"You never thought to mention that?"

He shrugged. "It didn't seem relevant."

"It isn't. But you had no way of knowing that." She turned her attention back to Henry.

"Yeramathia is neither G.o.d nor demon, only a power. We need to attract its attention. I will draw the calling in the air; the Shadowlord will try and stop me. The only things he controls in this world are the shadows and the shadow-held, but there are plenty of the former and the latter will fight you to the death."

"How much time will you need?"

"As long as it takes to draw the calling."

Tony rolled his eyes. Right. More obscure. "And that'll be how long?"

"Well, it's not a 1-800 number," Arra snapped.

Henry's hand closed over Tony's shoulder before the snapping could escalate. "And if it answers?"

"When it answers," Tony muttered.

"We hope it destroys the minion of its ancient enemy."

"Hope?" Tony began, but Henry's fingers tightened.

"If and hope," Henry said softly as though trying the words on for size. "Battles have been won with less. Do you believe we can win?"

With both of them staring at her, Arra shrugged. "Tony does."

And then they both moved to stare at him.

Oh, c.r.a.p. No, I don't. I just think that if you have to fight-which we do-there's no percentage in going in believing you're going to lose. It's not like if we lose we can try again later. This is it. All or nothing. One final roll of the dice. The big chimichanga. And that's just f.u.c.king great, now I'm out of cliches.

Were they waiting for him to say something?

Apparently.

He sighed, squared his shoulders, and tried to think of something inspiring. "Right. Let's go."

"Not exactly the St. Crispin's speech," Henry murmured."The what? Never mind." He raised a hand and cut off the explanation. Knowing Henry, it was likely to be lengthy, boring, and cla.s.sical. "Instead of walking in the back door like the Three Stooges, how about we split his attention. Henry, remember that up-on-the- roof-through-the-ventilation-shaft thing you wanted to do earlier?"

"Uh, no."

"Good. Now's your chance. Arra, you go in through the front doors, I'll go in through the back. Henry, you take out the shadow-held-bottom line they're still flesh and blood and you're ..." Even in the dim light of the parking lot, he could see the vampire's eyes darken. ". . . you."

"I think," Henry said slowly, "at some point, h.e.l.l send something through that can't be killed by light. Something physical."

"You sound upsettingly happy about that."

The mask slipped. "If it has flesh and blood, I can deal with it."

"And me, I'll deal with the Shadowlord."

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.

"You will?"

It almost wasn't a question. Tony made a mental note to ask Arra about that later-if they survived this. "Someone has to and I'm all that's left. You ..." He bent and picked up his backpack, swinging one strap over his shoulder. "... just dial."

"I have to be in his presence for this to work." Her eyes narrowed. "How do you plan on dealing with him?"

Tony shrugged. "Maybe it is my a.s.s." He held up a hand to stop Henry's question and then waved them off in opposite directions, hoping the gesture was fast enough that neither of his companions could see how badly his hand was shaking. "Can we just . . .

go!"

Walking over the gravel made so much noise that Tony half expected a couple of the bigger guys on the crew to be waiting for him at the back door. They weren't. No one was. See, he's c.o.c.ky. No security.

He slipped through, took his backpack off and set it safely to one side, then began moving quietly down the London street set. It didn't look much like London, but with lighting, fake fog, a filter or two ... it probably still wouldn't look much like London. Good thing Mason preferred a lot of tight close-ups.

And speaking of close-ups, the cameras seemed to have been moved to the dining room set. Thankful for the clutter, Tony slipped across the soundstage without being seen although, the closer he got to the set, the harder it was not to be noticed.

s.h.i.t. Shooting crew and construction crew. More people than they'd planned on. Henry was fast and strong, but he was still only one guy. The more people he had to take out, the more likely someone would be taken out permanently. Dead.

This is such a stupid idea. What the h.e.l.l was I thinking? You do this, you do that, I'll take out the Shadowlord. First my brain points out that Henry's the one with the training, then it totally shuts down while my mouth flaps. Delusions of grandeur or . . .

f.u.c.k. At least I'm not the only one. Crammed into the eight or so inches between the distant view of the garden and the dining room window, Tony peered onto the set. The dining room table was gone, the cheap Persian rug had been removed, Mason's coffin was up against the opposite wall, and the throne from episode nine's the-writers-are- on-cheap-drugs Charlemagne flashback had been brought out of storage and set up at the far end of the room, leaving the area actually under the gate empty.

On the throne, still wearing the same clothes he'd dropped through the gate in, was the Shadowlord. Problem was, he didn't look like the conquering tyrant Arra made him out to be and he didn't look evil. He looked like he belonged there. Posture, att.i.tude, expression-everything about him said, This is my right. Serve me.

He reminded Tony a little of Henry. Of the Prince of Man bit.

Tony felt himself responding. He'd seen something on PBS once that said nine of out ten men were looking for a strong leader to follow. The moment Henry Fitzroy had vamped into his life, he'd known he was one of the nine.

It was a small step from leader to master.

Mason Reed, still in full Raymond Dark costume and makeup was on his knees to the left of the throne, vogue-ing for the photographer setting up his shot.

Lee was to the right of the throne. Also in character. Also on his knees. As Tony watched, the Shadowlord reached out and ran his fingers through Lee's hair. Eyes closed, the actor leaned into the touch.

