Smoke and Mirrors Read Online Free PDF

took a bite of his sandwich. “Think we’ll see anything tomorrow night?”
    â€œI think we’ll have to wait until tomorrow night to find out.”
    â€œI’m just asking because our last experience with ghosts wasn’t much fun.” Several innocents had died and, until the whole shadows-from-another-world incident, the experience had provided fodder for the bulk of Tony’s nightmares. Well, that and the undead ancient Egyptian wizard.
    â€œApparently this guy is a lot less interactive,” Henry told him dryly. “What are you eating?”
    â€œBologna sandwich.”
    â€œI was thinking I’d have Italian.”
    â€œGood night, Henry!” Shaking his head, Tony thumbed the phone off and tossed it into the tangle of blankets on the pull-out couch. “Over four hundred and sixty years old,” he commented to the apartment at large. “You’d think he’d learn another joke.”
    Vampires: not big on the whole contemporary humor thing.

    â€œSeventy percent chance of rain, my ass,” Tony muttered as he drove out to the end of Deer Lake Drive and parked behind Sorge’s minivan. The rain sheeted down his windshield with such volume and intensity the wipers were barely able to keep up. He turned off the engine, grabbed his backpack off the passenger seat, and flicked the hood up on his green plastic rain cape. Sure, it looked geeky, but it kept him and his backpack mostly dry. Besides, it wasn’t quite seven-thirty in the freaking AM—ACTRA rules stipulated a twelve-hour break for the talent but only ten for the crew—he was in the middle of a park, about to head down an overgrown path to a forgotten house—who the hell was going to see him?

    Stephen turned from the window smiling broadly. “Listen to the water roar in the gutters, Cass! This’ll fill the cistern for sure. Graham’s going to be on cloud nine.”
    â€œAnd it’s all about Graham being happy, isn’t it?” she muttered, rubbing bare arms.
    â€œThat’s not what I meant.” He frowned. “What’s the matter with you?”
    â€œI don’t know.” When she looked up, her eyes were unfocused. “Something feels . . .”
    â€œDifferent?”
    She shook her head. “Familiar.”

    The trees cut the rain back to a bearable deluge. Carefully avoiding new, water-filled ruts and the occasional opening where rain poured through the covering branches, Tony plodded toward the house. Half a kilometer later, as he came out into the open, and saw the building squatting massive and dark at the end of the drive, thunder cracked loud enough to vibrate his fillings and a jagged diagonal of lightning backlit the house.
    â€œWell, isn’t that a cliché,” he sighed, kicked a ten-kilo hunk of mud off his shoe, and kept walking.
    Finally standing just inside the kitchen door, he shook the excess water off his rain cape out onto the huge flagstone slab that floored the small porch, added his shoes to the pile of wet footwear, and pulled a pair of moccasins out of his pack. Stopping by the big prep table, he snagged a cup of coffee—more practical than most in the television industry, craft services had set up in the kitchen—and headed for the butler’s pantry where the AD’s office had been set. He shoved his backpack into one of the lower cabinets, signed in, and grabbed a radio. So far, channel one, the AD’s channel was quiet. Adam might not be in yet or he just might not be talking—impossible to tell. On channel eight, the genny op and the rest of his transport crew had a few things to say about keeping things running in the rain. Impressed by the way the profanities seemed to make it through the interference intact, Tony set his unit back on channel one, and headed for the conservatory at the back of the house.
    Extras’ holding.
    Tony could already hear them; a low hum as two dozen