Smoke and Shadows

by Tanya Huff

  “Why didn’t you . . . ?” He snaked a hand out from under the blanket and used it to wiggle his nose. As Arra stared at him blankly, he sighed. “You never watched Bewitched? No,” he realized, “how could you? You pretty much just got here. Why didn’t you do magic? Make them believe what you wanted or forget you were there as you made a run for the soundstage?”

  “The gate was opening. To use power so close to the open gate . . .”

  “He would have known you were here. Well, he sure as shit knows now.” And things fell into place with a nearly audible click. “He was never looking for another world to conquer, he was looking for you.” Tony knew he was right. Knew it because of the way the color left the wizard’s face, leaving her looking old and gray. Knew it because of the way she turned and walked to her desk and sank down into her chair as though her legs would no longer hold her weight. “You’re the one that got away.”

  “He killed everyone else in my order.” For the first time since he’d known her, Arra sounded old.

  “And he wants to complete the set.” A flash of bodies nailed to a blackboard and Tony thanked God that his stomach was empty. Not everyone had died quickly and before these two were finally allowed an end to pain, they’d probably told the Shadowlord everything he wanted to know.

  “They didn’t know what variables I’d used to open the gate,” Arra said, as though she’d been reading his mind. “They couldn’t tell him where I was. He must have had to keep opening gates at random until he got lucky.”

  “Why didn’t you keep moving? Open another gate and another until you crapped up the trail so badly he’d never find you?”

  “Opening a gate requires precise calculations and a sure knowledge of how the energy flow of the world works. It took me a little over five years before I thought I might be able to do it and . . .”

  “By then you had a life. Cats.”

  “The cats have nothing to do with this.”

  “If you gate away, he’ll kill them because they were yours. He’ll torture and kill everyone who might have known you just like he did before—just in case one of them might know where you’ve gone.”

  She stared at him as though she’d never seen him before. “How . . . ?”

  “The shadows are shadows of him. When I grabbed this one, I knew what it knew. It didn’t know much, but it was pretty clear on that. He’s obsessed with finding you.”

  “He likes to finish what he starts. Vindictive bastard.”

  That wasn’t quite . . . Searching for the right memory, Tony ended up back at the bodies on the blackboard and shied away. He couldn’t go there again. Not right now. Enough of the depths, they were dark and dangerous, and he needed a few minutes in the light and safety of the shallows. “Hey, shouldn’t I be having my vodka-catnip cooler?”

  “It’s not necessary; I poured power into you directly. The potion is essentially a battery, holding the power for transport.”

  “Okay.” From the little Arra had explained about the workings of wizardry that made sense. “I could still use a drink.”

  “I expect your backpack is up by the lamp.”

  “Right.” Crap. “So what was the baseball bat for?”

  “I was wondering that myself.” CB’s voice flowed down the stairs and filled all the spaces not otherwise occupied with a mix of anger and impatience. Arra started and watched through narrowed eyes as he followed his voice into the workshop. Grateful he wasn’t between them, Tony decided it might be best if he remained a spectator in this conversation.

  “You came through my wards.” When CB looked blank, she sighed, her frown deepening. “My protections. They were meant to keep out the people I don’t want down here.”

  “What you want is irrelevant; this is my building. My studio. What I want . . .” He stalked out into the center of the workshop and the space seemed suddenly much smaller. “. . . is information. You may begin with the baseball bat.” The bat was dangling from his left hand and from the businesslike way he was holding it, Tony realized he was half inclined to use it.

  “Uh . . . CB . . .”

  “Not a word, Mr. Foster. I’ll deal with you in a moment.”

  Great.

  “It’s all right, Tony. It’s about time CB knew what was going on. It is happening in his studio, after all.” Sighing deeply, apparently unable to look the big man in the eye, Arra picked up a pencil and doodled on a scrap of paper as she talked. “I had the bat because I suspected Tony was going to be attacked by a . . .” Explanation and pencil paused. “. . . by another member of the crew.”

  “Why?”

