Darkest Night - Smoke And Ashes Part 2

"So you've said previously. And, once again, I believe you." He steepled fingers the size of well-muscled bratwurst. "However, as Brianna does not, I think it's time we move on."

"Move on?" Tony cleared his throat and tried again an octave lower. "Move on?"

"Yes."

No. He was not going to teach CB's youngest daughter how to be a wizard. First, wizardry was a talent more than a skill, and while Brianna had proved sensitive to the metaphysical, he had no idea if that equaled talent. Or what, exactly, did equal talent, for that matter. Second, he was still teaching himself how to be a wizard and, frankly, as a teacher, he sucked. Scrubbing bubbles and one p.i.s.sed-off eater-waiter had to be incontestable evidence of that. Third, giving this particular eight-year-old access to actual power would be like... his mind s.h.i.+ed away from comparisons and settled on the height of irresponsibility. No one, including her father, could control the kid now. And fourth, he'd rather have toothpicks shoved under his nails.

Mouth open to lay everything but the last point out in front of CB-not smart to give the big guy ideas-he closed it again as CB continued speaking.

"I have a friend putting together a PBS miniseries for Black History Month, so I called in some favors, and he gave my ex-wife a sizable part. She's taking both girls to South Carolina with her. Shooting ends December twentieth. You have until then to come up with a permanent solution."

The pause lengthened.

"Was there anything else?"

Like invasions from another world or a waxy buildup of evil.

"Um, no?"

"Good."

"Permanent solution. Permanent solution." Tony paused, one hand on the door leading out to the parking lot, frozen in place by the sudden memory of his mother sitting at the kitchen table twisting her hair onto multicolored rollers shaped like bones. A home perm.

And the permanent solution had totally reeked. He remembered because they were called Tonys and his mother used to tease him about being a hairdresser.

Later, like around the time he hit p.u.b.erty, his father stopped finding the hairdresser jokes quite so funny-Warren Beatty's enthusiastically hetero performance in Shampoo conveniently ignored.

His father was no longer a problem given that they hadn't spoken to each other for about ten years.

Brianna's father, however...

The door jerked out of his hand, and he stumbled forward, slamming up against a solid body on its way in.

His way in.

Tony recognized the impact. And the black leather jacket he was currently clutching with both hands. "Lee." Two fast steps back.

He stared down at his arms still stretched out... Right. Release the jacket.

"Tony."

Just for a second, Tony was unsure of what Lee's next words were going to be. Just for a second, it almost looked as if the show was over for the day and reality was going to get its time in. Just for a second. Trouble was, a second later Lee pulled his hail- fellow-well-met actor-face back on.

"You okay? I didn't realize there was someone standing there."

"Well, why would you? You know, solid door and all and you not having X-ray vision." X-ray vision? Could he sound any more geeklike? "I was just leaving."

"Right. You're doing second unit work tonight."

Everyone seemed to know that. Were they posting his schedule now or what?

Lee s.h.i.+fted his motorcycle helmet from under his left arm to under his right but didn't actually move out of the doorway. "So you were here to..."

"Meeting. I had a meeting with CB."

"Good. I mean, it was good?"

"Yeah. I guess. Still dealing with Brianna's reactions in the..." s.h.i.+t. Never bring up the house thing with Lee.

The actor-face slipped. "In the house?"

Unless he brings it up first. "Yeah. In the house."

Lee's eyes closed briefly, thick lashes lying against his cheeks like the fringe on a theater curtain. Only darker. Not gold. And without the ta.s.sels. Tony realized he was babbling to himself, but he couldn't seem to stop. They hadn't been alone together, standing this close, since, well, since the house. For a moment, he hoped that when Lee opened his eyes, the actor-face would be gone and they could maybe start dealing with what had happened.

Lee had to make the first move because Lee was the one with the career he could lose. It was Lee's face plastered on T-s.h.i.+rts worn by teenage girls and forty-year-old women who should know better. Tony was a TAD. Professionally, no one gave a c.r.a.p about him.

