by Tanya Huff
“Hey!” The car started to hydroplane on the wet pavement, the back end fishtailing for about thirty meters before Leah got it under control. Tony caught the phone before it hit the floor but lost his pencil. “We’re not all immortal here!”
“Trust me. I’m a professional stunt driver.”
“They aren’t!” The drivers of a late ‘90s Buick and a little imported hybrid flipped them off in quick succession. Hoping Leah’s protective coating would work against road rage, he bent to find the pencil. He’d just about decided to take off his shoulder belt when he heard the siren and straightened so quickly he cracked his head on the dash. “Shit. Is that for us?”
“Seems to be. Are you crying?”
“No. My eyes are watering, I hit my head. You’re not stopping!”
“Neither is the demon at the soundstage.”
Good point. He wasn’t looking forward to explaining it to the police but, still, a good point.
“If it is a demon.” She slid between two transports, passed on the right shoulder, and somehow ended up back in the left lane.
“What do you mean if?” Tony demanded.
“If it’s a demon, why is it at your soundstage? Why isn’t it hunting for me?” As they passed the Kensington on ramp, an unmarked car squealed onto the highway in front of them, siren also wailing, the light on the dash just barely visible through distance and rain. “They’re trying to cut us off!”
He grabbed the wheel before Leah could change lanes. “No. Follow them.”
“Are you insane?”
“They’re not slowing down, and the car behind us has fallen back.”
“I lost him.”
“No.” There was no mistaking Jack Elson’s pale blond hair in the unmarked car. “I know these guys.”
Leah shot him a quick glance. “Your Mountie buddy?”
“Eyes on the road! My Mountie buddy and his partner,” he expanded when his heart started beating again. An East Indian woman was driving and he was willing to bet she had to be Constable Danvers regardless of how much ethnic recruiting the RCMP did.
“I forgot to add them to the list of the people who know what you are, didn’t I? Why didn’t you just tell the papers?” she continued before he could answer. “It’d save time.”
As the two cars sped toward the studio, he tried to remember if he’d told her about Kevin Groves. And what it was about Kevin Groves that he’d intended to tell her. “Well, technically…”
“I don’t want to know.”
They fishtailed off the ramp onto Boundary, squealed tires through the gate of the industrial complex, and sprayed gravel in tandem as they pulled up in the parking lot at CB Productions.
Jack was out of the car, gun in his hand, before the gravel hit the ground again. “When they called in your plates, I figured something was up. What is it?” he demanded, falling into step as Tony sprinted for the building.
Tony hesitated, wondering if Jack had kept his partner in the loop. Television cops never kept secrets from their partners. “There’s a demon ripping up the soundstage!”
“A what?” Danvers yelled as the four of them pounded in through the office doors.
“A demon!” Tony skidded to a stop as the dozen or so people in the office turned to stare.
He stared.
They stared.
“Jesus, Tony…” Amy’s brows dipped to nearly touch over her nose. “…what the hell happened to your neck?”
“Not important.” Trust Amy. He couldn’t stop himself from touching the bite as he hurriedly counted heads. “Not everyone’s out.”
“Such a grasp of the obvious,” she said to the room at large. “This is why I called him.”
“Amy.” Tina’s tone suggested that was enough. “A few people got out the back,” the script supervisor continued, rocking the new and teary assistant set decorator in the circle of her arms. “There’s a few still in there.”
“CB?”
All heads turned toward CB’s office as though they were on a single string.
“He went in as we came out.”
Of course he had. Tony took a quick mental inventory of CB’s office but could think of nothing that the big man could use as a weapon.
“Okay.” Deep breath. A quick, purposeful crossing to the door—made slightly less purposeful by the people milling about in his way.
“You brought the cops?” Zev asked, pushing through to his side.
“They brought themselves.” He reached for the door and paused. This wasn’t a case of reacting to an attack, blasting before he could consider the consequences; this was deliberately going after a demon. Deliberately going after something with teeth and claws and attitude. Try not to look like you’re nearly pissing yourself.
You went after the thing in the basement, a little voice reminded him.
Did you miss the part about teeth and claws? he asked it.
A quick glance back over his shoulder. “You guys don’t have to…”
Jack reached past him and shoved the door open. “Move!” he snapped.
So he moved.
They ran in single file between the double racks of costumes—a wizard-in-training, two RCMP officers, and an immortal stuntwoman/Demongate bringing up the rear. It sounded like the punch line of a bad joke. All they needed was a duck. Tony’d been a little afraid that either Zev or Amy would follow, but they both seemed to have more sense.
The door to the soundstage was closed.
When Tony reached to open it, Jack stopped him, hand without the gun wrapping around his wrist. “You don’t just go charging in! Listen first.”
Leah raised an eyebrow in Tony’s direction, sharing her amusement. “The door’s soundproof. We might as well go charging in.”
“Fine. We…” Jack used his weapon to indicate that “we” in this case meant him and Danvers. “…go in first.”
“Good idea.”
The constable fixed Leah with a pale stare. “Who the hell are you?”
“Leah Burnett.”
“And?”
