Smoke and Ashes, Page 2

  Tony’s turn to shrug. “It’s been a while.”

  “That shouldn’t matter.” Jack had taken to an expanded reality like a fangirl who knew her favorite actor was in town. Now that he believed, he suspected the supernatural of lurking around every corner. Sometimes he even spotted it. Sometimes he called Tony.

  “What’s about six centimeters high and can take a bite out of a car bumper?”

  “What?”

  “I think I saw one in the impound yard. Maybe more than one.”

  Finally recognizing the voice, Tony’d rolled over and squinted at the clock. “It’s three in the morning.”

  “Does that matter? Do these things only come out between midnight and dawn? What are they?”

  “How the hell should I know?”

  “You’re the…” Elson’s voice—he’d still been Elson then, not yet Jack—had dropped below eavesdropping level. “…wizard.”

  “Yeah. Wizard. Not a database for things that go bump in the night.”

  “So you won’t tell me.”

  “It’s three in the morning, for fuck’s sake!”

  “Why do you keep repeating the time?”

  He’d sighed. “Because it’s three in the morning.”

  In a just world, Jack would have gotten discouraged by now. Or distracted.

  “Bunch of hikers just spotted a Sasquatch up by Hope—probably not a real one,” Tony added quickly. “We’re old news.” A shadow moved just at the edge of the light, and he rolled his eyes. “Well, to everyone but you and him.”

  Him. Kevin Groves. Their very own tabloid journalist.

  Fortunately, after the house incident, Mason had hogged the spotlight, and for Mason it was all about Mason. Unfortunately, Kevin Groves had apparently heard the bits of truth nearly buried under ego.

  To his great disappointment, after official statements were taken—and with three dead under mysterious circumstances official statements were taken—no one really wanted to talk much about what had happened. They seemed almost embarrassed about having been a part of a paranormal experience, given the kind of people to whom those sorts of things generally happened. In the public perception, haunted houses came just under alien anal probes and slightly above thousand-year-old lizard babies. Group gestalt insisted on a rational explanation for everything that could possibly be given one and refused to admit to the rest, leaving Kevin Groves lurking unfulfilled around the soundstage and being regularly escorted off location shoots.

  However, it was clear that an unwillingness to talk didn’t mean that anyone had actually forgotten the experience. No one ever seemed to be under a certain place on the soundstage between 11:00 and 11:15 AM or PM and Tony’s abilities were used whenever they’d save a few moments or dollars. Television people dealt with the surreal on a daily basis and had managed to work a couple more bits in with little difficulty.

  It helped that Tony had been a PA back in August, bottom man on the television totem pole, so anything too bizarre coming from his position wasn’t exactly hard for them to ignore.

  “I wouldn’t be so fast to dismiss Mr. Groves, if I were you,” Jack observed around a final mouthful of oatmeal raisin. “It mostly got lost in all of Mason Reed’s posturing, but don’t forget that there were interesting things said about your actions that night.”

  Tony sighed. “Yes, I have vast and incredible powers.”

  “You talk to dead people.”

  “So? I also talk to my car and the bank machine.”

  “Dead people talk to you.”

  “What, you never caught an episode of Crossing Over back when it was on six or seven times a day? Apparently, dead people talk to everyone.”

  “You…” He waved a hand.

  Tony raised an eyebrow, the movement attaching a certain smuttiness to the unspoken part of the constable’s observation.

  Jack snorted, refusing to be baited. “The word wizard was mentioned.”

  “Yeah, so were the words mass hallucination and gas leak. If I’m such a mighty wizard, don’t you think I’d have better things to do than stand around on the edge of a construction zone at one o’clock in the morning?”

  “What, and give up show business?” Brushing cookie crumbs off his jacket, Jack grinned, golden stubble glinting in the spill of light from the streetlamp.

  The grin made Tony nervous.

  It was supposed to. And knowing that didn’t help.

  “I’ll go have a word with Mr. Groves.”

  “I can’t stop you.”

  “You know, you’re not as dumb as you look.”

