Tony winced. “Harsh.”

“I call them as I see them, kid. And I knew Frank’s combover wouldn’t be up to the overacting he was going to put it through. What happened to subtlety?” he demanded as they waited at the soundstage door for the red light to go off.

“It’s a show about a vampire detective,” Tony reminded him, opening the door and motioning him through. “Subtle isn’t exactly the selling point.”

“. . . which is when the police arrived.”

“Keep rolling,” Peter called as Laura allowed her shocked expression to fade. “Let’s try it again with more sorrow less indignation. Lee . . .”

“Unfortunately, Mr. and Mrs. Mackay, that was when Raymond Dark found your daughter. It was too late for him to do anything, too late for anyone to do anything, which is when the midget basketball team arrived.”

“Keep rolling. Do it again. A little less sorrow this time although the tear was terrific if you can work up another one. Lee, stop trying to make her laugh. We’ve got nine pages to get through today and you know how CB feels about overtime.”

Laura smiled across the set. “That’s all right Peter; I don’t find midget basketball funny.”

“Yak herders? Operatic mutes? The Vancouver Canucks?” Lee grinned at the older woman. “You’ve got to be able to laugh at the Canucks or you’ll die of a broken heart.”

“That’s a fiver for the hockey jar, Lee.” The hockey jar was a direct result of differing opinions during the previous season’s playoffs; differing opinions that had resulted in a black eye, two broken fingers, and an assault with a blueberry muffin. “And line . . .”

“Unfortunately, Mr. and Mrs. Mackay . . .”

As he delivered the line once again, Lee seemed fine. He was a little hyper, but his energy levels were always high while the camera was rolling. Had Tony not been specifically looking for the effects of yesterday’s adventure, he would have missed the pinched looked around the actor’s eyes or the way his usual fluid gestures had picked up a slight staccato movement—like a physical stutter. It could have been a lot worse—he’d expected it to be a lot worse—and it could, in fact, be nothing more than a perfectly normal reaction to being force-fed half a bottle of warm, catnip-flavored vodka.

The shadow appeared to have caused no actual damage.

Tony glanced at his watch. 11:10.

That shadow appeared to have caused no actual damage. And as much as he wanted to believe it was over, lessons learned from a thousand movies and a hundred television shows were telling him it couldn’t possibly be that easy.

A thousand movies, a hundred television shows, and one real downer of a wizard