Smoke and Ashes (6 page)

And here they were back at the beginning. And why not answer? It seemed he owed Leah a confidence or two. “She went back to her own world.”

“Her own world. Another world?” Leah asked when he nodded. “Not a hell?”

There were wizards nailed to a blackboard. “Not exactly.”

“Damn.” Apparently, after living for so long, nothing much surprised her either. Tony appreciated how much that simplified things. “Reality's getting a little crowded.”

“Tell me about it.”

“Now.” Her foot kicked out and pointed. “Your turn.”

So he told her. About the Shadowlord because that was tied up with the whole wizard thing but mostly about Arra and how he hadn't wanted to leave and she hadn't been able to stay. “But she left a lot of information on her laptop about how to be a wizard and I've been…” He stopped when Leah raised a hand. “What?”

“You're learning how to manipulate cosmic energies from a home study course designed by a wizard from another world?”

“Yeah.”

“Unbelievable.”

“What is?”

“Her cosmic energies aren't your cosmic energies.”

“What?”

“She's not from
this
world.”

“Duh.”

Gripping the edge of the sofa bed, Leah sat up and leaned toward him. “Okay, I'll try and make this simple. It's all about energy, right? This Arra did teach you that?”

“Yeah.” He tried not to sound defensive and had a feeling he was failing miserably at it.

“So the energy of her world has to have been different from the energy of this world because the whole…” One hand rose to sketch a circle in the air. “…world is different. Different planet. Different stars. Her energy pattern is therefore
different.
Following me so far?”

“Yeah.”

“So, on this world she had to adapt everything she knew to fit a new pattern. To make a square peg—her—fit in a round hole. What worked for her here won't necessarily work for you. You are not a square peg. You're a round peg. The hole is also round. You need to find a teacher who knows what's going on in this world.”

Beginning to get pissed about the distinctly patronizing tone, Tony reached out for the spray cheese and the container slapped into his hand. “I seem to be managing.”

“What is
that?
”

She sounded more appalled than impressed. Not the reaction he'd expected but then, he reminded himself, she claimed to have met wizards before. “It's a can of spray cheese.” He turned it so she could see the label. “I was eating it on beef jerky.”

“On beef jerky?” Leah rummaged around in the blankets, pulled out the open bag of jerky, stared at it, and shuddered. “I can see I've got my work cut out for me. Never mind, we'll deal with your eating habits another time.”

“Hey, I'm not the one with a demon in my belly!”

“Oh, for crying out loud, I didn't eat him! And I certainly didn't cover him in…” Leaning forward, she snatched the can out of his hand. “…an edible cheese product. Doesn't it worry you that the manufacturers feel they have to define it as edible?”

“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.”

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.