Shadow Bound (16 page)

“The sooner you try, the sooner we can get on our way,” Adam said.

She sighed—that was the most reasonable thing she’d heard since Jim had wakened her.

“Lady Amunsdale,” Talia said, looking around the room.

Nothing. Ridiculous.

She tried again, louder, with melodrama. “Lady Amunsdale. Please grace us with your presence.”

All quiet.

Jim buried his face in his hands, his bald head reddening. Talia felt bad for her mocking tone. The man was crazy, but also desperately in love.

“You’re too nice,” Adam observed. “It might take more of a command to get her to come out.”

Talia rolled her eyes. A command—those came all too easy to Adam. This was the last time, and she was done.

She raised her voice. “Lady Amunsdale. Come here. Now.”

A pause, then a distorted voice whined.

Jim’s head snapped up, eyes darting, face savage with hope.

Feminine, mourning, and unearthly, the sound circled and raised goose bumps across Talia’s flesh. Adam wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her against his body. Talia could feel his heart hammer in his chest, but whatever else he might be feeling, a sense of unassailable protection grounded her.

Jim whipped around. “Therese?”

Nothing.

Jim turned back to Talia. “Please?”

Talia didn’t want to do more. She didn’t want to know that she could. “Lady Amunsdale? Are you here?”

“No,” the voice answered, pleading, the syllable drawn out, variably loud and soft.

Talia turned, shuddering, and buried her face against Adam’s chest. This could not be happening. She didn’t want
any of it. Death. Demon. Shadowman. Ghost. What kind of life was this? No wonder she was such a freak. She was born to be alone and scared.

“We need to know about Spencer. Ask her, Talia,” Adam murmured in her hair. “So we can go. We don’t have much time.”

Talia groaned. She didn’t want to.

“Remember Patty,” Adam said, harder.

As if struck, Talia pushed away from him, shrugged off his arms. Patty. Of course. There would be no comfort in Adam’s arms, not for costing him Patty. She didn’t deserve comfort anyway.

If Patty could kiss a wraith, then—Talia swallowed her apprehension. “Are you here?” she called.

“Yesssss,” the voice wept.

“Therese!” Jim spun in a circle. “It’s Jim. We mean you no harm.”

“Show yourself,” Talia said.

“I’m here,” Lady Amunsdale said. But her tone made it clear that she was not present by her own will.

Talia couldn’t see her, but she could feel her like a feather brushing on the edge of her awareness. She was definitely here. Or near.

Talia tugged on the shadows. The room darkened. Deepened. Grew more layered.

Hands gripped her arms from behind. That would be Adam, wanting to share her sight. To use her to see the ghost. He left her hands free, which was practical, but floundered for alternative bare skin. Her sweatshirt didn’t pull up easily at the sleeves. He switched to her waist and slid his warm palms across her belly.

His urgency bled through the skin-to-skin connection, as immediate as their situation was. She shut out the rest of him—his light, his want, and especially his grief. And she
shoved away—denied—how the warmth he gave her took the chill off her shadows.

Jim choked in the darkness. “Talia? Adam? I can’t see a thing. Where are you?”

“Quiet,” Adam answered. “Just stay where you are. Talia’s looking for her.”

“But—”

“Shh!”

Something glimmered. A star sparked behind a black cloud.

Talia pulled the dense shadow away and found an unhappy child. Blonde ringlets coiled around an angry face, chin tensed and dimpled with willfulness.

“Lady Amunsdale?”

The child stuck out her tongue and fled. Talia started after her, but Adam held her firm, his arm locking her against his body, hand hot on her middle.

“Order her back,” he said in her ear. “You can make her come to you.”

“How?” And if he knew so much, why didn’t he just do it himself?

“Tell her to come, to answer what we want, and if she won’t, threaten her with the alternative.”

“Which is?”

“Your father.”

Talia didn’t like that word,
father.
She made a substitution. “I’m not calling Death for that child!”

