Shadow Bound (15 page)

Jacob?

“Damn it,” Adam said. “Go now. Custo…”

Everyone jammed the window, each trying to get through to safety first.

“Now or never,” Jim said, sweat rolling off his forehead. He dived back into the blackness. A loud pop echoed into the room.
Pop. Pop.
A strangled scream. Then silence.

No one moved for an agonizing moment.

Then Custo elbowed Armand in the face to get through the crowd. He dragged another from the porthole and levered himself up and out smoothly.

Rough hands—Adam’s—lifted Talia’s hips. She ducked through the hole and fell onto Custo, who hefted her up, locked an arm around her chest, and put a gun to her head.

Her heart leaped in momentary panic, but then she understood. He didn’t want to shoot her, he was sending a message.

The sun blared overhead, hot on her face, but after a moment, her vision adjusted and she caught movement on the grass below the balustrade. Guns aimed, but not firing. It was as Adam said—they wanted to take her alive.

One by one, people emerged from the portal. Old Philip hefted, purplefaced, through the hole. The lab tech, Priya, followed. They staggered in the light and slowly came to attention as weapons from the grass leveled at them like a firing squad.

Adam climbed through last, though he stopped to call over his shoulder. “Jim!”

No one answered.

Custo dragged Talia backward toward Adam. “We’ve got to go before they call our bluff.”

Adam nodded sharply. His gaze rested on her momentarily, and then he signaled for everyone to move out. The rifles below followed them as they raced to the garage, the
helicopter dipping, chin down, some distance away to head in their direction.

The group climbed a service ladder to the roof of the garage, Custo and Talia first. All they had to do was get into the garage and to the cars. There was no way anyone could know which vehicle Talia was in. Perhaps they could escape, after all.

“Oh, Adam,” a voice called. The tone was light, playful, flirtatious, though masculine, and it carried across the terrace in spite of the helicopter.

Talia turned.

Jacob strolled toward them. Jim, still alive, shielded his body. Blood streaked in a vivid brushstroke up Jacob’s forearm, as if he’d just wiped his mouth. Talia thought of the guards in the cell below Segue and shuddered.

“Jacob,” a magnified voice from the helicopter called. “Do not attack the group.”

“Why not?” Jacob called gleefully, still approaching. Jim whined in his grasp.

“The Collective commands you to halt!”

“The Collective left me to rot,” Jacob said.

“Shoot him,” Talia said to Custo.

Custo raised his gun, but it was too late. Jacob was hungry for one person, and one person only.

Jacob darted, throwing Jim to the side.

Adam dodged, bringing up his assault rifle. Jacob smacked it down—the volley of shots clipped the flagstones as the gun went awry. Jacob grasped the strap that secured the weapon to Adam’s body, wrenching him backward.

Adam heaved, jabbed a leg back, and caught Jacob in the knee. Even Talia, from her position on the roof, could hear the crack. But Adam couldn’t escape.

Custo raised his shotgun again, grim conviction on his face.

“No! You’ll hit Adam.”

Jacob brought Adam roughly up by the shoulders in a twisted lover’s embrace.

“There’s no other way.” Custo focused down the barrel.

“Brother mine,” Jacob said, grinning. He kissed Adam once, a teasing peck on the nose, then drew back, mouth widening, teeth extending.

Horror surged in Talia. Revulsion burst all of the floodgates she’d meticulously erected around her heart. All reservations dissolved in its wake. All care for life, and hope, and love evaporated in the anticipation of Adam’s death. If the wraiths and humanity wanted a massacre, she’d bloody well give them one.

Talia gulped a painful lungful of air, hardened her resolve, and screamed.

Shadowman grips the cold staff of his scythe, its blade pitiless as death and sharp as his grief. Shadows howl and roar as they surround him like great dark beasts of wind and fury.

Over the encircling snarl, a soul cries a high song of deepest terror. It is an Old sound brought up by a child’s throat in a composition of broken, dissonant notes summoning Death to a hunt.

Talia.

The scream rips through veils of Twilight and rends the bindings of his prison. Freedom. Shadow snaps at his heels, but they cannot follow him.

Through his child’s scream, he is born again into the world.

Day. Sunlight breaks on the cloak at his shoulders as he emerges onto the battlefield. Neither forest nor structure obstructs his view; Death was made for war.

Talia.

A host of men train their weapons on his daughter. Deathless
ones ruled by soulgnawing hunger slink toward their human prey. And beyond the fray, over the crest of the mountain, a demon, master of this chaos.

The snake who slipped by Death and into the mortal world while he was lost to Talia’s mother.

Demon! Harm my child and you will see what hell Death can wreak on Earth.

The demon opens a human mouth to laugh back at him.

A
scream shattered the air. Adam hoped it wasn’t his; if nothing else, he wanted to die like a man. He summoned his will and steeled himself for what was to come.

The high-pitched sound went on, burning through Adam’s head, but rendered, thank God, from a woman’s throat. His ear drums contracted. The noise, unending, reverberated through his body and shuddered his marrow.