The moment pa.s.sed.

Lee opened his eyes. "Well, I have to say that it's been nice running into you and all, but I need to get to my..." Dark brows drew in, and he waved the hand not holding the helmet.

"Dressing room?"

"Yeah." The smile was fake. Well done, but fake. "My memory sucks some days."

Tony reflected the smile back at him. "Old age."

"Yeah." The smile was still fake, but the regret flattening his words seemed real. "That has to be it."

Tony squinted up at the top of the building, trying to count the number of people standing at the edge of the roof. Sorge's request for a steadicam had been overruled by the budget, so there should only be two: Leah Burnett, the stuntwoman doing the fall, and Sam Tappett, one of Daniel's safety crew. Two. Not a hard number to count. Most nights he could even do it with his shoes on.

So why did he keep getting three? Not every time-because that would have made sense. Every now and then, he thought-no, cancel that, he was sure-he could see a third figure.

Not Henry.

Not tonight.

Not unless Henry had been growing an impressive set of horns in his spare time and had then developed the ability to share his personal s.p.a.ce with mere mortals. The same actual s.p.a.ce. Sort of superimposed.

Welcome to the wonderful world of weird.

Deja vu all over again.The question now: should he do anything about it and, if so, what?

It wasn't like his spidey-sense was tingling or something in his subconscious was flailing metaphorical arms and wailing Danger, Will Robinson! Danger! He didn't have a bad feeling about things, and he had no idea if this was a threat or some kind of symbolic wizard experience. Maybe it was something all wizards saw on top of buildings at-he checked his watch-11:17 on Thursday nights in early October and he'd just never been looking in the right place at the right time.

Still, as a general rule, when he saw things others couldn't, the situation went south in a big way pretty f.u.c.king fast.

Unfortunately, none of the second unit crew had been in the house. They'd heard the stories, but they didn't know. Not the way those who'd been trapped and forced to listen to hours of badly played thirties dance music knew. If he told Pam, the second unit director, that he intermittently saw a translucent, antlered figure on the roof, she'd a.s.sume controlled substances and not metaphysical visitations.

Tony hadn't done hard drugs since just before Henry pulled him off the streets. Point of interest; he'd never seen big, see-through guys with horns while he was shooting up.

He glanced down as a gust of wind plastered a grimy piece of newspaper to his legs. Evening weather reports had mentioned a storm coming in off the Pacific, and the wind was starting to pick up, sweeping up all kinds of debris as it raced through the artificial canyons between the buildings. Before he could grab the newspaper, another gust whirled it away and slapped it up against the big blue inflated bag Leah would land on.

If Daniel thought it was too dangerous, he'd cancel the stunt regardless of the shooting schedule. Tony hurried over to where the stunt coordinator was checking the final inflation of the bag.

"It's getting kind of windy."

"Yes, it is."

"Four stories is a long way to fall."

"Uh-huh." He straightened and bounced against the side of the bag. "That's why they call it a high fall."

"Yeah, it's just that falling four stories the wind'll have longer to throw her off..." As Daniel turned to look at him, Tony sputtered to a stop. "But you've taken that into account."

"I have." Stern features under dark stubble suddenly dissolved into a smile. "But I thank you for staying on top of things. It never hurts to have another person thinking about potential problems." He unclipped the microphone from his collar. "Hey, Sam, what's the wind like up there?"

"Little gusty. Not too bad."

"What's Leah think?"

During the pause, the antlered figured came and went and came again. It almost seemed to wave when Leah did.

"She says she's good to go whenever you give the word."

"We're ready down here. Pam, we can go any time."

"Glad to hear it." Pam's voice in the ear jack. "Let's have a slate on the scene and get started!"

