Tony stared at the empty space as the first vibrations from the gate started the liquid in his eyeballs quivering. Crap. Crap! CRAP! Heart pounding in his throat, he raced to the racks where the extra kliegs were stored. It wasn’t there either. Back to the edge of the gate, every hair on his body lifting.

“Three minute warning, people!”

Right. They were shooting in the office set. They were using the lamp.

They weren’t using the lamp.

“Sorge said we were done with it, so CB rented it to that buddy of his who’s doing that new sci-fi show over in Westminster. Charged him a freakin’ arm and a leg, too. He took it out first thing this morning.”

When I was painting . . .

The gaffer looked down at his arm and then up at Tony. “You want to let go of me now?”

“Yeah. Right. Sorry.” It took him a moment to remember how his fingers worked.

“If Arra was still using it, she should’ve said something. Not that it would’ve made any difference if CB had a chance of making a buck off renting it. Good thing I didn’t need it,” he added turning back to his board as Peter called for quiet on the set. “He’d have me using freakin’ flashlights if it’d save him a few bucks.”

“Rolling . . . slate . . . and action!”

Lee’s voice talking of good and evil got lost in Tony’s rising reaction to the gate.

Flashlights? Digging the heels of both hands into his temples, he staggered back to the dining room. Leaning against one of the vertical two-by-fours, he stared into the set. No one there. No one trying to send a shadow home. This was a good thing until he forced himself to consider why the last shadow wasn’t heading home. Last minion left in this world could be staying to act as a welcoming committee. Welcoming what; now that was the question. Odds were good that flashlights wouldn’t be enough to stop it and the baseball bat was in his bathroom leaning against the sink.

His nose was running.

A quick touch with the back of his hand.

No, his nose was bleeding.

Stupid vampire. Stupid sleeping all day. What the fuck good is that?

The actual opening of the gate felt as though the two halves of his brain were being ripped apart. Slowly.

A weapon. He needed a weapon.

And an aspirin, but that would have to wait.

Just outside the set, he found a metal stand and with shaking fingers unscrewed the upright. Four feet of aluminum, threaded on both ends—after all those years with Henry, he knew the kind of damage a simple stake could do.

Holding the pipe across his body, he stepped back into the set in time to see a man fall about four feet and land facedown on the dining room table.

The gate closed.