That didn’t sound good. Tony went along without struggling, being no threat, no problem, giving Mouse no reason to think he might make a run for it. When they stopped beside Mouse’s 1963 cherry-red, Mustang convertible, when Mouse—or rather the thing in Mouse’s body—started digging for his keys, Tony dropped straight down to his knees, spun around, surged back up onto his feet, took two running steps away, and crashed face first into the wet sidewalk. His teeth went into the edge of his lip and his mouth filled with blood. He spat and twisted around. Within the circle of the light from the streetlamp, Mouse’s shadow tangled with his.

The shadows in the bodies controlled the shadows of the bodies—he should have remembered that—and those shadows could mess with the shadows of people—like him—who weren’t being controlled. And that made so little real world sense it sounded like one of the less than brilliant ideas the bull pen horked up after a night of generic beer and cheese pizza.

Mouse smiled broadly enough for a pair of gold crowns to glitter. “Get in the car.”

Tony spat again. He was through making it easy. “Make me.”

One huge hand grabbed the waistband of his jeans, the other both straps of his backpack. A moment later he was in the passenger seat. He spared half a thought for the total shit-fit Mouse was going to have when he was back in control of his body and saw his upholstery and then tried to fling himself out the door.

Mouse’s shadow flowed up and over his face.

Oh, crap . . .

Clawing at it didn’t work. It gave under his fingers and then seeped back into the gouges. He already knew he couldn’t breathe through it . . .

Phone cradled between ear and shoulder, Arra tossed another handful of lemon balm into the vodka. “You might want to write this down, Nightwalker. He’s at the Four Corners Bakery and Coffee Shop on Oak by Fifty-first—in South Granville. It’s right by Schara Tzedeck, the Orthodox synagogue.”

“You did a locator spell.”

“No, I called Amy, his friend from work.” A sniff of the steam and a bit more elecampane root. “She overheard Tony and Zev talking as they were heading for the parking lot.”

“Tony and Zev?”

“Uh-huh.” She pushed Zazu away from the stove with the side of her foot and wondered if she shouldn’t have waited until the last minute to add the catnip.

“He had a date?”

“He’s young, he’s single, and it’s Friday night.” Arra grinned as the Nightwalker sputtered. “Jealous?”

“No. I am not jealous! I am . . .” The pause lasted long enough for her to get the cap off the jar of bay leaves. “. . . appalled. How can he consider dating, knowing what he knows about the Shadowlord.”