  To Tony’s surprise, Arra spilled the whole story. From the shadow glimpsed at the location shoot, right down to what Tony had just told her. She’d didn’t give up Henry’s secret identity as a creature of the night but laid out the details of everything else. CB’s expression never changed. Tony had to give him credit for not interrupting unless, as was likely, he was too stunned to interrupt. Tony’d been a part of the story from the beginning and even he found it hard to believe.

  When Arra finally stopped talking, he nodded slowly. “So it appears Constable Elson’s instincts are correct. There is something going on at my studio.”

  “The police,” Arra snorted, “are less than useless in a case like this.”

  “Very probably. Why was I not kept informed from the beginning?”

  “You were there when I fell through the gate. You would have realized much, much earlier than Tony here that the Shadowlord wasn’t planning an invasion—no matter how much I personally wanted to believe that. You’d have realized he was looking for me.” She lifted her head then and met his gaze. “Given the destruction he’s capable of, I wasn’t entirely convinced you wouldn’t just toss me back up through the gate.”

  “It is a solution that occurred to me as you were speaking.”

  It hadn’t occurred to Tony. But then CB hadn’t seen the blackboard.

  “So. Mr. Foster here has survived two encounters with the shadows; why, then, did they kill Nikki Waugh?”

  Arra sighed and ran a hand back through her hair, standing it up in gray spikes. “That was a different kind of shadow; primitive and sent here to gather the information that would allow the Shadowlord to create the more complex shadows that interacted with Tony and the others. The information was Nikki Waugh’s life.”

  “He sent it to kill?”

  “Essentially, yes.”

  “He needed that information—the information that killed Nikki Waugh—in order to continue his search for you?”

  “Apparently.”

  “So your presence here is responsible for . . .”

  “For everything. Yes.” Arra slumped down in her chair, her tailbone barely on the edge of the seat. “Trust me, I’ve added Nikki to the li . . . Damn it!” She picked up the piece of paper she’d been doodling on. “I’ve just scribbled over an invoice for blasting caps.”

  “Leave it,” CB commanded as she reached for an art eraser.

  “Not likely. These have to be filed with the local police and they’re already not fond of me.”

  “Us,” Tony reminded her as bits of graphite-covered rubber began to pile up on the paper. Déjà vu all over again . . . Although he couldn’t quite hold on to just what exactly was evoking the feeling. “So now what?”

  CB turned his head just enough to catch Tony’s gaze and hold it. Before the shadows and the realization that Henry was holding a lien on his life, Tony would have been—had been—pretty near shitting himself in this kind of situation. Things change. Times change. He didn’t look away though; no point in being rude. Particularly to your six-foot-six employer who’s not only already pissed off but happens to still be holding a baseball bat.

  “Now,” CB growled, “we close that gate. I will not have my studio destroyed or my people murdered because they got in the way of a dark wizard’s vendetta.”

  “The gate can’t be closed from this side,” Arra pointed out wearily.
<
br />   He pivoted his entire upper body to face her directly. “Then it must be closed from the other side.”

  “Sorry.” Lifting the invoice, she blew the eraser rubble to the floor.

  And Tony remembered.

  As Chester Bane forgot.

  “Ah, you brought me my bat.” Arra slipped the invoice into a hanging file. “Thank you.”

  “Yes, I . . .” He stared at the bat. Blinked once and frowned. “There was something . . .”

  “Arra!”

  “Be quiet, Tony.”

  No. He was not going to be quiet. There was no fucking way he was going to let her just blithely go around erasing chunks of people’s lives. Taking the easy way out. Refusing to deal. Except, he couldn’t speak. Couldn’t make a sound. Couldn’t even snap his fingers. Couldn’t be anything but quiet.

  “Tony.” CB frowned. “I was wondering how Mr. Foster was.”

  Gagged. That’s how I am. Fucking cow. He glared at the wizard. Yeah, and I’d trade you in a heartbeat for three magic beans! Hell, I’d trade you for lima beans!

  “He’s still a bit under the weather. I’m beginning to think there’s a bug going around. You’d better check into it before we get a visit from the Public Heath Nurse. You know how the media’s always looking for the next medical crisis.”

