Except that the door to Arra’s workshop was still locked. Jammed. Whatever. Point was, he couldn’t get the damned thing open! She’s probably got a spell on it. That’s why it only opens . . . He braced one foot against the trim and pulled. . . . for . . . Again. Harder. . . . her.

Fuck!

The argument in the kitchen built to a crescendo. Any minute, the losing participant would stomp out and demand to know what he was doing. Or Zev would emerge from post. Or Adam would come looking for him.

I don’t have time for this! Not only was the door rock solid without so much as a wobble on its hinges but the doorknob wasn’t even turning. His hands dropped to his sides. Completely, fucking hopeless! Breathing deeply, he closed his eyes and banged his head lightly against the painted wood. Please. Just. Open.

The latch rattled against the latch plate.

Tony grabbed for the doorknob, twisted, and pulled.

The door swung open without even the expected ominous creak.

Arra really had drawn CB’s pattern on an invoice for blasting caps which made it just a little hard to retrace. If he got it wrong, would it just not work or would CB remember things that hadn’t happened? He paused, pencil frozen on the paper. If he got it wrong, would he completely screw up CB’s brain? Did he have a right to risk it? As far as he could remember a distant and not very pleasant childhood, he’d always sucked at coloring between the lines.

“Screw it.” The pencil started moving again. “He redrew me.”

And anyway, the alternative was the Shadowlord live at five.

“What the hell is going on?” Stomping down the stairs, CB’s voice bludgeoned the silence out of his way. “We had an agreement, old woman, and if I find you’ve broken . . .” He caught sight of Tony and paused. His gaze flicked down to the sheet of paper, the pieces falling into place so quickly Tony practically heard the click as they lined up. “Ah . . .”

“Yeah.”

“Where is she?”

“I have no idea. I was hoping you might know.”

“Has she . . .” One huge hand sketched an unidentifiable pattern in the air.

They so didn’t have time for obscure. “Taken up Balinese dancing? What?”

“Opened another gate.”

“Apparently not.”

CB glanced down at his watch. “The original gate has opened. Did she go through it?”

“No.”

“Are you certain?”

“Pretty much, yeah.” Tony point-formed the events of the morning, stopping twice to remind CB that he wasn’t finished and that roaring off to wring necks without all the information wouldn’t help. “You’ve got to stop Mason from doing that interview,” he concluded. “If the Shadowlord gets in front of a live camera, we’re talking shadows of light going out into millions of homes!”

“Millions?” The big man snorted. “Their ratings are nowhere near millions, Mr. Foster. Thousands at best.”