“Hartley! Wait up, man. I got to tell you about the really weird thing that just happened inside!”

That got his attention. He glanced up just as the locks thunked down. “Weird thing?”

All the hair lifted off the back of Tony’s neck. Oh, yeah, definitely shadow-held. He jogged to a stop beside the car, let his backpack slide off his shoulder, and forced a smile. “Buzzy shit and then it got dark and then there was music. Bad eighties power rock.” He dropped the pack by the back tire, played a couple of air guitar riffs and decided, as Hartley’s eyes narrowed, that maybe the music was a bit over the top.

“You see me.”

Or maybe it wasn’t the music at all.

“Of course I see you. Duh. You’re standing right there.”

Actually, he didn’t blame shadow-Hartley for growling and grabbing. That line hadn’t worked the first time and this time, even he didn’t believe it. This time, however, he was ready for the grab. As Hartley’s fingers closed around his jacket, he threw himself backward. They hit the ground together and Tony rolled the older man to the bottom.

“You cannot hold me.”

He tightened his grip on skinny wrists. “Bet?”

The shadow began to separate.

“Arra!” She had to be in the parking lot by now, but he couldn’t see her. The car was in the way.

The shadow was now a distinct shape, rising up out of Hartley toward him. If he let go, it would suck back in and make a break for it. If he didn’t . . .

If I bash his head against the ground, could I knock him out? Unlikely. And he’d have to let go to do it.

“Arra!”

Six inches. Four. He wasn’t . . . He couldn’t . . . If it touched him . . . Releasing his grip, he scrabbled backward on his hands and knees, down the length of Hartley’s legs until he slammed up against the open car door.

Only a short strand of darkness connected the shadow to the boom operator.

It surged against that last restraint. Snapped it. Slid along Hartley’s prone body. Flowed down over his legs. Connected Hartley’s shadow to Tony’s as Tony flung himself up and into the car.

As Tony crawled as fast as he could across the bench seat, reaching for the handle on the passenger side, he could feel it still moving along his shadow, using it as a safe path through the midday sun. Then cold air caressed his ankle and he bit back a scream. They could move faster than this. They could move faster than Henry. It was toying with him.

Arra could taste blood in the back of her mouth as she forced herself over the last few meters to the car. What the hell had she been thinking this morning? Right. She hadn’t been thinking. She’d been reacting. She’d been stupid. Careless.