No more messing around with shadows, Mouse had taken that last blow personally. Not much point in defending himself either although Tony did what he could. When Mouse finally hauled him back onto his feet—Third time lucky, big guy?—he dangled. Heels dragging, he watched the ceiling go by as Mouse hauled him out of the office, across a concrete corridor, and into the empty space that had been the living room set. Monday morning it was due to be set up as a Victorian dining room for a dinner party flashback.

He couldn’t quite keep his head from bouncing as he hit the floor. Once the bells had stopped ringing, he realized he was in the exact spot, and pretty much the exact position, Lee had been in last night. Under other circumstances, he’d have appreciated that more.

The gate wouldn’t open for hours—hour . . . a while . . . he’d kind of lost track of time—so what the hell were they doing here? Mouse couldn’t take him home and whale on him, not without having to do some explaining to the old lady, but surely there were better places for the kind of question and answer session about to happen. Unless ET’s shadow was about to call home.

Humor hurt.

So did a number of other things.

Tony didn’t think his ribs were broken. Broken ribs would have hurt a lot more when Mouse squatted beside him, grabbed the front of his T-shirt, and yanked him into a sitting position. He was working on passive resistance now. And apologies to Mr. Gandhi, but it didn’t seem to be any more successful than the active kind.

About the only part of him unpummeled was his face; it seemed black eyes and broken noses would be making up the big finale. Looking at the bright side, at least he had a head start on passing out.

As he sagged forward, he caught sight of Mouse’s shadow flowing up over his feet. So they were going back to suffocation land. Been there, done that. Hurts less. Yay.

Except Mouse’s shadow was also stretched out behind him; across the floor, up the side of a chair, behaving its two-dimensional self.

Two shadows?

Seven shadows had come through the gate.

Oh, fuck.

“I’m not getting out of the car, Nightwalker.” Arra locked both hands around the shoulder strap of the seat belt. “If I get too close, the shadow-held will know me.”

“Then why . . .” When she turned to face him, Henry realized there was no point in finishing the question. He knew terror when he saw it, knew what it could do, how it could hold a person. The wizard’s reasons for accompanying him this far were moot—she wasn’t going any farther. “Fine. How do I fight it?”