“She’s not a child. She’s not even a woman. She’s a ghost.”

Jim whipped out a fighting arm, flailing in the darkness. “Don’t you hurt her! Talia, don’t you hurt her!”

Talia swallowed hard.

“Lady Amunsdale. You will come here and speak with me.”

Talia reached with her mind and parted the shadows like
a curtain. The child sat on a wooden crate in a dark storeroom, legs pulled up under her dress. The smell here was dusty and old, but dry, cut out of bedrock. A place built for preserving things. Foodstuffs and spirits. The child looked over her knees with resentful eyes.

“I’m not leaving!”

“Where are we?” Talia asked. She felt Adam take hold of her again. He was planted firmly at Segue, looking across the expanse of time with her. She had the feeling that if he let go, she would float away like a ship without mooring and be lost to time and shadow. Her hands gripped his forearm at her waist.

“I’ve got you. We’re in the hotel,” Adam murmured in Talia’s ear. “This is the Fulton, in the past. In her time. We’re the ghosts here.”

“I won’t go!” The child clasped the ropes around a crate, settling in for a fight, as stubborn as Adam.

“Go where?”

“Across. Away. I won’t die. You can’t make me.”

“I’m afraid I could.” Talia was literally afraid of what she could do.

“I don’t think so. The dark, mean man couldn’t. He can’t find me now anyway.” The child was solid defiance, with a cruel, adult twist to her mouth. Something was perverted about her, as if the person that was Lady Amunsdale was gone, and all that was left was her will. Her will was to stay.

“What mean man?” Talia dreaded the answer.

“The one from the other side. The one who wants me to cross.”

Death? Shadowman? Or something else? “Why can’t he find you?”

“He’s stuck. Trapped.” The little girl grinned a too-adult smug smile of satisfaction.

Had to be Shadowman. “Trapped how?”

“I don’t know.”

“Tell me!” Talia’s command rippled through the air.

The child’s voice whined through the layers of shadow. The sound deepened, broadened, and matured to the wail of a woman, but produced from the little girl’s mouth. “I don’t know!”

This was too frustrating. Like squeezing water from a stone.

Adam increased his pressure on Talia’s stomach briefly. Right, they had to hurry.

“Tell me about Spencer.” She voiced Adam’s most pressing question.

“I don’t know that name.” The child turned her head away, bored.

“He works here, with me. At the hotel. Have you watched him? Can you see us in our lives? Doing things?” The thought made Talia shiver. “Answer me!”

The girl gripped the rope cords as Talia’s shock wave warped through her. The child’s face grimaced with effort. “I can see you, but I can’t see anyone else. Just you and the one that is all empty skin. His belly is like a bottle with little firefly spirits trapped inside. So many little fireflies that can’t get out. I stay away from him.”

Talia felt Adam go rigidly still as her own heart lurched. Poor Patty. “What happens to the spirits then?”

“Ask him yourself,” the girl sang. “He’s coming.”

Talia looked wildly over her shoulder to the door. Adam drew a gun. “Ask her what made him.”

The girl giggled. “He’s coming He’s coming He’s coming.”

“Ask her!” Adam shook her sharply.

Talia trembled. She didn’t want to know, but Adam’s hold was too tight. He squeezed the question out of her. “What made the Empty Skin?”

The child stretched and shimmered. Morphed. She became
a woman before Talia’s eyes, her hair growing wildly, curling out of her head, each strand alive. Her dress lengthened with her body, white fabric upon lace and cotton. Stockinged feet in heeled shoes momentarily peeped out from her skirts as she settled herself into a straight-backed repose. Her chin tipped up just enough to cast her eyes down her nose at Talia.

“A demon, the Death Collector,” the woman said in a rich, cultured voice, as if speaking to Talia was distasteful to her.

Did she mean Shadowman? Shadowman killed wraiths, he didn’t make them. The demon must be something, someone different. Must be the source of this madness.

