“Total fluke, I swear. I had a few years there where I did a lot of drugs. Probably melted the ‘I don’t see you’ parts of my brain.” He was babbling. He knew it, but he couldn’t seem to stop the flow of words spilling out of his mouth. “I’ve seen a lot of things, you know. Things you wouldn’t believe. That’s probably why I see you. That’s all.”

Racing the end of an amber light, Mouse turned his head, eyes narrowed. “What have you seen?”

Shit.

“Nothing like you!”

The shadow pooled in Tony’s lap began to slosh slowly back and forth, its movement independent of the movement of the car.

“Like what?”

A truck roared by in the other direction, horn blaring.

“Like watch the fucking road, man!” Heart slamming against his ribs, half convinced that the puddle in his lap was significantly warmer than it had been, Tony fought to bring his breathing under control as Mouse calmly swerved back into the eastbound lane. What would happen to the shadow if its host was jam under an eighteen wheeler? And since I’ll be jam right alongside him; do I really want to know?

Arra had no intention of getting into the Nightwalker’s car. She’d bring the two thermoses of potion down to the curb, pass them over, and wish him godspeed. Pick a god. If Tony had been taken by one of the shadow-held—Well, it was a shame, but it wasn’t her concern.

“But it’s your fault! You opened the gate to this world! You gave him a way to get here!”

“I did not.” She shrugged into a bright yellow raincoat and pulled her umbrella out of the painted milk can by the door. “All right, technically, I opened the gate, but it closed behind me. I went through it and it closed, and that’s where my part in this ended.”

Zazu rubbed up against her ankles and she pushed her away from the door. “Don’t even think about it.” A thermos tucked neatly into each of the huge yellow pockets. “I’ll be back in . . .” Whitby raced down the hall chasing invisible invaders. Fur up, tail to one side, he slid to an undignified heap under the coffee table. Arra sighed. “Well, I’ll be back.”

“You’re thinking of no one but yourself!”

Locking the door to her apartment, she headed for the elevator, ignoring with the ease of long practice the voice shouting accusations in her head.

“Caring means nothing!”

Her own voice had taken up the litany. That was new.

“If you’re expecting me to argue that, think again,” she muttered as the elevator doors opened.

Julian Rogers, her neighbor from across the hall, shifted his chihuahua to his other arm and sniffed disdainfully as he pushed past her. “Talking to yourself again, Arra?”