“I’m a stuntwoman.”
“Let me rephrase. Why are you here?”
“I don’t even know why we’re here,” Danvers muttered.
“Believe it or not…” She pointed at Tony. “…the safest place I can be is next to him.”
“Not,” Jack snorted.
Tony could feel momentum slipping away. Once it was gone, he was afraid he’d never be able to force himself onto the soundstage. Ignoring the others, he yanked open the door and charged through, heading for the area under the gate.
The Demonic Convergence was happening on the lower mainland because Leah and the oldest spell in the world currently lived here. But she didn’t have the only spell around. It might not even be the strongest. It sure as hell wasn’t the freshest.
Looking for that nice, fresh demonic feeling?
Oh, man, I seriously need some downtime with my brain.
In the last few weeks, the set under the gate that had brought Arra Pelindrake into this world and then taken her out again had been the living room of grieving parents, a medieval dining hall, and a veterinary office—anything they could fit into the space without moving the walls or windows. CB disapproved of unnecessary rebuilding.
The end wall had been reduced to a jagged bit of framing and a dangling piece of plywood. Standing surrounded by debris, one sleeve ripped from his suit jacket and the exposed arm hanging limp by his side, CB shook a length of pipe up at the lighting grid. “Get your scaly red ass down here so I can kick it back to whatever overblown special effect it crawled out of!”
A shriek of tortured metal from above.
One of the big lamps plummeted toward the floor.
Time was supposed to slow as certain death approached. That was the theory. Total bullshit as far as Tony was concerned. The lamp exploded against the painted concrete floor; CB dove out of the way, swinging the pipe to deflect a shard of glass away from his leg, and Tony barely ha
d time enough to realize he should do something. No time at all to think of just what he should do.
The sound of another lamp ripped from the grid made one thing clear; he had to get the demon down.
Tony held out his hand and called.
The demon was about the size of a ten-year-old but remarkably heavy for all that. The impact knocked the breath from them both and for a moment they sprawled together on the concrete, arms and legs tangled in interspecies intimacy. Then it blinked orange eyes, and a mouth, far too wide for the face that held it, opened.
Black teeth.
Shiny and black like that lava rock Tony could never remember the name of.
Lots and lots of black teeth!
Pain flared in his left shoulder, something squeezed around his right leg, and the demon’s head snapped forward.
Fuck! Teeth!
Four shots jerked it back far enough for Tony to get his left leg free. He kicked out, hard. It reared back, hissing and snarling, still attached by the tail wrapped around Tony’s leg. He kicked it again, a little lower, and black claws on the hind legs shredded his jeans below the knee.
Jack took another shot. The tail whipped away. Danvers grabbed his shoulders, dragging him up onto his feet.
“Why are you wrestling with it?” Leah screamed, crouched behind a yellow chaise lounge. “Get those runes in the air!”
Tony ducked as the demon launched itself over him, heading for Leah. Ducked a little lower as it returned the other way, arms and legs flailing as CB yanked it back by the tail.
It folded back on itself, squirmed free, and leaped straight up.
If it regained the high ground…
No way in hell he remembered the runes.
So we stick with what we know.
Miraculously still standing, Tony made a mental note that a Powershot released inside was blinding. Hopefully, temporarily blinding.
“Mr. Foster!”
Patterns of blue light danced across the inside of Tony’s lids. At least, he thought he had his eyes closed. “Yeah, Boss?”
“Was that you?”
“Yeah.”
“Did you hit it?”
“I don’t know.”
“Is anyone being disemboweled?” Sarcasm dripped from Leah’s voice.
It seemed that no one was.
“Well, isn’t that lucky.” Not so much dripping now as flowing freely.
“What was that?” Jack’s voice, demanding an answer.
“The demon? Or Tony’s pyrotechnical answer to the demon?”
“Hey!” He turned toward where Leah’s voice put her. “We were all screwed if it got back into the light grid.”
“Damned right.” Danvers this time. Nice that someone understood.
A hand closed around his arm and by blinking rapidly he could almost make out the silhouette of the person attached to the hand. At least he hoped it was the person attached to the hand.
“You’re bleeding.” Danvers again.
“He should count his blessings he’s alive to bleed.” Leah, closer now, sounded distinctly unsympathetic. “What happened to the plan, Tony?”
“You guys had a plan?” Jack didn’t sound like he believed her.
“There’s a way to send the demons back where they came from without wiping out our best defense.”
“If this ash is all that remains of the demon, he’s out of the picture.” CB. From near the floor. “Except for a few minor punctures, I believe Mr. Foster—whom, I assume, you were referring to as our best line of defense—is fine.”
“Tony, can you see yet?” Leah. Right in his face.
He could sort of make out shapes, but he got a little dizzy when he turned his head. “Uh…”
“No. He can’t. We can. He can’t.” Probably Leah’s hand on his cheek. The fingers were trembling a little. “Someone had better grab him before he cracks his skull open on the floor.”
On cue, Tony felt his knees buckle.
“I’ve got you, kid.” A dark Jack-shape with blond highlights.
