Smoke and Ashes

by Tanya Huff

  “No.”

  “Fine!”

  “All right, then!”

  Leah glared down at the can in one hand and the bag in the other and her lips twitched. Then her whole body. Just for a moment, Tony was afraid that spray cheese and beef jerky were the secret ingredients Ryne Cyratane had been holding back and now, with them both in close proximity, the gate was opening. Then he realized she was trying not to laugh.

  Then she wasn’t trying anymore.

  She laughed like they hadn’t been talking about demons and wizards and the possibility of people dying. She laughed like this moment, the moment when laughter overwhelmed her, was the only moment that mattered. Tony smiled as he watched her; it was impossible not to.

  It was just as impossible not to join in.

  They almost managed to stop a couple of times, then one of them would wave the can of spray cheese and they’d lose it again. Finally, they ended up lying side by side on the sofa bed, gasping for breath.

  “Oh, yeah. I needed that.” A long breath in and she sat up, twisting just enough to look back over her shoulder at him, pushing dark curls off her face. “Was it good for you?”

  Tony ignored her, frowning as he tugged a familiar plastic bag out from under her butt. “You’ve crushed my jerky.”

  The brow he could see lifted in a decidedly smutty manner. “Is that what you crazy kids are calling it now? Damn.” And the brow dipped down. “Is that the time?”

  He squinted toward the TiVo. 4:46. He had to be up for work in three hours and fifteen minutes. “Fuck.”

  Her turn to ignore him. He was kind of amazed by that actually, all things considered. “I’ve got to get some sleep.” She slid to the edge of the mattress and stood. “I’ve got a two o’clock call for a CBC Movie of the Week.”

  “Stunt?”

  “It’s what I do.” Scooping up her purse, she hung it on her shoulder and headed for the door. “If you’re finished with work before sunset—they want the light for the shot, reflections on the water and all that artistic crap—can you come by VanTerm? I’ll leave word with security.”

  “Hang on!” He jumped to his feet and followed her. “That’s it? We eat chow mein, you tell me we’re having a Demonic Convergence with a high chance of imps, and then we just go off to work?”

  “Unfortunately, saving the world doesn’t buy the groceries.” Rummaging in the depths of her bag, she pulled out a slightly crumpled card and passed it to Tony. “My cell number. Call if you’re going to be late or you can’t make it.”

  “And?”

  “And we’ll reschedule. This isn’t going to go away; we’ve got lots of time to fix it.”

  “Yeah, but when did it start?”

  “A week ago Monday afternoon at 2:10.”

  “Really?”

  “No. And yes. Approximately.” He could hear her smile even though he couldn’t see her face. “You really are gullible for a wizard.”

  “Maybe.” Reaching out, he stopped her from opening the door. “But one thing before you go; are you here, in Vancouver, because this is where the convergence is happening, or is it happening here because it’s where you are?”

  Her expression was almost proud when she turned, like she was about to praise a puppy. “You’re smarter than you look.”

  “Thank you. You didn’t answer the question.”

  “This…” A light, almost reverent touch against her stomach. “…is the second oldest and most powerful continuously running bit of magic in the world.”

  “What’s the first?”

  “I’m not allowed to say.”

  “Seriously?”

  “No, I’m just bullshitting you again.” A firmer pat on the sweater above the tat. “This is the oldest.”

  He literally felt his heart start beating again. The way his life had been going lately, if there was an older bit of magic in the world, he could expect it on his doorstep at any time. “That’s a sick sense of humor you’ve got there; I can see why you were a demon’s favorite handmaiden.”

  “Sticks and stones…” Ryne Cyratane flashed as she smiled. “…won’t actually touch me.”

  “Lucky you. So if you’re walking around with the oldest magic in the world, then the convergence is here because you are? Nothing personal,” he added when she nodded, “but I wish you were somewhere else.”

