“Haven’t seen her, so, no, I’d say she’s not.”

No real surprise. “Did she call in?”

“Do I care? Wait . . .” An uplifted emerald-tipped finger cut him off. “. . . let me answer that. If she wasn’t bringing a dozen black robes in with her, then, no, I don’t.”

“Amy, this is important.”

“Why?”

“I can’t tell you.” The big clock on the wall read 12:20. His stomach plummeted and then he remembered to glance down at his watch. 10:20. “You haven’t fixed the clock yet.”

“Gosh.” Heavily kohled eyes opened emphatically wide. “You’re right, I haven’t. Get over it.”

It’d be over soon enough; he had a little less than an hour to go.

*Soon.*

God damn it! He grabbed at his head, his fingers closing over a sticky smear of paint. Stop fucking doing that!

Amy frowned up at him, tapping the end of a pen against her lower lip. She might have looked concerned, she might have looked annoyed—Tony was too distracted by the shadow-voice to decide. “I didn’t talk to Arra,” she said at last. “Hang on and I’ll see if Rachel did.”

A scribbled note shoved under the office manager’s nose brought no pause in her heated discussion with their ISP about a lack of cable internet hookup and a negative response.

“I guess she’ll be in later.” Amy’s tone fell halfway between statement and question. Trouble was, Tony didn’t have any answers.

Although he did have more questions. Would later be too late?

“Tony?”

“Yeah. Sorry.” About to ask if CB was in, he changed his mind. What would be the point? Anything CB knew had been erased and even if he had time to start an explanation from scratch, Tony had no way to prove any of it. Murderous body-snatching shadows on the loose from another world—it still sounded like a bad pitch from the bull pen. “I’ve got to get back to work.” Really wishing that Amy would stop staring at him, he spun around on one heel, took two steps, and slammed into a warm, yielding obstacle. CD cases clattered against the floor.

“Zev. Sorry, man. I’ve uh . . . I’ve got to go.” A glance back over his shoulder. “If Arra calls, tell her . . .” What? Get her magical ass in here? “Fuck it. She knows. Don’t even bother.”

Amy watched Tony disappear through the door leading to the soundstage and shook her head.

“What was up with him?” Zev asked as he shoved aside a pile of uncollated scripts and stacked his retrieved CDs on the corner of her desk.

“I’m not sure, but I think you’ve been replaced in his affections by a fifty-five-year-old woman who blows things up.”

“Well.” After a long moment, the musical director sighed. “That definitely sucks.”

The big carbon arc lamp was gone. It wasn’t by the set. It wasn’t by the lighting board.