by Tanya Huff
“I’ll be back as soon as I can. Mr. Groves, I’ll walk you to your car.”
Jack watched them leave, wondering how high Groves would jump if Henry Fitzroy reached over and tapped him on the arm. He turned to find himself under examination by Chester Bane.
“You seem to be taking this in stride, Constable.”
He reached for another donut and realized there were bruises on his back that were going to hurt like hell come morning. “Well, the perps are uglier, but it’s hardly the first stakeout I’ve been on.”
“You are serving and protecting?”
“Yeah. That’s what I’m telling myself.”
Ten
TONY HOPED HE WAS dreaming although, given the way his life had been lately, he figured there was a fifty-fifty chance he was actually physically standing somewhere…white. White up above, white all around, white and solid underfoot. At least he was dressed. One of those naked and somewhere white dreams would be more than he could handle right about now.
If he was dreaming.
“Hello?”
No echo. No bounce at all. Not inside, then.
Unless he was under a giant white insulated dome that was sucking up the sound of his voice.
Yeah. That was likely. It’d be like The Truman Show only without Jim Carrey. Or a set.
The air was warm and smelled like…
Well, that was embarrassing. The whole place smelled like him. Still, he supposed a guy who’d had a three-demon day was entitled to stink a bit if anyone was.
He lifted his left hand to run it back through sweaty hair. Stopped it at eye level.
The rune burned into the palm of his left hand—usually a thin white line—had turned a dark blood red. The rune allowed him to hold energy. Energies. Did the color change mean that the rune was holding all the white in place or was that too much of a leap?
Okay, let’s go over what we know.
White place.
Red rune.
That was about it.
As far as Tony could figure, there was only one way to find out if there was a connection. He dropped to one knee and poked at the ground. It felt like a really good kitchen countertop, that stuff where the pieces got melted together and couldn’t be scratched. Henry had it in his condo.
And that was as far as he got for a while.
Hard to tell how much time had passed because nothing changed, but Tony was fairly sure he’d been kneeling there for hours. Or he’d gone somewhere else and was just getting back because that sort of thing could happen in a dream. This kind of a dream anyway. The truly weird kind.
Before it could happen again, before he could convince himself that this was a remarkably bad idea, he raised his left hand and slapped his palm down on the ground.
It gave slightly. A noticeable ripple moved out from the point of impact. He rose and fell as it passed beneath him, like riding a solid wave. He watched the shadow that followed the crest until it was too far away to see. His time in television had taught him that a shadow meant a definitive light source, but apparently that rule didn’t apply in dreamland.
“That was productive. Not.” Rubbing the rune against his jeans, he stood.
And squinted.
A black dot marred the perfect white of the horizon. Or of the distance anyway since horizon might be giving the distance more credit than it deserved.
Tony waited and when the dot didn’t get any bigger, he started walking toward it.
And walking.
And walking.
And not really getting anywhere.
Of course, it wasn’t like he had anything else to do.
“Hey! You want to meet me halfway? And I’m an idiot,” he said in a less carrying tone. “What,” he asked his immediate surroundings, “is the one thing I’m good at? Yes, I am amazingly good at my job, but I’m speaking metaphysically here, here being somewhat metaphysical. I can call things into my hand. I say ’come here’ and things come. Now, admittedly I don’t know what this…” In spite of squinting until his eyes ached, the dot remained a dot. “…is, but it appeared after I smacked the white with the rune and so, therefore, if I call it to the hand with the rune that should make up for a lack of defining characteristics. Right?”
Nothing disagreed with him.
He waited a moment longer.
“Okay, then.”
Holding up his hand, reaching, Tony could feel…something. Something that was either bigger than anything he’d ever moved before or something that didn’t want to come to him. Since the first theory allowed for a little more peace of mind, he went with that and pulled harder.
He hadn’t had to use the words that focused this particular ability since the haunted house extravaganza back in August. He used them now.
