Les’ voice got lost amid the rising vibrations in Tony’s head. A dribble of sweat ran cold down his side. As his muscles began to tense, he reached out and, with his hand poised over the switch, paused. If something happened and Les saw it, there’d be another voice to cry warning. Enough voices and people would have to listen!

But if something happened and he didn’t stop it, what then?

Could he risk another Nikki, another death, on the off chance that Les would see what a vampire, a wizard, and he had seen? No. And why me? he demanded as the vibrations pushed past the point of pain. He flipped the switch blasting the half demolished set with light. I’m nothing special. I’m nothing supernatural. And I’m no fucking hero.

“Ah, Tony?” Les’ grip on his arm dragged his attention out of his head. “Didn’t Arra want you to take readings?”

Right. The flaw in the plan. In order to take any kind of believable reading, he’d have to get a lot closer to the gate. A lot closer to the source of vibrations ripping great jagged holes in his brain.

Memo to self; next time come up with a less painful cover story.

Unsure if he was holding the light meter believably, and not really caring, Tony followed the cable to the back of the lamp, took a deep breath and, with his eyes squinted nearly shut, stepped forward.

Step out into the light.

Hang on, isn’t that what they say to dead guys?

Oh, yeah, just what he needed; portents of doom from inside his own head.

Either the light levels were making his eyes water or his eyeballs had burst and the fluid was now dribbling down his cheeks. Either option seemed equally possible. His vision had gone not so much blurry as fizzy.

Tony thumbed the control to capture and hold the reading, turned, and realized he was directly under the gate. Not at the board, not crouched by Lee’s side—directly under the gate. Every hair on his body lifted—not a pleasant feeling—and, unable to stop himself, he looked up. Light. And barely visible through the light, the ceiling. Beyond that, or beside it—there weren’t really words to describe how the gate both was and wasn’t there—distance. And at the end of that distance, something waiting . . . trying to see . . . trying to decide. Something cold. Calculating. Terrifying.

Then the lamp shut off and a heartbeat later the gate closed.

“Are you trying to blind yourself?” Les’ voice boomed out somewhere behind him. “Even pointed up at the ceiling this big bastard’s putting out enough lumen to do some damage.”

Tony swiped at the moisture on one cheek, realized his eyeballs were intact, saw that Les was waiting for him to say . . . something. “Uh, I got the reading.”