And if he has . . . The growl sounded low in his throat before Henry could prevent it. An elderly man sitting at one of the bakery’s small tables glanced up and, feeling a little foolish, Henry turned back toward the street. He should just call the wizard for Zev’s address. The music director was a nice guy, attractive, smart—Tony could do worse. Perhaps a little of Arra’s end-of-the-world pessimism had rubbed off and Tony was taking advantage of an opportunity to do what any young man would do in the same circumstances. Perhaps he’d decided to celebrate their victory over the shadow that had possessed Lee Nicholas. Perhaps whatever had happened with Lee Nicholas at the studio that morning had driven him into the arms of another.

Henry shook his head to clear that last thought. Perhaps I’ve been writing romances for far too long.

There were any number of valid reasons Tony hadn’t called him.

But the wizard’s phrase “were he able” kept sounding over and over again in Henry’s head.

If Tony hadn’t gone home with Zev, he’d have taken the bus north up Oak. A three-meter walk to the transit shelter would settle it once and for all. If Tony’s scent wasn’t in the shelter, he’d call the wizard for Zev’s address. If it was . . .

It was.

The damp air had kept the scent from dissipating. Scent of Tony. Scent of fear. Scent of another world.

Seven shadows had come through that morning.

One of them seemed to have been studying the city map on the side of the shelter.

A mix of the two—one dragged by the other against the outside wall.

Away from the shelter, the rain had washed most of the Tony scent away but had had little effect on the other. Even the weather seemed to be avoiding it. It was easy enough to follow, though.

Henry snarled as the Hunger surged up at the scent of blood; faint, diffused, but unmistakable. Unmistakably Tony’s.

On the sidewalk, caught in cracked concrete.

Again at the edge of the road, a drop against the side of the curb barely above the water running past in the gutter.

The obvious explanation: Tony had been flung, injured, into a car. The shadow-held had followed.

And the car had then been driven away.

He could be anywhere.

They were heading for the studio. There was no other reason for them to be in Burnaby. Well, actually, according to the Burnaby Chamber of Commerce there were any number of reasons, but in this specific instance Tony had a feeling that only the studio and its gate to another world was actually relevant. “I won’t tell you anything.”

Mouse merely swung out around an SUV, muttered, “Fucking Albertans,” and kept driving.

“I don’t know anything!”

“You see me.”