A loud crash sounded down the hallway.

“Damn it,” Adam said in her ear. “We’ve got to go. Jim, we’re leaving. This is your last chance.”

“I’m staying,” he said, backing blindly in the dark. “I’m staying with Lady Amunsdale.”

“She’s no lady,” Talia said. “She’s twisted. Insane.”

The ghost sneered and patted her hair.

“Jim, I can’t fight Jacob, protect Talia, and drag you. This is your last chance.” Adam ducked his head out the office door, glanced both ways, and returned for Jim’s answer.

“Staying,” he said. “Staying forever.”

“So be it.” Adam shifted his gun to the hand at Talia’s waist and hoisted the pack on his shoulder. “Can you keep the shadows on us until we reach the car?”

“You’ll have to hold on to me to be able to see.” Talia took his hand from her stomach and held it. Her heartbeat thumped hard. Fresh sweat prickled in her hairline. She licked her lips. Her skin was already salty from the pelting run from Middleton and the tear through Segue to the garage roof.

He squeezed her hand in return. “Don’t worry. I won’t let go.”

“Wait,” Jim called. “Take the book.”

Talia found the thin volume on the love seat and grabbed it with her free hand.

Lady Amunsdale laughed with throaty pleasure. “The Empty Skin is coming. He’s going to fill himself up with you. And I’m going to watch.”

“Move,” Adam said to Talia. He pulled her out into the empty corridor. Talia’s shadow rolled with them in a smoky wave. She slipped once as he dragged her toward the rear stairwell.

Her head swam with dizziness while Adam punched the code into the door. He hauled her upward. From behind them, someone screamed. Jim Remy joining Lady Amunsdale, or worse.

Adam dragged her up the flight of steps and out the rear exit.

In her shadow, the midday sun was a magenta orb in the sky, the world a blur of purples. The rear lot was deserted, except for the red sports car—the one Gillian called the California. It still idled, windshield shattered, keys in the ignition. Adam paused at the open passenger door as if contemplating trading his plan for a new one. Beyond, the extra-wide opening to the garage gaped.

“Run,” he decided, dragging her toward to garage. “We’re taking the Diablo.”

They bolted across the pavement and arrived at the remaining car. It looked as cruel as Adam’s grip on her, a sleek, masculine angle, slanting in a satisfied sneer. She had to duck quite low to sit inside, but beyond that initial discomfort, the car was pure luxury.

“Buckle up,” Adam ordered. Pleasure washed over his face as he turned the ignition and put the car in gear.

He hit the gas just as Jacob slapped open the rear door to Segue.

Fear thrilled up Talia’s back, though she was safe in the car with Adam stoking the power of the machine. Her belly quivered as the car accelerated. They flew past Jacob. Safe. She whipped her head around to watch Jacob and Segue recede into the distance.

Jacob was gone. The open door to the California shut. The red sports car jerked into a turn and aimed down the road in pursuit, mottled glass sparkling in the sunlight.

“He’s following us,” Talia said.

“Damn right, he is,” Adam answered with a twisted smile.

T
HE
Diablo’s engine growled at Adam’s back, low and feral, then climbed to a high snarl as the sports car took on speed. The ride was smooth, the sound subtly vibrating every nerve in his body as the Lamborghini possessed the road. Like good sex, driving the car was a study in exhilarating restraint and control.

Adam glanced in his rearview mirror. The Ferrari-red California lit the road behind him, a great puff of dust lingering in the air. The car’s windshield was white-webbed with impact lines—Jacob wouldn’t be able to see well, enhanced wraith senses or not.

“Can you do the shadow thing again?” Adam glanced at Talia, who stared, white-faced, into the side mirror at Jacob’s pursuit. “Talia!”

She jerked her attention to him. Her loose curls trembled on her shoulders and down her back. Her eyes were wide with fear, chin smudged with grime.

“Can you do the shadow thing on us and the car?”