Shouted them out, one at a time. By the sixth word, he could feel movement. By the seventh the black dot was longer than it was wide, kind of person-shaped. Panting, he lowered his arm and squinted again.
Person-shaped with antlers.
Seemed like he’d been trying to call a Demonlord to his hand.
So, now he knew that, the question was: Did he keep doing it?
Was Darkest Night the highest rated vampire detective show on syndicated television?
Duh.
His whole arm shook as he raised it, lowered it, raised it again. Apparently his arm wasn’t convinced this was a good idea, but if he wasn’t dreaming, Ryne Cyratane might be his only way out. Hell, if he was dreaming, Ryne Cyratane still might be his only way out.
This time when he called, the Demonlord didn’t move. He did. His feet skittered along the countertop surface until he could see the Demonlord’s face and then stopped so suddenly he nearly pitched forward. Too far away to touch—and that was probably a good thing—close enough to see expression. The Demonlord didn’t look happy, that was for sure. He looked frustrated. Like he knew the thing he was looking for was right there, right in front of him, but he couldn’t find it.
Me again. Tony couldn’t have explained how he knew. It was like when he was on the street and some nights when the cops cruised by they were just out and about and some nights they were actively looking to score some law-and-order points, and it got so he could tell the difference. This feeling felt like that feeling.
Although, if Ryne Cyratane was looking for the wizard who kept sending his demons back to hell with their dicks in their hands, shouldn’t he be angry?
“Hey!”
No response.
“Dude! If you want to talk to me, I’m right here!”
Here and not moving any closer. He could step back but not forward. There didn’t seem to be any kind of an invisible barrier, he just couldn’t do it.
Tony slid his gaze down Ryne Cyratane’s body, got distracted for a moment or two—Damn!—and realized that the Demonlord’s feet were likewise held in place. Back up the long expanse of skin, another moment of distraction—Damn, damn, damn!—and this time he saw that the Demonlord’s mouth was moving.
“Okay.” He ran a hand back through his hair. The frustrated expression was beginning to seem like a good idea. “You can’t hear me. I can’t hear you. So what the fuck is the point?”
When no answer was forthcoming, Tony reached into his pocket and pulled his only twoonie out of a handful of change. Two bucks seemed a small price to pay if this worked.
It didn’t.
The tossed coin went through the Demonlord as if he wasn’t there, hit the ground behind him, and rolled for a couple of meters before toppling over to wobble into stillness.
“Heads or tails?”
No answer to that either.
“Yeah, well, from what Leah says, you’d prefer tails, wouldn’t you?”
He was a big guy; powerful looking with great muscle definition and enormous hands. Tony wasn’t much for gym queens, but these muscles had a purpose and that made all the difference. It looked like he could rip the heads off small animals and what was more, looked like he’d do it, too, if th
e mood struck him. Although thick dreads covered the base of the antlers, the curved horns didn’t look glued on. They looked like weapons.
He was proportional.
Oh, come on, it’s hanging out there. I’m supposed to not look at it?
Fortunately, the whole rip-the-heads-off-small-animals observation was putting a damper on his completely understandable reaction.
Or not.
The inside of his right arm was suddenly very warm. Lines of warmth trailing over the skin applied with the perfect amount of pressure. It felt really good. Had he not been stuck in a dream with a frustrated Demonlord, it would have felt like foreplay.
He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them again, he had an instant’s flash of Ryne Cyratane’s face, onyx eyes actually focused on him; then the onyx turned to jade and the Demonlord became Lee kneeling beside the chaise, one hand wrapped around his upper arm, fingers rubbing the soft skin on the inside just under the edge of his T-shirt.
Dream, then.
Hell, maybe dream now. He’d had this dream before, he realized as his brain took the opportunity to repeat, felt like foreplay half a dozen times.
“Hey.”
