He could go through a magical gate to another world and become a wizard. He could learn to work the energy of that world, bend it and mold it to his own ends. He touched the memory of the Shadowlord; he could learn to command shadow.

His throat was dry.

Tony swallowed, dragged his tongue across his lips, and got slowly to his feet. Henry helped rather a lot with the latter.

“Arra.” A deep breath. “I’d rather have perpetual root canals.”

Arra sighed, reached into the pocket of her hooded sweatshirt, and handed Henry a twenty. “I still say it was worth a shot. He’s an annoying little shit, but I hate to see that kind of potential wasted.”

“He’s not wasting it,” Henry told her as he pocketed the money.

“Bull. He’s a production assistant at a third-rate . . .” CB cleared his throat from the doorway and Arra adjusted for his presence. “. . . second-rate production house.”

“Yeah, now,” Tony protested.

“He can go far here as well,” CB added. “Eventually. Right now, it’s 11:12. If you’re right about the timer, the gate’s about to open.”

There were people sprawled up against every solid surface on the set. Most of them were drinking a familiar smelling cocktail—Tony noticed that every prop capable of holding liquid as well as the coffee cups from the office kitchen had been put in service. People looked confused but docile, content to suck back the potion—the potion that he’d made—and stare around them with wide, bruised eyes. A few of the crew were sprawled but not drinking, their eyes closed and their arms lying limp by their sides.

Consequences.

“Are they . . . ?”

“No,” Henry told him. “Just unconscious. Probably a couple of concussions. Arra said she’d take care of them.”

“Is anyone . . .”

“Charlie Harris and Rahal Singh.”

One for the Shadowlord. “Did you . . . ?”

“Yes.”

And one for Henry. “Are you okay?”

The corner of Henry’s mouth that Tony could see curved up into something not quite a smile. “I’ve killed before, Tony.”

“I know.” He tightened his grip on the vampire’s arm, not because he was in danger of falling but because he needed Henry to understand that he did know. Even if, in true guy fashion, they weren’t going to talk about it. Big difference between killing for food or for vengeance or even caught up in Darkness and killing without intending to or wanting to. “You up for comfort food later?”

That evoked an actual smile and an incredulous laugh. “If you are.”

“Date.” As Arra made her way around the edges of the set, stepping over arms and legs and cables, he noticed a complex pattern drawn in chalk in the center of the floor. “What’s that?”

“Memories,” CB rumbled from behind him. “Ready to be erased. You and I,” he raised his voice to the point where Arra turned toward them, “are not a part of it.”