“I don’t know—”

Adam reached over, grabbed her wrist, and lacking alternatives, dragged up his shirt and planted her palm on his stomach. He needed both hands on the wheel for controlling the upcoming turns, regardless of how the combination
of the car’s delicious power and the woman touching him made his blood abruptly and distractingly redirect itself.

Jacob. Think of Jacob.
Adam glanced in the review mirror. His brother had coaxed the vehicle to match the Diablo’s speed.

The boulders approached, Adam’s best chance.

“We need the shadow thing, now!”

A tidal wave of darkness rolled over him, his vision surging with layers of dream-hued gray. The green of the surrounding wood intensified into exquisite lushness. Talia’s hand heated, her fingers slightly pressing into his belly with her effort. His muscles contracted with her touch.

The great, knobby slabs of the boulders seemed to widen as Adam propelled the car forward. Only at the crest of the rise was the road’s metal safety railing visible on the other side, a posted sign warning of a tight turn. Not a place to speed. Not unless you had a death wish.

The boulders passed and Adam whipped into the turn, managing the drag of momentum with skillful application of brakes and gas. The back end of the car scraped the metal railing—the Diablo would need a little body work—but reclaimed the road no worse for the wear.

Adam looked at his rearview mirror: The California burned by behind him. With a screeching pop of bursting metal, the car ate empty air for fifty feet before arcing into a dive. A moment later, a squealing crash and roar of fire and smoke assured Adam that his big brother had just gone boom.

Adam groaned in disgust. “What a shame. Such a beautiful car wasted. I hope the crash hurt him like hell.”

He frowned into himself—once upon a time he and Jacob had enjoyed going to the racetrack together. That was
before.
Another life. Another Jacob.

Another Adam.

At least the explosion would slow Jacob down. Years
ago, Adam had tried to get rid of Jacob with fire. Prolonged fire, like they did to witches way back when. Jacob came back afterward—blood, bone, and muscle growing grotesquely over charred remains. The process took Jacob a single afternoon, and he’d been hungry and pissed when he finished.

Talia sat up from Adam’s side, and her darkness dissipated. She settled back into the far edge of her seat, putting as much distance between her and Adam as the car would allow. He brushed his shirt down to cover the sudden coldness of her absence.

Fishing his mobile phone out of his pocket, Adam dialed Spencer’s number. The call went directly to voice mail, which suited him just fi ne. “Spencer, you son of a bitch. Next time we meet, and I pray it’s soon, I’ll kill you. You got that? I will kill you. You tell your superiors that I want my people, those who were based at Segue, and those who work globally, to be left alone. I want their movements unrestricted, unimpeded, and unsurveilled by SPCI or The Collective. If I or any of my people do not check in at their appointed times in their prescribed manner, information about wraith activities will be posted online and sent via both e-mail and hard copy to various sources internationally. SPCI may have elected to cooperate with The Collective, but the people of the world sure as hell haven’t.”

Adam ended the call. He didn’t know how much his threats would help. Matters may have progressed too far to deter The Collective, regardless of any public outcry at their exposure. If SPCI was now involved, The Collective could move with that much more freedom.

By now, whoever was in command would’ve realized that Talia posed no threat to humans—Shadowman had only attacked the wraiths. If Adam didn’t get her away, there’d be soldiers checking cars at all of the roads leading off the mountain. He and Talia would be forced into slow submission.

The tight curve of the road mellowed, and Adam pressed on the accelerator, bringing the vehicle back up over ninety.

Adam glanced at Talia. “Tell me again what Spencer said about the wraiths—when he followed you to your room.”

She took in and released a breath, her brows drawing together. “He said that becoming a wraith was merely a change of state, like dying—going from body to spirit. He was arguing that their way of life, immortality in particular, might be better than the human way of life.”

Spencer’s argument was an old one. He and Adam had hashed it out years ago. Adam had obviously missed how committed Spencer was to that view.