  “That’s not . . .”

  “Constable Elson has a bee up his butt about the studio already and he saw Tony was sick. If he speaks to the wrong person . . .” Her voice didn’t so much trail off as collapse under the weighted innuendo it carried.

  CB’s forehead creased. “Constable Elson had best watch himself,” he growled. Shoving the bat onto the shelf, he headed up the stairs. “The constable isn’t the only one who can speak to people.”

  “Have fun.”

  His response was wordless but explicit.

  As the door closed, Arra slumped. “All right, Tony. Tell me. Tell me that I’ve crossed a line. That I’m abusing my power; making arrogant and unilateral decisions. That ability doesn’t give me the right to run the lives of others. That small abuses lead to larger ones, and that all power corrupts and that I’m already on the slippery slope to the decision the Shadowlord made—that my desires are the only ones that matter. That just because I can, is reason enough.”

  Shrugging free of the blanket, he stood, too angry to remain still. “I was going to say you can’t goddamned well rip out chunks of people’s lives, but that’s good, too.”

  “I know how CB thinks. He would have solved the problem in the simplest way possible by dragging out that old chestnut about the good of the many outweighing the good of the one—regardless of whether or not the one agrees with the sentiment—and tossed me back through the gate.”

  “You’re a wizard! You don’t have to let him toss you anywhere!”

  A sardonic eyebrow lifted. “I didn’t.”

  “Don’t let him doesn’t mean my way or the highway! It means you bring him around to your way of thinking!”

  “How do you suggest I convince him?”

  He had no idea, but he knew one thing for certain. “Not by running away. Again! You didn’t even try!”

  “Because trying makes it so? Do your best and happy endings are inevitable?” Her lip curled. “You’re living in a fantasy world.”

  “Hello!” Tony jabbed a finger toward her. “Wizard!” Held up his hand to show her the small scars on his wrist. “Vampire!” A larger gesture to take in the entire studio. “Television! Fantasy’s seeming pretty damned real to me right about now. You’re just too goddamned scared!”

  “You would be, too, if you knew what I know!”

  “So what don’t I know?”

  She was on her feet now, facing him, her hands curled into fists by her sides. “The Shadowlord destroyed my entire order!”

  “Yeah? Well he didn’t get the last two until after you buggered off on them!”

  It probably wasn’t a lightning bolt because a lightning bolt would have killed him. It was probably just the biggest static shock in history. It slammed into Tony’s chest and threw him backward against a set of shelves. They rocked, but held and he slid down them to the floor, pain sizzling along each individual nerve ending. Tony had no idea there were so many of them. He could have stood not knowing.

  “Get out!”

  Blinking away afterimages, he dragged himself to his feet. Besides pain, he was feeling remarkably calm. “I think we’ve pretty much established that the Shadowlord will kill us looking for you.” He held up a hand as Arra raised her palm toward him again. “I’m going.” Half a dozen steps down from the door, most of his weight on the banister, he turned. “This is your mess. Take some responsibility and clean it up.”

  “Responsibility!” She spat the word back at him.

  “Maybe you’ve heard of it; it’s the flip side of power.”

  Her angle was bad and she missed him with the second shot.

  Zev was standing just inside the production office, balancing a pile of CDs in one hand and dangling a set of small computer speakers from the other. He looked up as Tony came out of the basement, his nose wrinkling at the distinct smell of char cut off by the closing door. “What’s burning?”

  “Rome.” Tony touched a fingertip to his eyebrow piercing. The skin felt puffy and the slightest pressure hurt like hell—not surprising, he supposed, gold was a good conductor. “And I was just speaking to Nero.”

  “Ah.” The musical director frowned. “Did you and Arra have a fight?”

  “A disagreement.”

  “Ah, again. I never knew you were that interested in special effects. You didn’t mention it on Friday.”

  “Slipped my mind. We, uh . . .” he began, just as Zev said, “If we, uh . . .”

  A moment’s silence.

