shadowlord moved up to stare through the camera's viewfinder. He was Mason's friend, no one would move him. No one wanted to set Mason off and lose an afternoon's work.Tormenting Lee had obviously been nothing more than a way to yank Tony's chain. How long would the Shadowlord just hang around if Arra stayed hidden? How long before he started killing people to bring Arra out of hiding? And would Arra come if he did?

What would he do if she didn't?

Flush her out with destruction?

According to Arra, it took time to learn the energy of a new world. The longer they had to wait for the other shoe to drop, the more the Shadowlord learned, the more powerful he became. Although it seemed as though shadows were shadows- that power he had now.

Bottom line, he had to be stopped sooner rather than later.

Yeah, and now we've come to that amazing decision, we're no farther ahead than we were.

There's a big f.u.c.king evil thing hanging around being a fanboy-I'm the only one who knows it and I can't do a thing about it. I can't even take out his minion.

Mason was settling into character although he kept shooting "look at me" glances toward his master.

"Tony?"

Heart in his throat, he spun around so quickly he almost fell over.

Lee backed up a step, both hands in the air. "Are you okay?"

"Me?"

"Your nose is bleeding."

Still? He touched his upper lip and stared down at sticky fingertips. "It's nothing."

Arms wrapped around his torso, Lee nodded. "Sure."

"Are you . . ."A wave back toward the damp spot on the concrete. "... okay?"

"Good question." The green eyes stared past Tony's shoulder. "There's some weird s.h.i.t going on around here ever since Nikki Waugh died. The doctor thinks my little memory lapse was something they call Transient Global Amnesia. Except, according to the cops, I'm not the only one forgetting things and your nose was bleeding yesterday, too-same bat-time, same bat-channel. And if I didn't know Mason was straight, I'd say he was one short step from bending over for that friend of his."

Tony didn't bother turning to look. "You might want to stay away from Mason. And his friend."

"Lee." Adam leaned between them. "We're ready for you."

"I'll be right there."

The 1AD nodded and headed for the monitors.

"I'm about to shoot a scene with Mason." He almost seemed to be asking if he'd be safe.

"That's not Mason, though." Tony nodded toward the set. "That's Raymond Dark."

Lee looked confused for a moment then he smiled. "Right. I wonder if he's going to take his friend to his interview.""Interview?"

"Yeah, he's on Live at Five tonight. Again."

"They're live ..."

"That would explain the t.i.tle of the show, yeah. They seem to think Mason's the only actor on the West Coast."

"Lee!"

As Adam beckoned, Lee nodded at Tony and walked onto the set. Any other time, Tony wouldn't have been able to look away as the actor shed Lee Nicholas and became James Grant. Today, the Shadowlord held his entire attention.

"I wonder if he's going to take his friend to his interview."

"They're live . . ."

"Shadows made of light. . . just think of what I could do with something like this."

And it seemed as though shadows were shadows-that power he had now.

Oh, f.u.c.king c.r.a.p.

The Shadowlord wasn't only after Arra. It was also an invasion. And Tony'd handed him the weapon he needed to win it.

The production office was empty. Tony could hear Rachel and Amy and one of the writers in the kitchen arguing over who'd emptied the coffeemaker. Keeping his head down, he hurried toward the open door of CB's office. He had to find a way to break Arra's spell because Chester Bane was the only person Mason ever listened to. The only person with even half a hope in h.e.l.l of keeping him-and by extension the Shadowlord-from that live interview.

He might even know where Arra was.

But he wasn't in his office.

There was an appointment book open on the desk. CB disapproved of electronic calendars, saying paper and ink never got wiped out by a thunderstorm. Tony'd never heard of anyone's PDA being wiped out by a thunderstorm, but he had no intention of ever pointing that out to CB. The book was open to the current date. CB'd had a breakfast meeting with one of the networks, but the rest of the day was clear.

Therefore, he was somewhere in the building.

"Lots of help. It's a big f.u.c.king building!" Nothing on the desk suggested where in the building CB might be; if he was on the move, they could chase each other around all afterno . . .

Tony slid the appointment book to one side and stared down at the sheet of art paper tucked into the edge of the blotter. The pattern penciled on it looked incredibly familiar.

A closer look showed that the pattern had been, in fact, redrawn-lines drawn hard enough to etch the paper erased then filled back in.

Lines erased.

But this wasn't the pattern Arra had used to erase CB's memory.

No."My memory."

She'd erased it; he remembered seeing her erase it. Even when he'd forgotten everything else, he'd remembered that. CB must have found the paper and filled the lines back in.

Coincidence? Tony's thoughts flicked back to the vodka-catnip c.o.c.ktails still in his thermos. If CB was also a wizard, he was going to need a very stiff drink.

After erasing it, Arra had slipped the paper she'd drawn CB's pattern on into her desk.

So, logically, in order to return CB's memory . . .

Finally! Something was going right!

Except that the door to Arra's workshop was still locked. Jammed. Whatever. Point was, he couldn't get the d.a.m.ned thing open! She's probably got a spell on it. That's why it only opens ... He braced one foot against the trim and pulled. . . . for. . . Again. Harder. . . .

her.

f.u.c.k!

The argument in the kitchen built to a crescendo. Any minute, the losing partic.i.p.ant would stomp out and demand to know what he was doing. Or Zev would emerge from post. Or Adam would come looking for him.

I don't have time for this! Not only was the door rock solid without so much as a wobble on its hinges but the doork.n.o.b wasn't even turning. His hands dropped to his sides.

Completely, f.u.c.king hopeless! Breathing deeply, he closed his eyes and banged his head lightly against the painted wood. Please. Just. Open.

The latch rattled against the latch plate.

Tony grabbed for the doork.n.o.b, twisted, and pulled. The door swung open without even the expected ominous creak.

Arra really had drawn CB's pattern on an invoice for blasting caps which made it just a little hard to retrace. If he got it wrong, would it just not work or would CB remember things that hadn't happened? He paused, pencil frozen on the paper. If he got it wrong, would he completely screw up CB's brain? Did he have a right to risk it? As far as he could remember a distant and not very pleasant childhood, he'd always sucked at coloring between the lines.

"Screw it." The pencil started moving again. "He redrew me." And anyway, the alternative was the Shadowlord live at five.

"What the h.e.l.l is going on?" Stomping down the stairs, CB's voice bludgeoned the silence out of his way. "We had an agreement, old woman, and if I find you've broken ..." He caught sight of Tony and paused. His gaze flicked down to the sheet of paper, the pieces falling into place so quickly Tony practically heard the click as they lined up. "Ah ..."

"Yeah."

"Where is she?""I have no idea. I was hoping you might know."

"Has she ..." One huge hand sketched an unidentifiable pattern in the air.

They so didn't have time for obscure. "Taken up Balinese dancing? What?"

"Opened another gate."

"Apparently not."

CB glanced down at his watch. "The original gate has opened. Did she go through it?"

"No."

"Are you certain?"

"Pretty much, yeah." Tony point-formed the events of the morning, stopping twice to remind CB that he wasn't finished and that roaring off to wring necks without all the information wouldn't help. "You've got to stop Mason from doing that interview," he concluded. "If the Shadowlord gets in front of a live camera, we're talking shadows of light going out into millions of homes!"