“He also said that you were studying me at Segue, even had cameras on me in my apartment 24–7,” Talia continued. “He said that SPCI has facilities where my rights would be protected. Where there were others like me.”

The cameras. Adam had actually forgotten about those. Jim had them installed a couple years back to monitor ghost activity in the west wing. The cameras and hookups were there, but hadn’t been in use for a while. Unless…

“Talia, I wasn’t watching you in your rooms, but I’ll bet Spencer was. I forgot that the hookups were there. They were installed solely to capture evidence of ghost activity. And for your information, I’ve been to the SPCI facilities. There are no human rights there. Wraiths are caged and experimented on with indifference. I’ve often been tempted to do similar studies on Jacob, but Patty tried to keep me and Segue humane.”

The mention of Patty stabbed at him. Patty had been his conscience for as long as Jacob had been a wraith. Adam felt another stab, hard and sharp. Okay, okay—apparently Patty didn’t actually have to be present to goad him down the right path.

“I did order additional tests when you first arrived at
Segue. I knew you were different, and I wanted to know what I was dealing with. I should have told you. Patty wanted me to, and she was right. I’m sorry.”

Another jab from the memory of Patty, this one much more painful.

“As far as her death goes, I am entirely at fault,” he admitted.

Talia didn’t answer. Probably didn’t believe him.

He elaborated. “Last night I instructed both her and Custo to protect you at all costs. That you were the key to the wraiths’ destruction. When she kissed that wraith, she was doing what I asked. Her death was not your fault.”

Talia shook her head. “I was going to run away again. I was on my way. If I hadn’t—”

“They would have still attacked Segue. Perhaps more lives would have been lost. Patty died, but you lived to warn us, to save us.”

“It’s not that simple.”

Adam chanced another look at Talia. Her profile was bright against the rush of green outside her window. The woman was intelligent; she wasn’t going to accept simple answers for complicated problems.

“No, it’s not that simple,” he conceded. “But Pat never would’ve wanted to hurt anyone. Take the life she gave you, gave us, and be happy.”

“You’re not happy.”

“My brother is California barbecue. I’m delighted. I’ll mourn Patty when this is all over.”

Adam’s heart twisted. He’d mourn Aunt Pat, and Mom, and Dad. And the nurse and guard who died the first year. And the lab tech from year three. And all those who died today. But not Jacob. Never Jacob—he chose this nightmare, so he could burn.

The mountain road terminated at a four-way intersection.
Adam hit the gas; the Diablo sped through the stop, adrenaline coursing through his body like a sweet drug. Talia squealed, bracing herself on the dashboard. Cars honked at him, and he didn’t blame them. The Diablo was a gorgeous piece of craftsmanship.

Adam veered around the Circle K, avoiding Middleton, and hit the highway, a straight two-lane ribbon of asphalt begging for a mad rocket engine and a man crazy (or desperate) enough to use it.

He opened the car up, and the engine sang a sustained high and beautiful note. An aria to speed. Bravo.

The Diablo hit one hundred. One thirty. Mountains rose on either side of the freeway, grasses bordering the concrete, wild with specks of yellow, blurring in his peripheral vision.

The open road stretched before him, and aside from weaving around the much slower occasional cars on the near-empty highway, Adam could think. If Talia hadn’t opened her mouth to scream, all this would be over. The military intervention would have shut Segue down and carted him and his staff off to who knows where for safekeeping, or wraith food.

Unbelievable.

“Talia,” he said, gripping the wheel to hold on to his anger. “I need your mind. Help me make sense of all this.”

“Okay,” she said, tired. Wary.

“Lady Amunsdale talked about the Empty Skin, Jacob, and the fireflies within him, which have to be the”—Adam choked, thinking of his parents—“souls of the people he’s fed on.”

Talia gave a tight nod.

“And we know that without your assistance, Shadowman, Death, cannot reach the wraiths. Your scream somehow frees him, calls him into the world so that he can do his thing. Kill those motherfuckers.”

