Scrambling back out into the aisle, he raced forward, dropped to his knees, and ripped off his backpack. He had one hand inside, fumbling for a thermos when Alan’s back arched, his shoulders and heels the only body parts touching the floor. Then he collapsed, apparently boneless.

“Fuck!”

Throwing the backpack to one side, Tony pressed his fingers into the cold and clammy skin of Alan Wu’s throat searching for a pulse.

“What is going on here?”

No pulse.

“I said . . .”

“I heard you!” Tony glanced up at the astonished minister as he started CPR. “Call 911!”

“Tony Foster.” RCMP Constable Elson stepped out of the path of the paramedics as they wheeled Alan Wu out of the church, but his gaze never left Tony’s face. “Another body and here you are again. It’s a small world, isn’t it?”

Tony nodded. He wasn’t going to argue the point, not when explanations were going to be . . . complicated. Two deaths connected with Darkest Night and he’d found both bodies; a guy didn’t have to be on the crew of DaVinci’s Inquest to know that wasn’t good.

Interesting to note that not only was Arra nowhere in sight, her car was gone.

Yeah, well, she’s good at running, isn’t she.

More interesting to realize that he had no idea if the shadow had been destroyed or if it had found another ride.

Where interesting had a number of meanings, each darker than the last.

Eleven

Eleven

“ALL RIGHT, let’s go over it one more time. Just to be sure.”

Tony fought the urge to roll his eyes and nearly lost. A messy desk away from a cop who clearly didn’t much like him was not the time for street kid attitude to reemerge. Squaring his shoulders, he took a deep breath—hoped it sounded like impatience and not the start of a practiced speech—and stared down into his empty coffee cup. “I was driving along Royal Oak with a friend . . .”

“Arra Pelindrake. The special effects . . .” Constable Elson checked his notes. “. . . supervisor at CB Productions.”