Tony thought about pretending to still be asleep because it felt so good to have Lee touching him. Sure, it was kind of taking advantage, but he’d had a rough day and he knew that the moment he showed any awareness Lee was back in the happy hetero land of denial. Why shouldn’t he take a moment’s advantage? Because, unfortunately, he was one of the good guys.
So he blinked and focused and said, “Hey” back.
Weird. Lee kept up the caress. Not that it was a big deal or anything, but it was definitely a caress.
Maybe Lee didn’t realize he was awake. So he added, “What time is it?”
“Almost three.” Although the fingers quit moving, the hand stayed where it was, and since Lee was smiling right into his face, it seemed like he knew who he was holding.
Hang on. If it was almost three, then he’d only been asleep for about an hour and what the hell was Lee doing at the soundstage when he’d been told to stay out of danger?
“Friday afternoon,” Lee added, smile broadening.
Had he said any of that out loud? Or was he really so easy to re—“It’s when!”
Lee’s grip on his arm kept him pinned to the chaise. “Leah says you can’t do the ‘with one bound he was up and away.’ She says you’ll fall over.”
His brain kept repeating, Friday afternoon! but he managed to catch the last two words. “Fall over?”
“Seems like your busy day turned into a busy night,” Lee explained, fingers tracing tiny circles. “Leah said you needed to recover, so we’ve been keeping an eye on you.”
Tiny circles. Warm fingers. Focus damn it! “We?”
“Me, mostly.” He shrugged. “I finished up just before we broke for lunch and I was going to head home, but Jack said that as long as Leah was tied up in translations, I might as well make myself useful.”
“Jack?”
“Sound asleep in CB’s office with his jacket over his face.”
Tony ran down the list in his head. “CB?”
“Has a meeting with his insurance people.” Lee glanced at the pile of broken lumber that had been part of the set on Thursday morning. “Can’t think why.”
“Zev?”
“I assume he’s at his board.” The tiny circles stopped as dark brows drew in. “You know, it’s interesting, I seem to be the only person who knows about this who wasn’t here last night.”
“You’d be surprised at what people who think they know don’t know.”
“Pardon?”
Yeah, Tony wasn’t sure he understood that either. “Amy wasn’t here.”
“Apparently, Amy was a part of the road show.” He sighed and the frown morphed from annoyance to frustration. “I just don’t seem to be getting through to you. I am over what happened last summer…”
Then why all the touchy-feely now? Oh. Right. Over being possessed.
“…and I don’t want you to protect me. I don’t need you to protect me. In case it’s escaped your notice, I’m a fair bit bigger than you.”
“Whip it out and prove it,” Tony muttered. “Size isn’t the point,” he added quickly. “When you’re…” No. “I don’t…” Uh-uh. “This is…” Nope. Probably shouldn’t go there either. He closed his eyes and sighed. When you’re involved, I think about you. Not about saving the world or whatever part of it’s in danger this month. You. I don’t think I can handle seeing you in danger again. This is hard enough without all that extra emotional baggage. How hard could it be to say that out loud? When he opened his eyes, Lee was watching him. Still holding his arm. Waiting.
Stupid question.
It was fucking impossible to say all that out loud.
Lee’s turn to sigh. “Asshole. Come on, sit up slowly. I’ve got you.”
The world made a few interesting adjustments as, with Lee’s help, he dropped his feet to the floor and managed to get at least partially vertical. The soundstage slipped sideways for a moment and, true to his word, Lee was right there, his arm around Tony’s shoulders. Waking up was turning out to be even more surreal than his dream. Although one thing hadn’t changed.
“I stink.”
“You do. Think you can make it to a shower?” He pulled away a little, half turned to face the far side of the soundstage. “Props might still have that wheelchair. I don’t think we completely destroyed it.”
“We set it on fire, pushed it down the ramp at a parking garage, and it slammed into a concrete block wall.”
“Still…”
“No.” Deep breath and a surge upright. “I’m fine. I’m just a little stiff.”
