“As long as it takes to draw the calling.”

Tony rolled his eyes. Right. More obscure. “And that’ll be how long?”

“Well, it’s not a 1-800 number,” Arra snapped.

Henry’s hand closed over Tony’s shoulder before the snapping could escalate. “And if it answers?”

“When it answers,” Tony muttered.

“We hope it destroys the minion of its ancient enemy.”

“Hope?” Tony began, but Henry’s fingers tightened.

“If and hope,” Henry said softly as though trying the words on for size. “Battles have been won with less. Do you believe we can win?”

With both of them staring at her, Arra shrugged. “Tony does.”

And then they both moved to stare at him.

Oh, crap. No, I don’t. I just think that if you have to fight—which we do—there’s no percentage in going in believing you’re going to lose. It’s not like if we lose we can try again later. This is it. All or nothing. One final roll of the dice. The big chimichanga. And that’s just fucking great, now I’m out of clichés.

Were they waiting for him to say something?

Apparently.

He sighed, squared his shoulders, and tried to think of something inspiring. “Right. Let’s go.”

“Not exactly the St. Crispin’s speech,” Henry murmured.

“The what? Never mind.” He raised a hand and cut off the explanation. Knowing Henry, it was likely to be lengthy, boring, and classical. “Instead of walking in the back door like the Three Stooges, how about we split his attention. Henry, remember that up-on-the-roof-through-the-ventilation-shaft thing you wanted to do earlier?”

“Uh, no.”

“Good. Now’s your chance. Arra, you go in through the front doors, I’ll go in through the back. Henry, you take out the shadow-held—bottom line they’re still flesh and blood and you’re . . .” Even in the dim light of the parking lot, he could see the vampire’s eyes darken. “. . . you.”

“I think,” Henry said slowly, “at some point, he’ll send something through that can’t be killed by light. Something physical.”

“You sound upsettingly happy about that.”

The mask slipped. “If it has flesh and blood, I can deal with it.”

“And me, I’ll deal with the Shadowlord.”

His shadow fell over Lee’s and the Shadowlord’s, wiping out the definition of the attack, leaving nothing but a formless shape of darker gray on the concrete.

“You will?”

It almost wasn’t a question. Tony made a mental note to ask Arra about that later—if they survived this. “Someone has to and I’m all that’s left. You . . .” He bent and picked up his backpack, swinging one strap over his shoulder. “. . . just dial.”

“I have to be in his presence for this to work.” Her eyes narrowed. “How do you plan on dealing with him?”