Smoke and Ashes (28 page)

“I'll let you know when I've got it in order.” Leah sat back, rubbing her eyes, then bent forward again. “This page seems to be more dates. This is a description of a body, the injuries, and how it was found. Oh, this is about the woman who found it and what relationship she was to the…well to either the dead guy, a dead guy who might not be
that
dead guy, or to the person writing. Boring stuff so far.”

“It sounds like a police report.”

She looked up and nodded. Jack barely resisted the effort to reach out and push her hair off her face. “It could be. Somewhere in here, there's probably information on who's writing and why. It's going to take a while before I can find anything that's going to do us any good. If there's anything in here.” She yawned. “I'm beat, and my eyes hurt. I need some sleep.”

“We need the information.”

“Then you stay up and get it.”

“He can't read it,” Jack reminded her as Henry checked his watch. “And we're all tired.”

Dimples flashed. “Then we should all find a bed.”

“Cute.” A strangled noise flicked his attention momentarily to the reporter. From the expression on Groves' face, he couldn't take a joke. “But you're right…” Back to Leah. “…we've got to sleep sometime.” And finally to Chester Bane. “If you closed the studio, we could make this our command center.”

The big man shook his head. “I can't afford to lose a day's work. Make it your command center with the studio open.”

“And if a demon shows up when the director yells quiet, we all just pause until the camera's off?”

“Yes. That should be sufficient.”

Jack studied his face and realized: “You're not kidding.”

“I don't kid. The studio stays open.”

“We should be safe enough tomorrow,” Leah told him, covering another yawn. “One way or another, we dealt with the two weak spots I could sense.”

“Fine.” Since no one was listening to reason and since the RCMP wasn't backing his play, giving him no official weight to throw around, he'd just have to make the best of things. “Tony's security system has been breached. Is it still functional?”

“No.” Leah pulled the sleeves of her sweater down over her hands and folded her arms. “I crossed it with no reaction when I got Kevin from the office.”

“Why would it respond to you?”

“Everything responds to me.”

She sounded so matter-of-fact about it, Jack decided not to argue. “All right.” He drained the last sweet dredges of his coffee. “If we can get some more cough syrup, Tony can resecure the perimeter when he wakes up.”

“Cough syrup?”

Jack explained quickly, and Chester Bane nodded.

“Get me an empty bottle, and I'll see that he has what he needs.”

“Good. And tell your people that a rain of cherries is the sign to hit the deck.” He glanced around the office set. “You got a shower in this place?”

“Two.” The producer held up the requisite number of fingers. “There are en suites in both of the large dressing rooms although I'd advise you not to use Mason's. Mr. Nicholas is likely to be much more reasonable, particularly as he is aware of what's going on.”

“Maybe you'd better talk to him, then.” Jack tilted his head back and stared over the tops of the walls, up into the grid hanging from the ceiling. “It's a big place. When your crew shows up, we'll just stay out of each other's way. We'll send…” He paused, leaned back until he could see the end of the chaise and frowned. “What the hell is the name of the guy with Tony?”

“Zev Sero. The musical director. Although he and Mr. Foster are no longer…” A pause. “Ah. With. Currently. Never mind.”

“Send him home. Whether he comes back is up to you two.” If it was up to Jack, he'd send Chester Bane home as well. The last thing they needed was more civilians around. “You…” Groves jumped. “I'm not inclined to let you out of my sight in case this all shows up on page one next to the cow that does Elvis impersonations.”

“It won't.” He was facing Jack but looking at Henry, picking at the cuticle around his right thumb, two spots of color high on each cheek. “I promise.”

The look was either terror or love, and in this crowd, Jack figured the odds were pretty much even. “You break that promise and…”

“Trust me, Constable Elson,” Groves interrupted, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed, “there's no need to make threats. I know what's at stake. Oh, God!” Both hands rose to cover his mouth. “I didn't mean to say stake!”

Clearly, Tony wasn't the only one a little brain fried. “Go home. Sleep. Come back.”

This time Groves turned to face Henry as he asked, “Now?”

This time Jack wasn't going to put up with it. “Hey.
I'm
telling you to go.” And then he decided not to notice that Henry nodded, an almost friggin' regal incline of the head before Groves finally got off his ass and started moving.

Pausing. “My page…”

“Stays.”

Leah leaned forward and caught the reporter's eye. “I'll take good care of it.”

How the hell did she make that sound pornographic? Jack shifted his weight to make an adjustment. And it wasn't just him. There was shifting going on all over the room.

“I'll be leaving as well.” Henry came out from behind the desk. “I have commitments I cannot break.”

“Hey.” Jack stepped into his path. “If I can break mine, then…uh…” It was too damned dark and he couldn't find his way out. He had no backup. No weapon. He was…was…Eyes, they were just eyes. “Fuck. Okay, go.”

“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.”

T
ONY 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. Energ
ies
. 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 the 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.