  Since “neither are you” would be an enormously stupid thing to say, Tony bit his tongue as the RCMP officer walked toward the reporter.

  “Cut! Good, that’s got it!”

  “Tony.” Adam’s voice in his ear. “Go get Padma.”

  The conversation with Jack had moved him nearly back beside the trailer shared by makeup and wardrobe. He leaned in through the open door and saw it was empty but for Padma Sathaye, the victim of the week. Ready for her scene, she was sitting in the makeup chair, absently rocking it back and forth with the pointed toe of one shoe, and reading an Elizabeth Fitzroy romance novel. Sweet Savage Seas, Tony noted; one of the older ones.

  “Padma? They’re ready for you.”

  She murmured a distracted reply, read for a second longer, and then closed the book around a folded piece of tissue. “I’m afraid I have a bad addiction to trashy romance novels,” she told him apologetically as she stood.

  “Who says they’re trashy?”

  “Pretty much everybody.”

  “I don’t.”

  “But you wouldn’t be caught dead reading one.”

  “I’ve read a couple.”

  The caked blood kept her from smiling too broadly. “How very sensitive new age guy of you.”

  He shrugged and stood to one side to let her pass. He’d read them because Elizabeth Fitzroy was the pseudonym of Henry Fitzroy, once Duke of Richmond and Somerset, bastard son of Henry VIII, vampire, and one of his exes.

  Sort of ex.

  Sort of…not.

  Henry Fitzroy—Prince of Man, Prince of Darkness—was just a little on the possessive side. As far as he was concerned, Tony would always be one of his.

  Mostly, that was all right by Tony. He liked to keep things friendly with all his exes. Hell, he saw Zev all the time at work and they still occasionally hung out. It used to be like that with Henry. Even a couple of months ago, he’d have given the vampire a heads up on this night shoot so they could hang together for a while, but things had cooled between them since the incident with the house.

  Since it had become obvious that Henry’d developed some kind of connection with Chester Bane.

  Okay, strictly speaking, things hadn’t so much cooled as Tony’d cooled things.

  He didn’t like Henry becoming a part of his daytime life. He might be Henry’s, but this show, this job, was his—and Henry could just piss off and stop bonding with his boss.

  He wished he had the guts to ask CB if they were still in touch.

  Following Padma across the street, he noted Everett, the makeup artist, standing by the video village, a gallon of fake blood at his feet. Beside him, Alison Larkin from wardrobe sketched costumes in the air; her every gesture threatening to drench the immediate area in coffee. As far as Tony knew, she’d never lost a drop. He placed the genny op, light techs, sound techs…the greater part of his job on location was knowing where people were so he could find them if needed.

  Jack and Kevin Groves seemed to have left the area. Probably not together. Hopefully not together. Unless Jack had arrested the reporter for loitering with intent.

  No. Not even then. Jack knew enough that Tony wanted the reporter nowhere near him for any length of time even if that time involved handcuffs. And not in a fun way.

  “Come on, people, let’s move!” Adam’s voice set the crew in motion. “We’ve only got the street for one more night and second unit�
��s got it all tied up!”

  Padma laughed at something Lee said as she arranged herself on the pavement and Mason smacked his costar lightly on the arm. Peter shuffled the two men into position, Adam called for quiet, and they were rolling again.

  Raymond Dark and James Taylor Grant stared down at the body that had just landed at their feet.

  They weren’t the only ones.

  Tony’s gaze flicked up to the rooftop.

  Something else was watching…

  Wonderful.

  It was like having fucking gaydar for the supernatural.

  “So I have to be careful now because I’m a player?” It was one of the last conversations he’d had with Henry before he’d stopped returning the vampire’s calls. “What was I before?”

  Henry’s eyes had silvered slightly, a sign that the Hunger was near the surface. “A victim. But there’s enough of them that you had a chance of being lost in the crowd. Now, you stand out.”

  He’d very nearly responded with something stupidly cliché about how he thought he’d been more than just a meal to the other man. Stomping hard on his inner drama queen, he’d snarled, “I’m not saying I don’t appreciate your help, but I’ve been taking care of myself since I was fourteen.”