Tony felt himself responding to that, too. On a couple of levels. Fingers tightening on the edge of a supporting two-by-four, he decided to go with, Get your hands off him, you f.u.c.king b.a.s.t.a.r.d!

Closely followed by, I don't get to touch. You don't get to touch!

Where the h.e.l.l was Henry?

And Arra?

Were they waiting for him?

Did he have to do everything?

Mason froze as the flash went off and the photographer set up for another shot.

He's doc.u.menting his conquest, Tony realized. Both cameras were ready to shoot the set.

He could see Peter, Tina, and Sorge wrapped in discussion over at the monitors, Everett was waiting out of shot with his touch-up kit, and everyone not actually working was gathered to one side, watching. Watching the throne. Watching the photographer.

Waiting.

For the gate to open?

No, too early.

For the fight.

For him.

I guess that's my cue.

Yeah, like I'm just going to walk out there . . .

"I know you're here, Tony."Tony's heart slammed against his ribs. f.u.c.k! Excellent timing, he had to give him that.

"I have a part of you in me. You have a part of me in you."

You wish! He fought for control as the Shadowlord's voice filled the soundstage, realizing the b.a.s.t.a.r.d didn't know exactly where he was or there'd be more going on than just talking. He glanced down at his shadow. It quivered. Not good.

"We're connected. I can feel your fear. I can feel your need."

Like I need to hear your cheesy f.u.c.king dialogue?

"If you're waiting for Arra Pelindrake, I wouldn't bother. She's an old woman. I've destroyed everything she ever cared about. She's nothing. A remnant. She knows she can't destroy me just as she's always known it. If she fights with you, it's only because her guilt is driving her to end it."

There was more along the same lines, but Tony ignored it. No matter what he said, there was a chance Arra could beat him or he wouldn't be here personally making sure she was destroyed. The speech wasn't directed at him anyway, it was meant to undermine Arra's confidence. To make her run. It might even work if he didn't do something soon. He had no illusions about the depth of Arra's commitment to the cause.

She was there because he was, motivated, as the Shadowlord said, by guilt. But what to do? Sneak around behind the coffin and ram him with it? Shut off the main power?

Weaken the shadows in the dark? No way the Shadowlord hadn't taken care of that, though, it was way too obvious. The main breaker would definitely be guarded. Or welded.

"Shall I show you what's in store for you?"

That was directed at him again although Tony wasn't sure how he knew.

The Shadowlord gestured, Peter called, "Roll camera," and Charlie Harris stumbled out into the center of the set, clawing at his own shadow wrapped around him like a shroud.

And Tony remembered.

He couldn't move, he couldn't speak, and most importantly, he couldn't breathe. It was like being trapped under a pliable sheet of cool charcoal-gray rubber that covered him from head to foot like a second skin, curving to fit up each nostril and into his mouth. Obscenely intimate.

The Shadowlord held out his hand and the gesture drew a wisp of black from Charlie's skull. It sped across the set and into the wizard, who closed his eyes and murmured, "Just taste the terror."

Charlie fell to the floor, heels kicking against the painted plywood.

"Are you learning from this, Tony? Thousands will die this way."

Yeah, yeah. You're not just blowing smoke out your a.s.s. I get it. His hands gripping the edge of the wall, Tony braced himself for the charge. A solid tackle, knock the air out of the son of a b.i.t.c.h, and maybe Charlie'd have a chance.

He was standing, left foot raised, right leg about to push off when Henry dropped from the ceiling.

Right onto the Shadowlord's lap.

The vampire reached out, wrapped his hands around the Shadowlord's head, and twisted.

The resulting flare of darkness threw him back almost to the watching crowd.Tony froze. Wizardy protections. You can't whack at him.

"Deal with him."

As the shadow-held advanced on Henry, Tony remembered he was supposed to be dealing with the Shadowlord. But not just dealing with him, dealing with his power over shadow.

How do I stop a shadow?

Know what's real.

Light was real. Darkness was real. Light and dark. Light and absence of light.

Okay, that about does it for the options.

And then he realized he'd already given himself the answer.

You're not just blowing smoke out your a.s.s .. .

Chapter Nineteen.

TONY RACED for the back of soundstage, leaped over a half finished set of stairs, and careened around the edge of the London street set.

Unless things had changed after he'd left the studio- changed in reference to the shooting schedule as opposed to changed because there was an evil wizard hanging around- Peter'd planned on shooting the flashback scene first thing in the morning. The fate of the world depended on how much the crew'd got ready before the shadows took them over.

London streets, especially c.r.a.ppy thrown together at the last minute, gray paint on plywood and Styrofoam streets, needed fog. There were two 1400w pro foggers sitting at the edge of the set, a heavy orange, one-hundred-and-fifty-foot extension cord curled up beside each of them. The reservoirs were full of fog juice. They were ready to go.

Cables ran everywhere in a soundstage. Praying that the Shadowlord's need to control the lights had kept the whole place live, Tony yanked the lines from the nearest socket, and plugged the foggers in.

With one in each hand, he headed back toward the gate, his palms so slick with sweat that they slid back and forth in his grip. Don't drop them. Do not drop them.

Over the sound of his new mantra, he could hear fighting.