Henry glanced up. “If the gate’s about to open, it doesn’t have that kind of time. Nor, when leaving, does it need to fit itself into a complex template.”

“Yeah, whatever.” Tony glanced up as well. He swept his gaze across and back, up and down, over and out but couldn’t see anything resembling a gate. He could see . . . “Henry. What destroys shadow?”

“Light.”

He pointed.

“Arra’s people would have tried something like that.”

“Maybe.” His lips pulled off his teeth in a pseudo smile, a smile he’d learned from Henry as it happened. “But they didn’t have one of those babies.” Not really caring if Henry thought it would work, he ran for the light board.

Sorge, the gaffer, and the key grip had completed a rough setup for the next day’s shoot. The script called for a meeting in this living room on a bright, sunny afternoon. Bright sunny afternoons in the middle of box warehouses required a lot of light. Most shows would use a couple of 10-K lamps, but at some point CB had acquired a high intensity 6,000 watt carbon arc lamp—speculation among the crew was that he’d won a bet—and the gaffer liked to use it for high contrast between daylight shots and the creature-of-the-night lighting they usually used. The actors hated it since it cranked up the temperature on the set. Lee had been heard to say, “To hell with Raymond Dark, I’m about to burst into fucking flames.” But it had been a major contributor to the “look” of Darkest Night.

Critics were split on whether or not that was a good thing.

As it was far too powerful for the enclosed space, the gaffer had rigged it with its own dimmer; planning on starting low and then cranking it up until Sorge stopped him. His hands sweating so badly that he left damp prints on the plastic, Tony spun the dimmer around as far to the left as he could then hooked one finger behind the switch.

Turning, he could see only the outside wall of the living room. Crap. “Henry, let me know the instant the shadow’s out of Lee.”

“I’m not sure . . .”

“I am. And you’d better get under cover.”

“That had occurred to me.”

It wasn’t sunlight, but Henry’s eyes were sensitive and . . . “What was that?” It felt as though his fillings were vibrating loose.

“I can’t see anything, but I suspect it’s the gate opening.”

“The shadow?”

“Not quite free. Almost.”

Needing to act or scream, Tony started counting the pulse pounding in his temples. One-two. Three-four. Five-six. Seven . . .

“Now!”

He didn’t so much flip the switch as bring it along with him when Henry’s voice jerked him forward.

Without fill lamps to soften its edges, the light slammed through the set like a battering ram. Even behind the beam, Tony’s eyes watered.