  “You survived…”

  “Yeah, my point. Before you came along to hold my dick, I survived just fine.”

  “Things are different now.”

  “And that gives you the right to bite down on the rest of my life?”

  “What?”

  The conversation had deteriorated around then, but the point was, if Tony was sensing a supernatural watcher on the roof, he was probably sensing Henry playing Mother Hen of the Night. Sure, he hadn’t told Henry about the shoot, but Henry had new contacts in the business now.

  He flipped a finger in the general direction of the feeling.

  “CB Productions, can I help you? Uh-huh. Uh-huh.” Tucking the phone under her chin, Amy waved her left hand in Tony’s general direction while she doodled on a message pad with her right. “No, I’m sorry, that’s not possible.”

  He crossed to her desk during the other half of the conversation and noted that up close her fingernails weren’t a uniform black. Each nail also wore a tiny, white stick-on skull.

  “Look…” She methodically scratched out what she’d already written. “…why don’t I just put you through to our office manager? Okay. Just stay on the line.” Pushing the hold button, she hung up the receiver and frowned up at Tony over the blinking red light. “What are you doing here? You’re working second unit tonight.”

  “CB wanted to see me.” Tony glanced around to see that Rachel Chou, the office manager, was noticeably absent. “Shouldn’t you find Rachel?”

  “Why?”

  He nodded toward the phone.

  Amy snorted. “She’s not in the office today. That asshat can stay on hold until she gets back for all I care.”

  “Nice.” Tony picked up one hand and took a closer look at the nails. “Skulls glow in the dark?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “Hair, too?” White strips of hair bracketed her face. They seemed slightly greenish next to the matte black of the rest.

  “Please; too tacky.” Lids lowered, she tipped her face up. “But my eye shadow does.”

  Wondering why glow-in-the-dark hair was tackier than glow-in-the-dark eye shadow—and skulls—he leaned forward for a closer look.

  “Don’t do it, Amy. He’ll make you watch old black-and-white movies.”

  “Don’t do what?” Tony demanded, turning in time to see the door to post close and Zev start across the office.

  “She looked like she was about to make an unhealthy commitment.”

  “As if. And what’s wrong with black-and-white movies?” Amy leaned to the right so she could see the music director.

  Zev grinned within the shadow of his dark beard. “He keeps pausing so he can comment on the way they used to set up scenes.”

  She jerked her hand out of Tony’s grip. “Is he kidding?”

  “No, but…”

  “Dude, you’ve got to work a little harder at getting a life.”

  “I used to have one.” Tony nodded toward Zev. “He broke up with me.”

  “Yeah. Quel surprise.”

  Shoving his hands into the front pockets of his jeans, Zev frowned thoughtfully in Tony’s general direction. “I thought you were doing second unit tonight?”

  “I am.”

  “CB wants to see him.” Amy’s tone suggested last requests, last meals, last rites.

  “Why?”

  Tony shrugged. “I don’t know.”

  They turned as one toward the closed door of the boss’ office. The scuffed wood gave nothing away.

  “He’s just running over the stunt with Daniel,” Amy murmured.

  “Daniel’s not doing the stunt.”

  “Gee…” Eyes rolled. “…I can’t see why not. Daniel’d be so convincing as a not very tall, gorgeous Indian woman.”

  “Well, the not-very-tall would give him a few problems,” Zev reflected, measuring a space some two meters from the floor.

  Daniel was the stunt double for both Mason and Lee. He also acted as coordinator for any stunts performed by outside talent. “Why is it when Frank writes an episode,” Tony wondered, “we always need to hire a stuntwoman?”

  They turned toward the bull pen. From behind that closed door came the rhythmic sound of someone reading aloud.

  Zev frowned. “Maybe he thinks the only way he can get a date is with someone used to risking her life.”

  “Frank dating?” Amy shuddered. “My mind just went to the scary place.”