  “Go ahead.” A simultaneous polite injunction which, after another moment’s silence, degenerated into two thirds of a Three Stooges routine as the stack of CDs started to slide. Zev shifted his grip, Tony reached out a hand to help, and the spark was clearly visible even under the fluorescent lights.

  The clatter of the CD cases hitting the floor almost drowned out Zev’s reaction.

  “Bloody HELL!”

  Almost.

  “Man, Zev, I’m sorry.” Tony dropped to his knees and began gathering up the spilled music. “It’s that thing that Arra and I were working on. I guess it got me all charged up.”

  “You guess?” Clutching his right hand with his left, Zev sucked air through his teeth. “What did she have you doing down there; rubbing cats with glass rods?”

  “What?”

  “High school physics experiment. Never mind.” He worked his fingers and, satisfied they were still functional, reached down to take back the stack of CDs. “I guess if it got you on your knees, I can suffer the pain.” As Tony grinned in surprise, his eyes widened. “I said that out loud?”

  Tony nodded.

  The skin between the top edge of his beard and the bottom edge of his glasses flushed red. “Great. I’ll just . . .” Speakers banging against his legs, he backed up. “Look, I’ve got a ton of . . . um.” Somehow, although Tony wasn’t sure how, he got the door to post open with his elbow. “Later.” And vanished.

  “Do we have to have another conversation about Zev being a nice guy?” Amy demanded from her desk.

  “I didn’t do anything!” Tony protested as he stood.

  “Please. I could see the sparkage from here.”

  “There’s nothing going on. He’s a friend!”

  “No, literally, I could see the sparkage.” She spread her hands, miming explosions. “What’s Arra been doing to you?”

  Frowning hurt. “Nothing I shouldn’t have expected.”

  “Well. Aren’t we obscu . . . CB Productions, how may I help you?” Her expression clearly stated they weren’t done.

  They were as far as Tony was concerned. He’d have been gone, except that every step brushed a tiny buzz off the carpet and he had a horrible vision o
f what would happened to some very expensive equipment if he touched it in this state. He had to bleed the residual juice off.

  Metal. He needed metal but not something he’d destroy. An old dented filing cabinet just outside the door to the bull pen caught his eye. That should do. A quick laying on of hands and with any luck he and the filing cabinet would survive the experience.

  Standing with his back to the cabinet, hoping it looked as though he was waiting for Amy to finish giving directions back to the studio from Centennial Pier; he reached back and touched the metal with both hands. Go on, take it all. Someone around here must know CPR.

  The hollow boom wasn’t entirely unexpected although the volume was impressive.

  Dropping the phone to her shoulder, Amy glared past him to the bull pen. “What the hell are they up to now?”

  “Beats me.” Tony shrugged. His palms were sizzling, but he didn’t seem to have done himself any damage. “You know; writers. Listen, Amy, I’ve got to get back to work.” About to step away, he paused. “Who’s out at Centennial Pier?”

  “Kemel, the new office PA.”

  “What happened to Veronica?”

  “She quit.”

  “And why’s the new guy out at the pier?”

  “Rachel got a call from the location scout and sent him out with the digital to get some pictures of North Vancouver Cemetery.”

  Tony ran over the geography in his head. “Which is nowhere near Centennial Pier.”

  “He’s lost.”

  “No shit.”

  “We’ll talk about you and Zev later.”

  “Right.” Or we’ll all die by smoke and shadows. Can’t think of which I’m looking forward to more.

  He’d never noticed how many shadows filled the hall to the soundstage. No wonder he’d felt safe walking it earlier; his hitchhiker had felt safe. When he realized he was trying to outrun his shadow, he forced himself to slow down.

  “Hey, Tony!” Everett’s door was open and Lee was in the chair having his cowlick dealt with yet again. “You okay?”

  He’d just been nearly electrocuted by a wizard who seemed more than willing to deal with a disaster she’d set in motion by running away. Everyone in the immediate area was about to become painfully dead and he was the last best and only line of defense. Well, him and Henry. And two thermoses still full of vodka-catnip cocktails.