  “Too late now. Things have started. And when I say things, I am, of course, referring to the Demonic Convergence eating holes through our reality into a myriad of hells. Bright side, though, with a wizard in the immediate area, the world stands a better chance.” Dark brows lifted as she grinned. “You wouldn’t wish a worse chance on the world, would you?”

  He made a show of thinking about it but didn’t fool her.

  “You’re a good man, Tony Foster.” Taking hold of his shoulders, she kissed him gently on both cheeks and murmured something in a language he didn’t know. “Sumerian blessing,” she told him stepping away. “Roughly translates as ‘the gods help those who help themselves.’ I left out the part about the goats. Redo the wards before you go to sleep—they won’t stop a Demonlord, but they might stop lesser demons.”

  “Might?”

  “Should.”

  “Should’s not a lot more encouraging.”

  “Best I’ve got.”

  Ryne Cyratane flickered again as Leah went out the door. Head half turned, he seemed to be paying more attention to Leah’s surroundings than to his hand-maiden although, since Tony was trying to get a better look at his ass, there may have been subtleties missed.

  He had just enough cough syrup left to reset the wards. Finished, he closed the file on the laptop, powered down, and closed the door.

  They won’t stop a Demonlord, but they might stop lesser demons.

  He locked the door, put the chain on, and shoved a chair up under the handle. One thing he’d learned over the years—it didn’t hurt to take precautions and not taking them often hurt a lot. Where hurt could be defined as, Oh, look, here I am back in the ER.

  He could still catch two hours and forty minutes of sleep if he fell over right now. When the paper bag the Chinese food had come in rattled as he tossed it onto the counter, he realized that they hadn’t eaten the fortune cookies. He grabbed one and cracked it.

  “The blow from sunlight is more unexpected than the blow from darkness.” That was new. “Cookie guys must have gotten themselves a new Magic 8 Ball,” he said. Shoving the slip of paper in his pocket, he stripped off his clothes and dropped onto the bed. As he leaned across to get the light, something crinkled under his elbow.

  Somehow a copy of TV Week magazine had gotten shoved under the bottom sheet. It had been folded open at “Star Spotting” and the photo of Lee and the blonde du jour. It looked like they were coming out of a club. She had both hands wrapped around Lee’s arm, her gaze following the strands of long, pale hair blowing up into his face. He looked like he was saying something clever to the crowd of paparazzi, his hand holding a shape in the air.

  “Wizards see what’s there,” Tony told the picture.

  He wasn’t touching her. He wasn’t looking at her. She was an accessory.

  A smoke screen.

  A lie.

  “Yeah.” The magazine hit the far wall and fluttered to the floor. “Bitter much?”

  He left the television on a blue screen with the sound off. A high-tech night-light for people who knew there were things to be afraid of in the dark.

  “Hey, Tony, I got an e-mail from Brianna.”

  Tony lowered his coffee and peered blearily across the office at Amy. He must be getting old. Two hours and forty minutes of sleep just didn’t do it for him anymore. “So?”

  “You want to know what it says?”

  “No.”

  “It says, ‘Tell that jerk-face Tony to check his e-mail.’ You know…” She leaned back in her chair and flicked an eraser at him. “…you might want to try and establish a relationship with someone your own age.”
<
br />   He realized he should have gotten a larger coffee as the eraser bounced off his forehead. Except that he didn’t think they made a larger coffee. “We don’t have a relationship.”

  “No? Then why’d you give her your e-mail?”

  “I didn’t.”

  “Sure you didn’t. You look like shit, by the way. Late night?”

  “Very.”

  “Hot date?”

  “Not even remotely.”

  “Cold date?”

  Henry’s body temperature was several degrees below normal. Tony wondered why his brain decided to throw that into the conversation. “No date.”

  “Ah, so you stayed up drowning your sorrows. Dude, I’m there.”

  Amy had gone off again with Brian—her on again/off again boyfriend—just after the incident in August. She insisted it had nothing to do with what had happened that night, but Tony still felt vaguely guilty even though nothing had specifically happened to Amy. Of course, given that it was Amy…well, that might have been the problem.

