Tony checked his watch as he got to his feet. 7:25. A little more than half an hour until sunset. Still plenty of time to get Henry and have him convince Arra to prepare more sparkly green vodka.

“I hadn’t realized it was so late,” Zev continued as he hooked the strap of his laptop case up over one shoulder. “I’m sorry, but I can’t drive you home.”

“It’s okay, I didn’t expect you to.”

“Do you even know how to get home from here?”

Smiling, Tony fell into step beside him as he headed for the door. “There’s a transit stop about ten meters up Oak, Zev. I think I can manage.”

“Up Oak along Broadway . . .”

“I’ve got it.”

“It’s raining . . .”

“It’s Vancouver.”

“Good point.” Another awkward silence. “I’ll, uh, see you at work on Monday.”

“Sure.” Unless the world ended over the weekend; and a 6,000 watt carbon arc lamp aside, Tony wasn’t ruling that out. They stood in the rain for a moment, then Zev shrugged, waved, and headed west along Fifty-first.

There was one other person in the transit shelter, a big guy staring at the city map Plexiglas-ed into one wall. Shifting his backpack onto one shoulder, Tony projected the I’m not worth bothering vibe he’d perfected living on the street as he dug around in his backpack for his phone. Past time to call Henry.

Then the big guy looked up.

“Mouse? Jeez, I didn’t recognize you.”

The cameraman blinked at him, headlights from a passing car throwing shadows across his face.

Except that when the car was gone, the shadows remained.

Crap.

Minion of the Shadowlord front and center.

Big minion.

Really wishing he’d gotten that whole hero thing worked out, Tony stepped back until his shoulders hit Plexiglas and back was no longer an option.

Eight

Eight

THE LEADING edge of the shadow army was less than a day’s march away. Standing on the city walls, mirror raised to catch the late afternoon light, Arra could see past the pockets of battle, past the men and women struggling to defeat an enemy their superior in both strength and numbers, past the black tents well warded against magical attack, and into the swath of destruction that stretched back to the border.

Crops had been burned in the field and the ground salted. She could see the remains of livestock slaughtered and devoured by the invaders. After his victory, the Shadowlord would feed those who abased themselves before him; those who forgot pride and honor and crawled on their bellies to his feet.

Every building still standing after the front line passed by had been put to the torch. When winter came, only the abject would survive.