“These holes look clean, and they’re not as deep as they could be.” Danvers, as she pulled his shirt off and started working on the punctures in his shoulder. Tony was starting to really like her. “Damp denim seems to make decent body armor. I don’t think he did much damage to your leg either. Is there a first aid—Thanks.”
No mistaking CB’s presence up close and personal. There was a sudden lack of open space in the immediate area.
Jack shifted his grip to give Danvers a better angle on the shoulder. “So what’s wrong with him?”
“You mean besides the holes? It was the Powershot. Not the smartest thing to do.”
Jack answered Leah’s question with one of his own. “Who are you?”
He’d keep asking until he got an answer, like the world’s biggest red serge-wearing terrier. Given Leah’s earlier opinion of all and sundry, and given that Jack was definitely one of the sundry, the odds were good she wasn’t going to tell him. The trick was figuring out how much of the truth would shut him up.
“She’s a demonic consultant,” Tony told him, trying not to think about what Jack’s partner was doing to his shoulder.
“A what?”
“Demonic consul…OW!”
“Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” And it was. The flash of white light accompanying the pain seemed to have cleared his vision. Where cleared meant he could see people standing around him and pretty much figure out who they were. Beyond about three meters, things were still a little fuzzy—like his focus had been pulled so he had no depth of field—which likely meant there’d be something with teeth and scales charging in from the fuzzy any minute now.
“Tony?”
Or not.
Lee gradually came into focus as he came closer. Then came into focus a lot faster as he broke into a run and dropped to one knee.
“What happened?” he demanded, his hand closing around Tony’s wrist.
Tony opened his mouth, but Jack filled the words in. “It’s the aftereffects of frying a demon.”
“You’re hurt!”
“It’s uh…” He glanced over at the blood-soaked pad in the RCMP officer’s hand and decided not to bother with the whole manly denial thing. “Yeah.”
“It’s not as bad as it looks.” Danvers’ matter-of-fact tone made it convincing. Given that it was his blood, Tony wasn’t entirely convinced, but Lee seemed to be.
Seemed to be glaring at Jack.
Who still held Tony cradled against his body while Danvers finished with his shoulder.
Lee was glaring?
Tony had no idea how Jack was responding, but something in the way his grip shifted and the way muscles moved in his chest, made Tony think he felt amused.
“How are the others, Mr. Nicholas?” CB’s bulk reappeared like a mahogany wall at the end of Tony’s feet, the force of his personality enough to break through Lee’s…well, to break through whatever the hell was up with Lee.
“Fine. They’re good.” The actor sat back and turned, visibly distancing himself from the scene on the floor—although his fingers maintained their grip. “Mouse thinks the gaffer’s nose might be broken.”
“And Mason?”
“Would be on the phone to his agent if there was a phone around to be on.”
“I’ll speak with him in a moment.”
“I can’t say that I blame him, CB.”
“Demons.” Jack ignored Lee’s reinstated glare, but there was nothing that suggested amusement this time. He shifted Tony’s weight onto his partner, who caught it, steadied it, and raised a skeptical eyebrow when Tony muttered, “I can sit on my own.”
“What about them?” CB demanded as Jack got slowly to his feet.
“She said demons. As in more than one. They had a plan to send the demons back where they came from. That…”
All eyes turned with his gesture to the smear of ash on the floor. Tony could just barely make it out. “…isn’t the end of
this. Is it?”
And all eyes turned to Leah.
Who looked at him.
His stomach growled.
Six
“HOW LONG IS THIS Demonic Convergence going to last?”
“I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” CB repeated Leah’s answer as a question, an eyebrow raised for punctuation. There were rumors that eyebrow had once caused a loan manager to wet himself—a rumor that Tony, having more than once been on the receiving end of said eyebrow, was inclined to believe.
Leah proved to be made of sterner stuff, but then she’d already survived plagues, the Inquisition, disco…. “Information on the last Demonic Convergence was passed on as an oral history for centuries before finally being written down by an insane monk in 332. He was a little vague on duration.”
“Rather an important point, don’t you think?”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” She matched his dry, sarcastic tone precisely and then sat back and crossed her legs. “Fortunately, we know that the Convergence is of limited duration, just not exactly how limited. My best guess would tie it to the moon through one full cycle. A month, no more. Maybe a little less.”
“And your worst guess?” CB growled.
She shrugged. “The planets change position slowly and the stars slower still.”
“You’re saying this could last years?”
“It could.”
“Demons could be dropping into my studio for years?”
“Or the one Tony destroyed could be the only one you’ll see. There’s no way of knowing for sure.”
Liar, Tony thought. He was impressed by how much like a consultant she sounded and less impressed by how heavily edited the story had become. She hadn’t mentioned that the demons were only coming through because a Demonlord was directing the convergent energy. Nor had she said anything about being an immortal Demongate, confident that Tony would keep her secret. Since he’d already lied for her once today, he supposed she had reason for the confidence. After all those years with Henry, he was good at secrets. And given that the residue of Arra’s spell seemed to be exerting a stronger pull than Leah, the whole Demongate thing seemed a little less relevant than it had.