  Tuning out Amy’s litany of dating woe, he negotiated a maze of papier-mâché tombstones and headed for the soundstage.

  He wasn’t sure how he made it through the morning.

  Mason’s close-ups.

  Lee’s close-ups.

  Padma’s close-ups.

  The same lines, over and over.

  Sorge’s anticipated rant about matching light levels between studio and location.

  “Welcome to the thrilling and exciting world of syndicated television.”

  Peter half turned. “What was that, Mr. Foster?”

  Oh, shit. Had he said that out loud?

  “I…um…was just…”

  “Why don’t you go make sure Raymond Dark’s office is ready?”

  “Right.”

  The next scene would be one of the first scenes in the episode, the scene where Padma’s character arrived to hire Raymond Dark, someone or something in an advanced state of decay having been lurking about her windows at night. People who worked in the entertainment industry got very blasé about the dead walking.

  “This isn’t just a stalker, Mr. Taylor. Stalkers don’t shed parts of their body…Sorry.”

  “Don’t shed body parts behind the hedge,” Peter called from behind the monitors. “I like the emphasis on just and we’re still rolling.”

  “This isn’t just a stalker, Mr. Taylor…”

  Tony let the words wash over him. And over and over, and the moment Peter called lunch, he dropped onto the office couch and closed his eyes.

  “Late night?”

  No mistaking that crushed-velvet voice. He opened his eyes to see Lee gazing down at him from a little over an arm’s length away. For one damn-the-torpedoes moment Tony thought about asking, Afraid I’ll drag you down here with me?—but sanity prevailed and he said only: “Very.”

  “Hot date?”

  Been there, done that, had the conversation once already today. “Not even remotely.”

  “Hey, too bad.”

  Oh, no. You don’t get to be all happy my love life sucks. “Bite me.”

  “Pardon.”

  Oh, shit. Had he said that out loud, too? So much for sanity prevailing. Miss a few hours’ sleep and his sense of self-preservation took off for parts unknown. He shoved his fist in his mouth to block a yawn and, when he could talk again, said, “Sorry. I’m so out of it, I don’t know what I’m saying.”

  “Sure.”

  What was that supposed to mean?

  “Pleasant dreams.”

  Or that, he wondered as Lee walked away.

  Worrying about it probably kept him awake for all of three or four minutes. He tossed. He turned. He realized he was probably dreaming about the time Lee suddenly acquired an impressive and familiar set of antlers. Usually, that kind of awareness woke him up but not today. He heard Leah’s voice say something about feeding on sexual energies, and he settled back to enjoy the show.

  “Tony!”

  No.

  “Come on, wake up.”

  Not going to happen. Not now. Not when…

  “I haven’t got time for this shit.”

  He didn’t have a whole lot of choice about waking up when he hit the floor. Rolling over onto his back, he glared up at Jack Elson. “What?”

  “I’ve got a body I want you to look at.”

  “What?”

  “They found a construction worker just down from where you lot were shooting last couple of nights, torn to pieces.”

  Tony took the RCMP constable’s offered hand and allowed the larger man to drag him up onto his feet. “Sucks to be him, but what’s that got to do with me?”

  “Something bit his arm off.”

  Three

  “COUGAR. DIDN’T THEY HAVE one in Stanley Park a couple of years ago? Probably ran out of house pets to eat out in the suburbs and wandered into the city.”

  “Coroner ruled it out.”

  “Bear, then.”

  “No.”

  “Really big raccoon.” When Jack took his eyes off the road long enough to glare across the cab of his truck, Tony shrugged. “Raccoons can be pretty damned big. I saw one once about the size of small dog.”

  “You sure?”

  “About what?”

  Jack downshifted and accelerated through a changing light. “About what you saw. Maybe it wasn’t a raccoon.”

  “You think I saw a small dog?”

  “Don’t tell me what I think.”

  “Fine.” Tony sighed. “If you don’t think I saw a raccoon, what do you think I saw?”

