“No.” The lock released and Tony carefully pulled the door open. “I think . . .” He stiffened as Henry raised a quieting hand and decided not to get pissed off about it when he saw the vampire’s eyes were fixed on the line of black that was the soundstage. Henry’d put on his hunting face. There was something in there. Someone . . .

One of the shadow-held or one of the crew?

The lights were off.

It could be one of the crew sleeping it off before heading home after a few too many drinks at the bar down the road.

Or it could be security patrolling on the other side of the soundstage, flashlight beam blocked by the permanent sets. Okay, probably not that. According to one of the writers, if CB wasn’t in the building, the rent-a-cop spent most of his time in the office kitchen working on his screenplay.

It could be one of the shadow-held. Lee had turned on the lights, but Mouse hadn’t. If it wanted the body it wore to remain unseen, then darkness was better—better for hiding even if it meant it lost the ability to use its cast shadow as a weapon. It wouldn’t need a weapon if it wasn’t seen.

Maybe it had other weapons. Maybe it had a gun. Maybe I’ve been watching too much American television.

Hang on: it could be all of the remaining shadow-held. Unless there were rules he didn’t know, nothing said they had to show up one at a time.

A quick glance down at his watch. 10:43.

Half an hour early for the gate.

He stepped back as Henry stepped forward. No point in speculating, when all he had to do was ask. “How many?” he whispered.

“I hear a single heartbeat.”

“Arra?”

“I don’t know.”

“Shadow-held.”

A flash of teeth. “I’ll let you know. Give me thirty seconds.”

“And then?”

“Make your way to the gate and start setting up the big light.”

“In the dark?”

“Use the flashlight. Remember that the darkness handicaps them. They can’t use the shadows the body casts in the dark.”

“Duh, Henry. My intel, remember?”

Henry’s brow creased in annoyance. “Then why did you ask?” he demanded and slipped into the soundstage.

The darkness in the soundstage was not absolute, but then in this day and age, darkness seldom was. Exit lights and LEDs on equipment left running gave Henry illumination enough to see by. Not clearly, but sufficiently.

The taint of the otherworld seeping through twice a day prevented him from scenting and identifying the life he could hear, and the reek of fresh paint permeating the soundstage like a mist didn’t help. No matter. The heart rate told him his quarry was awake and humans seldom sat awake in darkness. Shadow-held, then. Waiting for the gate.