Son of a bitch; it is my ass.

Under other circumstances, he’d have found that gratifying. Although, even if evil wizards had been his type, any swelling crotch-side tonight was likely to be edema. Passion, pain—fortunately, all moaning sounded remarkably alike.

As a distraction, it worked because it was unexpected, but it didn’t work long.

Darkness flared and Tony found himself on the floor again, his skull cracking hard enough against the concrete to cause stars.

Okay, stars are new.

When they didn’t go away, he realized it wasn’t stars he was seeing; it was Arra’s pattern through the refraction of the fog. Which was dissipating. Either the foggers were empty or the sound stage was just too big.

On the bright side, the Shadowlord seemed to be caught on the lines of light like a fly in a web. That brief bout of tonsil hockey must’ve given Arra enough time to finish.

Yay, me.

And then again . . .

Torso tight against the light, the Shadowlord flung out his arms, fingers extended. Streamers of darkness began to flow into them. He was calling back the shadows. Releasing the shadow-held. Tony could hear bodies hitting the floor.

He was calling back pieces of himself.

He was getting stronger.

In another moment, he’d be free of the pattern.

Where the hell was Yerma-whoever?

It wasn’t working. Arra knew it wouldn’t work. Knew it. Had known it. Had always known it. She checked the pattern on the laptop, checked the pattern drawn on the air . . . They were identical. It wasn’t her fault.

*All your fault.*

Caught on the other side of the light, the Shadowlord smiled.

*They died because of you,* the shadows whispered. *They die when you leave. They die when you stay. They die because you fail them. All of them.*

“Shut up!” A world lived in shadow because she couldn’t stop him. This world would fall to shadow because she couldn’t stop him. He was right. It was all her fault.

The light wavered.

His smile broadened and he jerked back.

*You should never have come here. You doomed this world.*

She shouldn’t have. And she had. Her heart was pounding and her vision began to blur.

*At least this time you’ll die with them.*

Kiril. Sarn. Haryain. Tevora. Mai-Sim. Pettryn. So many others, all dead.

Reflecting back the pattern, his eyes glittered in triumph and she realized he knew the names of the dead as well as she did.

*Charlie. Chester. Henry. Tony.*

“They’re not dead!” All right, from what she’d seen, Charlie very probably was, but the others . . . CB and Henry still fought. Tony was down, true, but moving. Struggling.

*They’re not dead yet.*

She could see Tony. He was close enough to the pattern that the gold tinted his skin and hair. He was trying to sit up.