Because he didn’t feel right about raiding Arra’s fridge, he slipped her keys into his pocket and headed out looking for food. The hall was empty. He moved quickly and quietly toward the elevator. The general paranoia might be undefined, but this, this was specific. The last person he wanted to explain himself to was Julian-from-across-the-hall as he had a strong suspicion that Julian would consider three visits grounds for assigning chores.

The elevator gave him a few bad moments, the word “weak” repeating itself over and over in his head. Weak? Trapped, I could understand. He squinted around the tiny, brightly lit space made even more claustrophobic by all the highly polished surfaces. Still, given the way eau de disinfectant seemed to be replacing a good part of the oxygen, maybe weak wasn’t that surprising.

Crossing the co-op’s lobby gave him no problems.

He paused on the threshold, strangely unwilling to step outside.

Three mountain bikers rode by closely followed by a skateboarder and two preteens on in-line skates. It was the kind of early spring day that made Vancouverites, who conveniently forgot the 250 days of rain a year, unbearably smug about their weather—winds off the ocean had blown away clouds and pollutants and the sun shone brilliantly down through a crystal clear sky. Micas in the concrete sparkled and the city gleamed.

No shadows, at least none that weren’t the result of a solid object blocking the sun, and no Shadowlord. There’s nothing out there waiting for me except lunch.

Heart pounding, he took a fast step, almost a hop, over the threshold.

Nothing happened, but the feeling of being watched remained.

Fine. He’d grab food and he’d head right back to Arra’s apartment. Sighing at his interior drama queen, he glanced back at his shadow, still lying predominantly in the co-op lobby, and muttered, “Come on, then!”

All things considered, he was relieved when it followed.

A thousand voices cried, “Save us! Save us! You are our only hope!” Hands clutched at her, desperate fingers shredding clothing and the skin beneath it. She was drowning in their need. They were pulling her under. How could she save them when she couldn’t save herself from them?

The cats were still on Arra’s bed when he returned and they stayed there while he ate, watched some golf—the one thing on television he was sure wouldn’t wake the wizard—and worked his way through five days of the Vancouver Sun. He didn’t usually read newspapers, he just didn’t have the time and from the pristine folds, he guessed Arra’s time had been a bit short lately, too. Wouldn’t want to cut into all that spider solitaire . . .

It seemed to be business as usual in the lower mainland.