“Yes.” She looked out the window so he couldn’t see her expression. She was definitely not okay where her father was concerned.

Adam continued, “Something happened, an as-yet-unknown event, resulting in the imprisonment of Death. We’ve seen as much depicted in all that art you discovered. And something gave Jacob that chance to live forever.”

Talia supplied the name in a low voice. “The demon. The Death Collector.”

Adam glanced at her, trying to pull her gaze to him. “You know we have to go after him, right?”

No answer.

“You know there will be no end until the demon is dealt with.”

Silence.

He got to the point. “Eventually, you’ll have to call your father again.”

She leaned her head back on the seat, her eyes closed. Shutting all of this out. Shutting him out.

He wanted her immediate assurance, but something held him back from demanding it. If he pushed her, he was certain that she’d answer in the affirmative. Do what needed to be done. But something between them would be broken. A trust, a connection, an opportunity for something good in his life. He had so few, he couldn’t risk losing this one. Not this one. Not even for the war.

On the outskirts of Dickerson, signs for an outlet mall announced a mind-numbing variety of shops: Mikasa, Osh Kosh, Gap, Motherhood, Saks, and more. Fifteen miles! Ten! Five!

In other circumstances, the prospect of entering an outlet mall would’ve been excruciating. Not today. Adam peered at the grouping of generic buildings. White and crisp, they huddled together for maximum female shopping convenience.

He took the exit and left tire rubber on the road as he peeled into the parking lot. He bypassed the wide, flat lot and rounded the back where a semi’s trailer butted up against a loading dock. He tucked the Diablo at the truck’s side in a square of shadow made by the late-afternoon sun angling behind the trailer’s bulk.

The world went dizzyingly still as he brought the car to a stop.

“Come on, come on,” Adam said, getting out of the car and dragging his pack with him. Startled, Talia did as she was bid on her side.

Standing, he pressed his lips to the Diablo’s door. When this war was over, he’d be getting himself another. Damn pity to leave the beauty here, but a much better fate than that of the California.

“Where are we going?” Talia slammed her door.

Adam leaped onto the concrete loading bay and pulled her up beside him. “We need to get to New York, but the Diablo is too conspicuous. We’ll catch a ride out of here and move north.”

Probably have to hot-wire a car. Damn—it’d been years since he’d tried that. Where was Custo when he needed him?

Adam tried the red metal door on the right side of the loading dock. A cigarette still smoldered on the pavement at its stoop. Obligingly, the door was unlocked. Inside, brown boxes with black letters piled three or more high crowded a storage area. Beyond that, dull beige French doors, probably leading to the floor.

Talia’s weight jerked his arm.
Oh, no.
He looked back, blood rising to fight.

“Bathroom,” she said, eyes pleading.

He glanced around, exhaling his anxiety. He’d totally missed the open door and shiny toilet. A sign to the right read
EMPLOYEES ONLY
.

“Make it quick,” he said. They didn’t have time for this.

Hugely sighing, Talia ran inside and shut the door.

He scrubbed a hand through his hair. If they got caught and were killed because she needed to pee…He spotted a row of hooks, purses dangling, on the other side of the boxes. Possibility lit in his mind.

He strode over and rummaged inside the first bag for keys. Found them. With any luck, the woman who owned the vehicle would be working until the store closed at—he craned his head to peer at the posted chart of assigned shifts—nine o’clock. No need to put his rusty hot-wiring skills to the test.

“Adam?” Talia’s voice called out softly.

“Here.” He stepped back around the boxes to find her outside the door. He caught Talia’s elbow and gestured to the French doors. “We go straight through and out the front.”

They entered in the shoe department and dashed through a maze of clothing racks and accessories. The store—Saks, according to the name printed in blocky red at one end of the large room—was large, and at least a dozen women perused the clothing. Adam pushed out the front door, crossed the street, and headed into the row of minivans, SUVs, and economy cars.