“I hoped that being right under the gate would activate the shadow’s primary function—to return home with information—and keep it from remembering that it was heading for me. Seems to have . . .”

“Not real. Not real. Not real!” One hand clamped around Tony’s arm, the other grabbed for the collar of his shirt. Kate’s pupils had contracted down to black pinpricks and her eyes were opened painfully wide. “Not real!”

“Sorry.” Tony wasn’t sure why he was apologizing; it just seemed the thing to do. Then he remembered. “Henry, we don’t have any potion, the cops dumped it. We didn’t even stop to buy vodka!” Dropping his ass to the floor, he dragged her up onto his lap. “You’re going to have to vamp her!”

Kate’s heels began to drum as Henry dropped down by her other side. “To what?”

“You know, touch the primal terror. Convince her you’re real and that’ll help her deal with the rest!”

His mouth slightly open, Henry stared at him, his expression caught halfway between astonishment and amazement. “And if she can’t deal with me?” he asked after a long moment.

“Jesus, Henry, she’s twenty-three years old and you’re . . . you. Just crank up the sex appeal!”

Shaking his head, Henry took hold of the girl’s jaw. “Do you have any idea of what you’re talking about?”

“Hell, no! I’m making it up as I go along. Do you have a better idea?” he asked as Henry stared down into Kate’s face. “Or any other idea?”

“No.”

“Then what can we lose? Damn it, Henry, there’s already two people dead!”

Henry looked up at him then, his eyes dark, and, after a moment, he said, “What’s her name?”

“Kate.” Tony grunted as a plastic clad elbow drove into one of the bruises Mouse had pounded into him.

“Catherine?”

“Could be.”

“Kate, then.” Henry bent his head toward hers and called her name.

Tony stiffened. Literally stiffened. He knew the whole Prince of Darkness thing was going to affect him, no way it couldn’t, not after last night, but this he hadn’t expected. His whole body longed to answer the call. Blood was rushing south fast enough to leave him light-headed and he had an erection he could pound nails with pressed up against Kate’s back. Deal. You’re the one who told him to crank up the sex appeal.

The good news was, it seemed to be working on Kate, too. She’d transferred her grip from his collar to Henry’s and stopped thrashing.

And thank God for that. Friction, even friction of the spine-encased-in-raincoat variety was not helping.