“Do we have to have another conversation about Zev being a nice guy?” Amy demanded from her desk.

“I didn’t do anything!” Tony protested as he stood.

“Please. I could see the sparkage from here.”

“There’s nothing going on. He’s a friend!”

“No, literally, I could see the sparkage.” She spread her hands, miming explosions. “What’s Arra been doing to you?”

Frowning hurt. “Nothing I shouldn’t have expected.”

“Well. Aren’t we obscu . . . CB Productions, how may I help you?” Her expression clearly stated they weren’t done.

They were as far as Tony was concerned. He’d have been gone, except that every step brushed a tiny buzz off the carpet and he had a horrible vision of what would happened to some very expensive equipment if he touched it in this state. He had to bleed the residual juice off.

Metal. He needed metal but not something he’d destroy. An old dented filing cabinet just outside the door to the bull pen caught his eye. That should do. A quick laying on of hands and with any luck he and the filing cabinet would survive the experience.

Standing with his back to the cabinet, hoping it looked as though he was waiting for Amy to finish giving directions back to the studio from Centennial Pier; he reached back and touched the metal with both hands. Go on, take it all. Someone around here must know CPR.

The hollow boom wasn’t entirely unexpected although the volume was impressive.

Dropping the phone to her shoulder, Amy glared past him to the bull pen. “What the hell are they up to now?”

“Beats me.” Tony shrugged. His palms were sizzling, but he didn’t seem to have done himself any damage. “You know; writers. Listen, Amy, I’ve got to get back to work.” About to step away, he paused. “Who’s out at Centennial Pier?”

“Kemel, the new office PA.”

“What happened to Veronica?”

“She quit.”

“And why’s the new guy out at the pier?”

“Rachel got a call from the location scout and sent him out with the digital to get some pictures of North Vancouver Cemetery.”

Tony ran over the geography in his head. “Which is nowhere near Centennial Pier.”

“He’s lost.”

“No shit.”

“We’ll talk about you and Zev later.”

“Right.” Or we’ll all die by smoke and shadows. Can’t think of which I’m looking forward to more.

He’d never noticed how many shadows filled the hall to the soundstage. No wonder he’d felt safe walking it earlier; his hitchhiker had felt safe. When he realized he was trying to outrun his shadow, he forced himself to slow down.

“Hey, Tony!” Everett’s door was open and Lee was in the chair having his cowlick dealt with yet again. “You okay?”