Smoke and Shadows by Tanya Huff Page B

building for just over an hour. An hour? That seemed . . .
    â€œTony! Thumb out of your ass, man!”
    â€œYeah. Sorry. Uh, what if Lee’s not up to it?”
    The 1AD snorted. “Peter says you’re to get him up to it but I’m not touching that. Just do what you can to get him back out here. Losing a day won’t bring Nikki back.”
    â€œThe show must go on?”
    â€œYeah, like I haven’t heard that a hundred times in the last hour. Hustle up, we’re burning money.”
    Death came, death went, and it was amazing how fast everything got back to normal. He waved a hand in front of Amy’s face and pointed toward the exit.
    She nodded. “No, we don’t need it immediately, but that’s not the point . . .”
    Shadow following, Tony headed for the dressing rooms.

    For all his bulk, Chester Bane knew how to remain unnoticed. If being Chester Bane meant bluster, then a lack of bluster meant a lack of Chester Bane. He stood silently just inside his open door and watched the door leading out of the production office swing closed.
    Tony Foster had been in the basement.

    The one good thing about finding a dead body was that the rest of the day, no matter how mired in suckage, could only get better. That was the theory anyway, but by quitting time, Tony figured no one could prove it by him. He had to talk to someone about this.
    Someone.
    Yeah. Right. There was only one person he could talk to about this.
    Although he hadn’t lived at the condo for almost eighteen months, he still had his keys. He’d tried to give them back, to cut the final tie but Henry, his eyes dark, had refused to take them.
    â€œMany people have keys to their friends’ apartments.”
    â€œWell, yeah, but you’re . . .”
    â€œYour friend. Whatever else I may have been, whatever else I am, I will always be your friend.”
    â€œThat’s uh . . .”
    â€œYeah, I know. Way over the top.”
    The place was a little neater without him, but nothing else had changed since he’d left. “Henry?”
    â€œBedroom.”
    Henry slept in the smallest of the three bedrooms, the easiest one to close off with painted plywood and heavy curtains against the day. He wasn’t there now, so Tony continued down the hall. Henry slept in the smallest bedroom but he kept his clothes in the walk-in closet attached to the master suite. For a dead guy, Henry Fitzroy had a lot of clothes.
    He paused in the doorway and watched the vampire preen in front of the mirror. Popular culture had gotten a few minor details wrong. Vampires had reflections and, if Henry was any indication, they spent a significant slice of eternity checking them out. “The pants are great, but strawberry blonds can’t wear that shade of red. The shirt doesn’t work.”
    â€œYou’re sure?”
    â€œTrust me. I’m gay.”
    â€œYou have a gold ring through your eyebrow.”
    â€œAnd it clashes with nothing.”
    â€œYou’re wearing plaid flannel.”
    â€œI’m getting in touch with my inner lesbian.” Tony pointed toward the discarded clothing on the bed. “Try the blue.”
    Henry stripped off the shirt, yanked a cream-colored sweater off the pile, and dragged it over his head.
    â€œOr not.” Grinning, Tony backed away from the door so Henry could leave. Feeling better than he had in hours, he fell into step beside the shorter man. Feeling grounded. Which said something about the entertainment industry when he turned to a vampire for grounding. Or maybe it just said something about him.
    â€œYou sounded upset when you called.”
    And the ground disappeared again. Once the show had stopped going on, once he was on his way home from the studio, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about what had happened. He’d found himself thumbing in Henry’s number before he came to a conscious decision to pull out his