  In the awkward silence that followed, Tony heard maniacal laughter. He might’ve been worried except it clearly came from one of the writers.

  “Not a specific scary place,” Amy amended quickly.

  They both turned to look at Tony. Amy was the exception to the general rule that those who’d been in the house ignored what had gone on and Zev, as an ex, had certain rights and privileges involving shared history and exploded beer bottles.

  “So.” She picked at the edge of a skull, then looked up hopefully. “Seen any dead people lately?”

  He’d nearly seen Henry keeping tabs on him the night before. But Henry, not being exactly dead, just differently alive, didn’t really count. “No.”

  “But you’ll tell me if you do?”

  At the edge of his vision, Tony could see Zev shaking his head almost hard enough to dislodge his yarmulke. “Sure…”

  Zev sighed.

  “…I promise.”

  “Brianna has been asking after you.”

  “Brianna? Really?” From the expression on CB’s face, that clearly sounded as stupid as Tony suspected. Brianna had been asking for him pretty much every time she spoke to her father. “Uh, in what context?”

  CB’s eyes narrowed as he leaned back, his leather office chair creaking ominously under his weight. “In what context do you imagine, Mr. Foster?”

  “Boss, I swear I never told her she was a wizard!’

  “So you’ve said previously. And, once again, I believe you.” He steepled fingers the size of well-muscled bratwurst. “However, as Brianna does not, I think it’s time we move on.”

  “Move on?” Tony cleared his throat and tried again an octave lower. “Move on?”

  “Yes.”

  No. He was not going to teach CB’s youngest daughter how to be a wizard. First, wizardry was a talent more than a skill, and while Brianna had proved sensitive to the metaphysical, he had no idea if that equaled talent. Or what, exactly, did equal talent, for that matter. Second, he was still teaching himself how to be a wizard and, frankly, as a teacher, he sucked. Scrubbing bubbles and one pissed-off cater-waiter had to be incontestable evidence of that. Third, giving this particular eight-year-old access to actual power would be like…his mind shied away from comparisons and settled on: the height of irresponsibility. No one, inclu
ding her father, could control the kid now. And fourth, he’d rather have toothpicks shoved under his nails.

  Mouth open to lay everything but the last point out in front of CB—not smart to give the big guy ideas—he closed it again as CB continued speaking.

  “I have a friend putting together a PBS miniseries for Black History Month, so I called in some favors, and he gave my ex-wife a sizable part. She’s taking both girls to South Carolina with her. Shooting ends December twentieth. You have until then to come up with a permanent solution.”

  The pause lengthened.

  “Was there anything else?”

  Like invasions from another world or a waxy buildup of evil?

  “Um, no.”

  “Good.”

  “Permanent solution. Permanent solution.” Tony paused, one hand on the door leading out to the parking lot, frozen in place by the sudden memory of his mother sitting at the kitchen table twisting her hair onto multicolored rollers shaped like bones. A home perm. And the permanent solution had totally reeked. He remembered because they were called Tonys and his mother used to tease him about being a hairdresser.

  Later, like around the time he hit puberty, his father stopped finding the hairdresser jokes quite so funny—Warren Beatty’s enthusiastically hetero performance in Shampoo conveniently ignored.

  His father was no longer a problem given that they hadn’t spoken to each other for about ten years.

  Brianna’s father, however…

  The door jerked out of his hand, and he stumbled forward, slamming up against a solid body on its way in.

  His way in.

  Tony recognized the impact. And the black leather jacket he was currently clutching with both hands. “Lee.” Two fast steps back. He stared down at his arms still stretched out…Right. Release the jacket.

  “Tony.”

  Just for a second, Tony was unsure of what Lee’s next words were going to be. Just for a second, it almost looked as if the show was over for the day and reality was going to get its time in. Just for a second. Trouble was, a second later Lee pulled his hail-fellow-well-met actor-face back on.

  “You okay? I didn’t realize there was someone standing there.”

  “Well, why would you? You know, solid door and all and you not having X-ray vision.” X-ray vision? Could he sound any more geeklike? “I was just leaving.”