It was Mouse and it wasn’t Mouse, Tony decided by the time they reached the industrial park. The shadows were a separate personality—it had referred to itself as me so it had to be self-aware—but obviously they used parts of the personalities of their hosts. Unless that other world comes with muscle cars and Vin Diesel wanna-bes. Tony closed his eyes as the Mustang slithered between two trucks and opened them again as they turned into the studio parking lot.

Unfortunately, symbolism—not to mention the whole minion of an evil wizard thing—suggested the shadows used the darker parts of their hosts. These days, Mouse was a quiet guy who worked hard and seldom partied, but Tony’d heard some stories about Mouse’s past, stories that came with interesting scars, stories that always finished with, “You should see the other guy.”

He really didn’t want to be the other guy.

He didn’t think he’d be strong enough not to spill his guts. He wrapped a hand around his stomach, just above the line of shadow. He’d talk. He’d tell them how much he’d seen since the beginning. He’d tell them how he destroyed the shadow as it left Lee.

Lee . . .

Had it been the shadow or the darker parts of Lee putting the moves on him?

And this was so not the time to be thinking about that.

Nine

Nine

WAY PAST time to change that code, Tony thought muzzily as Mouse worked the keypad one-handed. The shadow covered his mouth and lapped at the edge of his nose, sending the occasional tendril up into his nostrils—playfully or threateningly, Tony wasn’t sure. His stomach heaved, but puking wasn’t an option with his mouth already full.

The moment the car had stopped, he’d thrown open the door and flung himself out into the parking lot, mouth open to scream for help. They’d crossed the too-macho-to-scream line way back on Oak Street. Cool weight around his ankles had slammed him to the ground. The double pain of gravel cutting into his palms had been lost in the feel of shadow wrapping around him and cutting off all sound by slithering into his mouth.

Mouse had taken the time to lock the car, then had hauled him onto his feet and half carried, half walked him to the studio’s back door. Struggling had resulted in the remaining airflow being cut off until he calmed. One short visit to suffocation land had been enough to convince Tony that struggling was a very bad idea.