Perhaps he was in trouble.

It was possible that the Shadowlord had reacted aggressively and that Tony had borne the brunt of whatever had come through the gate.

Neither possibility could be confirmed by breaking into Tony’s apartment, but it was a place to start. And, as it was almost exactly halfway between his condo and the studio, it only made sense to check it first. The answering machine had picked up when he’d called; the recorded voice no answer at all. But then, if CB Productions had fallen under the thrall of a dark wizard, it was unlikely anyone would be manning the phones.

Henry’d also called the wizard—who worked with Tony, who’d theoretically also been there when the gate had opened at 11:15 AM. If she was home, she’d invoked the modern magic of call screening.

Tony’s building, a three-story brick cube built like a thousand others in the late seventies, had no security. The door leading into the stairwell from the small vestibule holding the mailboxes had been locked while open so that the steel tongue slammed against the frame preventing it from closing. Handy if the residents had friends coming over. Not so handy if they had anything worth stealing. Given the condition of the halls, Henry suspected the latter was unlikely.

The building superintendent was in apartment six. Moments after he answered the door to Henry’s knock, Henry was in Tony’s apartment and the superintendent had forgotten he’d ever moved away from his recliner.

Tony’s sofa bed was unmade, his breakfast dishes still in the sink, and the clothes he’d worn yesterday in a pile on the bathroom floor. The fridge held mostly packets of condiments from various fast food establishments as well as eight eggs, a loaf of bread, a half-empty jar of peanut butter, and a bottle of generic cola. It took Henry a few minutes to find the television remote—although upon reflection the top of the toilet tank was an almost logical place. Disk one of the extended Two Towers was in the DVD player and last week’s episode of Federation, the new Star Trek series, was in the ancient VCR. Tony’d mentioned he was saving for a TiVo, but apparently he hadn’t managed it yet.

Henry tossed the remote back onto the tangle of blankets. He was no farther ahead than he had been. Although Tony’s scent permeated the apartment, he clearly hadn’t been there for some hours. He’d gone to work. He hadn’t returned.

There were only two possible scenarios. He was still working. He’d been taken by the Shadowlord. Either way, he was still at the studio.