“Why didn’t you keep moving? Open another gate and another until you crapped up the trail so badly he’d never find you?”

“Opening a gate requires precise calculations and a sure knowledge of how the energy flow of the world works. It took me a little over five years before I thought I might be able to do it and . . .”

“By then you had a life. Cats.”

“The cats have nothing to do with this.”

“If you gate away, he’ll kill them because they were yours. He’ll torture and kill everyone who might have known you just like he did before—just in case one of them might know where you’ve gone.”

She stared at him as though she’d never seen him before. “How . . . ?”

“The shadows are shadows of him. When I grabbed this one, I knew what it knew. It didn’t know much, but it was pretty clear on that. He’s obsessed with finding you.”

“He likes to finish what he starts. Vindictive bastard.”

That wasn’t quite . . . Searching for the right memory, Tony ended up back at the bodies on the blackboard and shied away. He couldn’t go there again. Not right now. Enough of the depths, they were dark and dangerous, and he needed a few minutes in the light and safety of the shallows. “Hey, shouldn’t I be having my vodka-catnip cooler?”

“It’s not necessary; I poured power into you directly. The potion is essentially a battery, holding the power for transport.”

“Okay.” From the little Arra had explained about the workings of wizardry that made sense. “I could still use a drink.”

“I expect your backpack is up by the lamp.”

“Right.” Crap. “So what was the baseball bat for?”

“I was wondering that myself.” CB’s voice flowed down the stairs and filled all the spaces not otherwise occupied with a mix of anger and impatience. Arra started and watched through narrowed eyes as he followed his voice into the workshop. Grateful he wasn’t between them, Tony decided it might be best if he remained a spectator in this conversation.

“You came through my wards.” When CB looked blank, she sighed, her frown deepening. “My protections. They were meant to keep out the people I don’t want down here.”

“What you want is irrelevant; this is my building. My studio. What I want . . .” He stalked out into the center of the workshop and the space seemed suddenly much smaller. “. . . is information. You may begin with the baseball bat.” The bat was dangling from his left hand and from the businesslike way he was holding it, Tony realized he was half inclined to use it.

“Uh . . . CB . . .”

“Not a word, Mr. Foster. I’ll deal with you in a moment.”

Great.