“Whip it out and prove it.” Almost under his breath. Almost not loud enough to hear except that his mouth was close enough to the side of Tony’s head for the words to brush against his ear.
If he wasn’t before, he was now.
He didn’t close his eyes, although he wanted to. He wished he knew what Lee was thinking. What Lee’d been thinking when he’d been sitting and stroking and waiting for Tony to wake up. Conscious of every point of contact, he said, “Stop screwing around, Lee. Unless you’re ready to cross the line, it’s not fair.”
The other man flushed and suddenly there were half as many points of contact. “Can’t a guy help a friend who’s been fried?” he asked, his mouth twisting into an approximation of a smile.
Were they friends? They’d been friendly although they’d never been the “go out for a beer together” kind of friends. Made sense. Beer and subtext was a bad combination. For the sake of getting where he was going, he supposed he could fake friend if that was how Lee wanted to play it.
“Sure. Speaking as the friend who got fried, I’m glad for the help.”
As they shuffled across the soundstage, Tony nodded toward the back wall of Raymond Dark’s office. A couple of grips were opening the trap and wrestling the camera through the space where the imitation Turner had been. “What’s up?”
Fortunately, Lee’d had enough of innuendo. “Mason’s doing the existential moment that leads us to the final episode and all those frigging flashbacks.” He wasn’t in the flashbacks, which cut his time in the final episode to the teaser and the tag. There’d already been discussions about an extra feature on the DVD to make up for it. “Mason and existential,” he snorted. “Those are two words I never thought I’d put together.”
“Does Mason even know what existential means?”
“It means it’s about Mason. He’s happy with that. He’s an uncomplicated guy, our Mason.”
Uncomplicated would be nice. Tony leaned against a Gothic revival pillar as Lee reached for the door. It’d be a nice fucking change.
Before Lee’s fingers closed around the doorknob, it moved. They shuffled back as the door opened, shuffled back a bit farther as Adam came into the soundstage carrying a huge sheet of white foam board.
“So, how’s the fallen warrior?” he asked, peering around it at them.
Wizard. But it seemed pointless to protest. “I’m fine,” Tony told him and when Adam snorted, expanded it to, “a little unsteady.”
The 1AD craned his head until he could get a line of sight on Lee. “Don’t drop him,” he told the actor as if he was saying, Don’t miss your mark. “We’ve got one more episode to shoot and I’d like to have a roof to do it under.” Without waiting for a response, he adjusted his grip and walked away muttering, “Demons want to invade, they can bloody well time it for hiatus like everyone else.”
“He knows…”
“CB did a little explaining when the crew arrived this morning.”
“I don’t think…”
“CB thought,” Lee interrupted again, “that the known isn’t half as likely to be gossiped about as the unknown. Also, given what some of us have already been through, we deserved better than bullshit.”
“That explains it,” Tony muttered, as they proved that it wasn’t entirely impossible for two people to get through the costumes that lined the hall outside the soundstage. Best to just ignore the implication that CB had given Lee permission to be involved in the fight.
“What does?”
“Your sudden attention. We’re fighting a kind of a war here, so it’s a two guys in the trenches thing.”
“That sounds vaguely pornographic.”
“I meant like in episode fifteen.”
“That was vaguely pornographic. Mason’s fan mail jumped seventeen percent after the World War I episode.” Maneuvering around the gorilla suits pressed Lee’s body tight against his.
Safest to blame the gorillas. It’d keep him from punching Lee in the face. “You know what I mean. Helping a fallen comrade is very butch. Very safe.”
One rack of costumes ended at the door to the women’s washroom, opening up enough room for them to stand side by side—face-to-face with a little distance between them. Albeit a very little distance. Tony wanted to mutter, Take a picture, it’ll last longer. except that would be childish and there was nothing even remotely childlike about the look on Lee’s face. For a long moment, he was convinced that Lee was going to kiss him. Right there. Right in front of the women’s washroom and the tattered sign about no fucking when the red light was on.
