“Fine. Thousands. Thousands of shadows taking over people’s lives.”

“But these shadows won’t be able to leave the television.”

“Wanna bet? My shadow shouldn’t be able to get me in a hammerlock, but it did. Mason’s shouldn’t be able to roll around like a whipped puppy, but it is. Shadows shouldn’t have been able to kill Nikki Waugh or Alan Wu, but they did!” Suddenly unable to remain still, he paced the width of workshop and back as he talked, CB’s head turning to follow his passing like he was the ball in a tennis game. Which was pretty much how he felt. “I got a feeling that convincing shadows to leave the box is going to be no big. Then we’ve got mi . . . thousands of shadow-held who’ll hunt down Arra for that son of bitch, forcing her to fight them—or save them from doing stupid things like jumping off an overpass. Draining her power until she can’t fight him and . . .” Tony ground his palms together.

“Then he goes home and it is over.”

Breathing a little heavily, Tony stopped pacing and stared at the older man. “You don’t believe that. Powerful men seek power. It’s what they do; hell, it’s what they are. There are places on this world without indoor plumbing that still have a television and he’s fascinated by television. He’s going to take the television road to power!”

“He is fascinated by television because the shadow he holds of you is fascinated by television.”

“Fine. Whatever. My bad.” Man, CB was big on placing blame. First Arra, now him. “Point is, he’s not just going to go home. Arra isn’t going to be the only casualty. And Arra, by the way, works for you and is therefore your responsibility—at least a little,” he amended as CB scowled down at him. “And more importantly, you are the only one who can stop Mason.”

“I arranged this interview.”

Oh, for . . . “Un-arrange it! But replace it with something good so Mason doesn’t suspect—something ego stroking that’ll make them both happy. Because if Mason suspects, then the Shadowlord will suspect and he’ll take you out. Right now, he’s thinking this world is his oyster—whatever the hell shellfish has to do with anything—and we don’t want him to un-mellow. He’s a lot less dangerous when he thinks he’s already won and . . .”

“You’ve made your point, Mr. Foster. I understand power politics and I have no desire to compete with those who do . . .” The pause dripped with distaste. “. . . magic. While I am confining Mason to the studio, what will you be doing?”

“Trying to find Arra. She’s our only chance of defeating him.”

“As I understand it, then, not much of a chance.”