Smoke and Shadows (33 page)

“Good thing you're immune.”

“Isn't it. She's parking.”

“Good for her.” As in any major city, finding parking in downtown Vancouver depended as much on luck as anything. Henry drove another block past the van—slowing to get a good look at Tina as he passed—before he found an empty spot almost at the cathedral.

“I'm not sure this spot's legal,” Tony pointed out as he parked. “In fact, given that we're under a no parking sign, I'm pretty sure it's not.”

“We won't be here long. I'll go back and meet her, find out if she's shadow-held.” He tossed Tony the keys. “Here. Move the car if there's a problem.”

“Right. Hey, what are you going to do if there is shadow?” The car door slammed and he was sitting alone in the front seat. “Never mind.”

Over short distances, Henry could move too fast to be seen if he had to. Tina was barely three meters from the van when he caught up to her, slipping into a triangle of darkness made by the corner of a building before she was aware of his presence. Caution was called for. The world through the gate knew his kind and he had no doubt that he would, like the wizard, be returned to the Shadowlord as a prize were he to be taken.

And that would be the good news.

The damage a shadow could do while in control of his body didn't bear thinking about.

As Tina passed him—her stride purposeful, her gaze fixed on the middle distance—he sifted the night air for an otherworldly taint. She was flesh and blood and as much in control of herself as anyone in this day and age.

Flesh and blood. He felt his lips draw up off his teeth. The Hunger flared. It was always harder to put the genie back in the box. “Tina.”

She turned at the sound of her name, curiosity taking care of the very little choice Henry's voice had left her. “Yes? Hello?”

Stepping out into the circle of illumination cast by the streetlight, he smiled and caught her gaze with his. “Just a moment of your time.”

When he stretched out his hand, she frowned slightly, not fighting the compulsion but very nearly questioning it. When he called her name a second time, she cocked her head, considered, then smiled and laid her fingers across his palm.

Two steps back and they were both shielded by the darkness. He lifted the hand he held to his mouth, turned it, and touched his lips to the soft skin of her wrist. Her eyes, still locked on his, widened then, as she sighed, half closed. For a change, the emotional component of feeding was more on his side than hers. A chance to stroke the Hunger—a gentle acknowledgment that left it easier to control.

To the casual observer they were now more than just friends. Anyone looking closer would refuse to see what was actually happening.

“Fuck, Henry; you fed off her?”

Half into the driver's seat, Henry paused. “How . . . ?”

“It's all over your face.”

Startled, he leaned toward the rearview mirror.

“Not blood,” Tony snorted. “It's this whole preternatural calm thing you've got going just after you feed.”

“Preternatural?”

“Don't change the subject. You fed off Tina.”

“There was no shadow.” He held out his hand for the keys.

“So very much not the point,” Tony told him, dropping them on his palm.

“It was, in one way, for her own protection.”

“Against what? High blood pressure?”

“Against the shadow.”

Tony waited for the rest of the explanation as Henry started the car and put it in gear.

“You were able to disgorge the shadow when I called on the link we share,” Henry continued calmly, pulling into traffic. “While I can't protect the whole city, it is possible that should it come to it, Tina will be able to do the same.”

“Disgorge the shadow?”

“Yes.”

“After one quick snack? Don't you think highly of yourself.”

“Tony . . .”

He slouched as far as the seat belt allowed, picking at one of the scabs on his palm. “And she's old enough to be my mother!”

Although not a good judge of human aging—it went by too fast as far as he was concerned—Henry guessed the script supervisor was in her mid to late fifties. “I'm significantly older than that.”

“Yeah, but you don't look it. You and Tina, well, there's this whole creepy
Harold and Maude
thing going on.”

“Who?”

“Harold and Maude
. A Hal Ashby movie from 1971. Bud Cort and Ruth Gordon; it was brilliant, a cult classic, and you need to watch more movies without subtitles but again, not the point.” Tony ran his less scabby hand back through his hair and sighed. “You don't just do that whole crunch, munch, thanks a bunch thing with people like Tina.”

“She won't remember it.”

“Good.”

Henry turned onto Hastings and sped up to make the next light. “You were about to make an observation; back before we spotted the van?”

“Was I? Well, it's totally gone now.”

“Let's hope it wasn't important.”

“Yeah, let's.”

There were half a dozen cars in the studio parking lot when Henry turned off Boundary Road; Arra's hatchback conspicuously not among them.

Henry parked where he had the night before, hoping that passing security would consider it to be his spot and not question his presence. He'd long ago learned that life was simpler if it was arranged in his favor rather than adjusted after the fact. “Do you know who these cars belong to?”

“No.” Tony popped his seat belt and opened the car door. “I think the old Impala belongs to one of the writers.”

“I used to have a car just like that,” Henry noted as they started for the back of the building.

“Well, you know what they say, there's a dark green Chevy Impala in everyone's past.”

“Who says that?”

“Them.”

“And who are they?”

Tony snorted softly as he stopped in front of the keypad. “The same guys who say you don't put the bite on women old enough to be my mother.”

“You don't think that attitude's a little ageist?” Henry asked, leaning against the wall.

“No.” The lock released and Tony carefully pulled the door open. “I think . . .” He stiffened as Henry raised a quieting hand and decided not to get pissed off about it when he saw the vampire's eyes were fixed on the line of black that was the soundstage. Henry'd put on his hunting face. There was something in there. Someone . . .

One of the shadow-held or one of the crew?

The lights were off.

It could be one of the crew sleeping it off before heading home after a few too many drinks at the bar down the road.

Or it could be security patrolling on the other side of the soundstage, flashlight beam blocked by the permanent sets. Okay, probably not that. According to one of the writers, if CB wasn't in the building, the rent-a-cop spent most of his time in the office kitchen working on his screenplay.

It
could
be one of the shadow-held. Lee had turned on the lights, but Mouse hadn't. If it wanted the body it wore to remain unseen, then darkness was better—better for hiding even if it meant it lost the ability to use its cast shadow as a weapon. It wouldn't need a weapon if it wasn't seen.

Maybe it had other weapons. Maybe it had a gun.
Maybe I've been watching too much American television.

Hang on: it could be
all
of the remaining shadow-held. Unless there were rules he didn't know, nothing said they had to show up one at a time.

A quick glance down at his watch. 10:43.

Half an hour early for the gate.

He stepped back as Henry stepped forward. No point in speculating, when all he had to do was ask. “How many?” he whispered.

“I hear a single heartbeat.”

“Arra?”

“I don't know.”

“Shadow-held.”

A flash of teeth. “I'll let you know. Give me thirty seconds.”

“And then?”

“Make your way to the gate and start setting up the big light.”

“In the dark?”

“Use the flashlight. Remember that the darkness handicaps them. They can't use the shadows the body casts in the dark.”

“Duh, Henry. My intel, remember?”

Henry's brow creased in annoyance. “Then why did you ask?” he demanded and slipped into the soundstage.

The darkness in the soundstage was not absolute, but then in this day and age, darkness seldom was. Exit lights and LEDs on equipment left running gave Henry illumination enough to see by. Not clearly, but sufficiently.

The taint of the otherworld seeping through twice a day prevented him from scenting and identifying the life he could hear, and the reek of fresh paint permeating the soundstage like a mist didn't help. No matter. The heart rate told him his quarry was awake and humans seldom sat awake in darkness. Shadow-held, then. Waiting for the gate.

He slipped around a false wall and paused, close enough now to scent his quarry as female. The wizard? Still too many other, stronger scents masking subtleties.

It was standing just under the gate, wrapped in the ubiquitous plastic raincoat.