  Another glance across the cab. “You tell me.”

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake; sometimes a raccoon is just a raccoon!” He sank down as far as the seat belt strap would allow.

  Tony hadn’t wanted to go look at a dead body, particularly not a dismembered dead body, and he’d half hoped that CB would refuse to allow him the time off. Although CB hadn’t been happy about losing his TAD for the afternoon, he was well aware of the benefit of remaining in the RCMP’s good graces and he’d waved off Tony’s protests that he was needed on the soundstage with one massive hand. “As difficult to believe as it may be, Mr. Foster, I believe production can continue for a few hours without you.”

  “Boss, there’s no PA out there yet. I’m it.”

  “So if an errand needs running, someone on the soundstage will have to run it.”

  Tony’d opened his mouth to point out how unlikely it was that grips or electricians or carpenters would do any such thing and then closed it again when CB added: “They’ll do it for me.”

  Yes, they would. Because no one who worked for Chester Bane would be suicidal enough to refuse although they’d tell themselves they were doing it because it never hurt to do the boss a favor.

  Which was also true.

  As Jack pulled into the underground parking at Vancouver General Hospital, Tony’s stomach growled. “You made me miss lunch,” he muttered.

  “You may thank me for that,” Jack told him, turning off the truck. “Come on.”

  The city morgue was in the basement near the end of a long hall made narrow by line of gurneys, wheelchairs, and a locked filing cabinet. Cramped conditions along the outside walls of the outer office made the reason for outsourcing the filing cabinet clear. A middle-aged Asian woman, wearing the end-of-her-rope expression common to professionals who fought with bureaucracy on a daily basis, sat at one of the cluttered desks forking noodles out of a Styrofoam bowl.

  “Dr. Wong.”

  She waved the fork in Jack’s general direction and continued chewing.

  “This is the witness I mentioned earlier. Should we just go on in?”

  Fork tines pointed toward the set of double doors in the back wall.

  “Thanks. We won’t be long.”

  A large hand between Tony’s shoulder blades got him moving again in spite of his brain locking things down by suddenly repeating dismembered dead body over and over as though it had just real
ized what that meant.

  “Elson.”

  Jack paused in the doorway, leaving Tony staring into a harshly lit room at a bank of stainless steel drawers familiar to anyone who’d ever turned on a television set.

  “If he pukes, you clean it up.”

  Jack snorted. “If he pukes, he cleans it up.”

  “Hey!” He turned just far enough to glare back through the open door at the doctor. “I’m not going to puke.”

  “Yeah.” She plunged her fork back into the noodles. “That’s what they all say.”

  And then the door was closed and Jack was walking across the room and opening a drawer.

  Pulling it open.

  Exposing the dead body.

  The dismembered dead body.

  For him to look at.

  Look at the dismembered dead body.

  “Oh, for Christ’s sake, Foster. You’ve seen bodies before.”

  “I know.”

  “So get your ass over here.”

  It wasn’t so much the body, it was the morgue and the drawer and the smell—the place smelled like the grade ten biology lab just before the whole fetal pig fiasco; he’d dropped out a week later—the combination made it creepier than he was used to.

  Creepier than a dead baby in a backpack, its life sucked out by an ancient Egyptian wizard? Creepier than a man bouncing off a window, every bone in his body broken? Creepier than watching a wardrobe assistant gurgle out her last breath through the ruin of her throat?

  Well, if you put it that way…

  At least this guy was likely to stay dead.

  Fingers crossed about that whole staying dead thing, Tony walked over to the open drawer.

  He didn’t recognize the construction worker, but then he hadn’t seen any of them naked so that might be a factor. The left arm was missing about ten centimeters below the shoulder, the edges of the wound ragged, the end of the bone crushed. “Where’s the arm?”

  “No one knows.”

  “Nice.”

  “Probably not. Losing the arm didn’t kill him; whatever took it also broke his neck. What do you see?”