Tony backed away from the bag as Daniel's people took up their positions. Since a high fall relied 100 percent on the stuntee's ability to hit the bag safely the stunt crew were essentially there to deal with a miss. Tony wouldn't have wanted to see the backboard so prominently displayed were he about to jump off a roof, but, hey, that was him."Quiet, please, cameras are rolling."

A repeat of "Rolling!" in half a dozen voices rippled out from the director's chair.

"Scene 19b, high fall, take one. Mark!"

"Action."

Far enough away now, Daniel's voice sounded in Tony's ear jack. "On three, Leah. One..."

Up on the roof, Sam would be echoing the count, fingers licking up to give visual cues.

A gust of wind blew a bit of dirt in Tony's eye. He ducked his head just in time to see that same gust about to fling a ten-centimeter piece of aluminum with a wickedly pointed end into the bag.

"Two."

Impact wouldn't make anything as simple as a hole. At that angle, at that speed, it was going to be a gash. And a big one.

"Three."

The wham whoosh of impact and applause from the crew covered the sound of aluminum slapping into Tony's palm. The jagged piece of debris had probably blown down from the construction site. Revenge of the backhoe.

"Cut!"

He looked up as Leah climbed down off the bag, Daniel, grinning broadly, reaching out a hand to steady her. The fall had clearly not been a problem; the high heels, on the other hand, were giving her a little trouble. She was smiling, definitely happy, but less overtly euphoric than a lot of stuntees were after nailing a four-story fall.

She didn't look like Padma. She looked like a stuntwoman wearing the same costume over some strategic padding.

So much for the magic of television.

It took a moment for Tony to realize she was staring at him.

No, not at him. At the piece of aluminum still in his hand.

As though she'd suddenly become aware of his attention, she lifted her head. Lifted one dark, inquiring brow.

Even the see-through guy with horns sharing her s.p.a.ce seemed interested.

Chapter Two.

NIGHT SHOOTS ALWAYS THREW Tony's sleeping patterns out of whack. When a guy his age got off work, he was supposed to go out and do things. He wasn't supposed to drive straight home and fall over. It wasn't just wrong, it was old. It was what old guys did.

Except there wasn't a whole lot to do at 2:30 on a Thursday morning in beautiful downtown Burnaby.

Cradling a bag of overpriced groceries from the 7-Eleven, Tony kicked the door to his apartment closed and shuffled into the tiny Previous Contents Nextkitchen. The shuffling was necessary because he'd started sorting laundry back on Monday, hadn't quite finished yet, and didn't want to start again from scratch because he'd mixed the piles. The bread and milk went into the fridge. He tucked the bottle of apple juice under his arm and carried the bag of beef jerky and the spray cheese into the living room-where living room was defined as the part of the long rectangle that contained an unmade sofa bed instead of a stove, a fridge, and a sink.

The television remote was not in the pizza box under the couch. It finally turned up on top of the bookcase by the window, half buried in the pot with the dead geranium. Raising it in triumph, he settled back against the pillows, sprayed some cheese on a piece of jerky and started channel surfing with the mute on.

Replay of a hockey game on TSN, end of hurricane season on Outdoor Life, remake of Smokey and the Bandit...

"Which after The Longest Yard and The Dukes of Hazard pretty much proves there is no G.o.d," he muttered, jabbing his thumb at the remote.

... some guy eating a bug on either the Learning Channel or FOOD-he didn't stay long enough to see if it came with a lecture on habitat or a raspberry vinaigrette-three movies he'd already seen, two he didn't want to see, a bug eating some guy on either Discovery or s.p.a.ce, someone knocking at the door...

His thumb stilled.

Someone knocking at his door. Carefully. Specifically. Trying not to wake the neighbors.

It didn't sound like Henry's knock. He checked his watch: 2:57. Besides the vampire, who did he know who'd be up at this hour?

Even tabloid journalists eventually crawled back under their rocks for a nap. It wasn't Jack Elson or his partner; the police had a very distinctive knock.