The lamp was in place, a light blanket arranged behind it to prevent any possible leakage into the set in use. All Tony had to do was hit the switch on the lamp itself—the gaffer had plugged him into the board and told him in no uncertain terms that if he came near it, he’d get a light stand up the ass.

Oh, yeah. Things were going well.

He’d seen a PBS special once—or maybe it was a horror movie, details were fuzzy—about this guy who attacked people with vibrations until their eyeballs melted. That was pretty much exactly how he felt. Like his eyeballs were melting.

Definitely time to turn on the last best hope for humankind. And the part of the hero will be played by a carbon arc lamp.

As his hand moved toward the switch, his shadow surged up his legs.

He had time to jerk back futilely before darkness slammed into his head and he was no longer in control.

“I did a search for the last shadow this morning, it’s in the studio.”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. It’s in me! Except it hadn’t been in him, it had been hiding in his shadow. How long . . . ?

And then the gate was open and he was walking—being walked—out underneath it.

Déjà vu all over again.

The shadow hadn’t taken over so much as pushed him aside. He was in his own mind, he just wasn’t there alone. Henry could have pulled him free with a cocked finger, but Henry wasn’t here. Arra wasn’t here. Just him.

And shadow.

“Hey. If you go back, you’ll die. You know that. You don’t have to die!”

No response. And time was running out. Tony could feel the attention of the man on the other side of the gate. Could feel the pull. Could feel the shadow beginning to separate.

So he reached out and grabbed it. Not physically, of course. Physically, he was still standing like a total doofus in the middle of the set.

He wrapped his mind around the concept of shadow.

Contact.

Everyone has dark memories they can’t purge. Memories that creep out of mental corners on sleepless nights, perch on the edge of consciousness, and gnaw. Lucky people remembered things they read in newspapers or saw on television; cruelties that didn’t involve them personally but still cut deep. People who lived without the security of freedom or justice had darker memories, memories that often fit neatly into the inflamed map of physical scars. Tony had once seen an ancient Egyptian wizard devour the life of a baby while the baby’s parents walked on, unaware their child was dead.

The shadows were pieces of the Shadowlord. Dark memories. Memories of a world where those parents would thank the gods that their baby was safely dead.