Jacob staggered, his sick kiss stalled, his grip relaxed—

Yes!
Adam ducked out of Jacob’s embrace. Kicked back and connected with his chest. Adam dropped to his knees, dragging his rifle from where it had flapped uselessly at his shoulder, and pulled the trigger. The impact of the shots made a dimpled trail up Jacob’s torso, pushing him off balance, driving him to collide with the edge of the terrace and plummet over the ornate railing to the ground.

Brilliant light drew Adam’s eyes upward, to the top of the garage. To Talia.

He stumbled back in awe.

Her skin glowed with an ethereal inner radiance, brighter than the sun overhead, yet not painful to gaze at with bare eyes. Her hair whipped wildly around her. Her arms and fingers were outstretched with the effort to push the piercing sound out of her chest. Her soul-wrenching cry for help gripped him at his core.

“Angel,” Adam said.

“I think not,” Philip answered. He huddled at the wall, crossing himself. “Banshee, the herald of Death.”

The blue sky around her darkened and shredded. Silken azure edges snapped in a tornado of dark wind. Black wind. Out of the howling vortex, a man clawed, ripping at the grasping shadows with angry vehemence. He gripped a sickle. No, a scythe.

“Shadowman,” Adam murmured.

Death glanced down on Adam, as if he’d heard him. The cloak’s hood fell to Death’s broad shoulders. His eyes were tipped up, like Talia’s, but pulsing with violent violet. The black sheet of his long hair gleamed against shadowy skin. His arms lifted so that the cloak winged at his sides. If ever there were an angel of death—

On the rooftop, a wraith lunged with the stupid temerity to put hands on Talia. Bad choice.

As Death straightened, he twisted. His body uncoiled with a deadly swing, connected and lifted the wraith’s body as the blade cleaved. Dust flew from the sundered form. The remains fell in heaps of bone and leather. Adam’s heart clutched as Shadowman rounded on Custo, frozen in place by fear or shock, but Death passed him by to sweep his blade at two more wraiths, just reaching the roof. Their heads skipped as they rolled across the flat top, to plummet like stones on the soldiers below.

Still Talia screamed. The sound was a hot wire of terror. The soldiers fired on Death, bodies shaking with the report of their guns. Probably not a good idea either.

Shadowman’s scythe sliced through the air at the helicopter and cut its wraith pilot from the world. The helicopter careened into the trees with a red-black explosion that shook Segue.

“Fall back,” a man shouted.

The wraiths leaped from the roof to the grass and fled across the lawn, scattering and crushing the much slower soldiers, but Shadowman followed, a phantom riding the wind in their wake. The silver blade arced in a cold, colorless rainbow, and cut the monsters down.

Wraith bodies crumbled as Shadowman threshed. Shadowman, the answer to the bloodlust that beat at Adam’s temples. The sight went beyond powerful—it was fucking fun, and would have been more so if Adam himself could have wielded the weapon of their destruction. But he couldn’t have everything.

Maybe he could…

Adam ran to the edge of the terrace. He gripped the balustrade, peering on the grass for one particular monster.

Jacob sprawled at the foundation of the building, still incapacitated, but certainly regenerating.

“Here,” Adam called to Death. Death did not signify that he heard as he ranged over the grass like a giant crow.

“Shadowman,” Adam shouted.

Shadowman turned sharply, cloak fanning behind him.

“You missed one.” Adam gestured to Jacob. Emotion clogged his throat so that that his next words came out in a low rumble. “I beg you. Kill him.”

Death slid upward as if air were water. The scattered soldiers ran for the trees. Crushed bodies of others stained the earth. Some huddled on their knees, praying or incapacitated with fear.

Adam wasn’t concerned. Hell, he was elated, his heart about to burst. Shadowman only destroyed wraiths, who, for all intents and purposes, were dead already. The living he left alone.

Death spun his blade in a glittering circle, then darted downward.

All sound muted as Adam watched Death plummet toward his brother.

Plummet. And disappear.

Jacob raised a knee. Turned on his side.

Adam searched the sky. Empty. His eyes scoured the ground. Only bodies lay near Segue, some dead, and others who should be—Jacob—but were not.

“Shadowman!”

No answer.

Someone behind him wept in wheezy gulps. Gillian. The sobs were loud in the otherwise stillness of the moment.

Then Adam knew. The scream. It was gone.

Adam looked up to the rooftop of the garage. Custo knelt at the edge, holding Talia’s slack form.

“Is she all right?” Adam yelled up to him. Banshee? Angel? As far as he was concerned, they were the same thing.

“Passed out,” Custo called down.

“Wake her!” Adam’s throat was raw. He glanced down; Jacob was even now propping himself up on one elbow.

Custo took Talia’s chin. “Talia! Talia!”

Adam needed her. Now. To come so close to freedom and remain shackled to the monster…
No.
He bounded over to the ladder and climbed to the roof. He crouched by Custo, grabbed Talia by the shoulders and shook. Hard.

Six years’ worth of grief, frustration, and terror filled Adam’s mind. The time was now. The way was clear. She had to scream again. Jacob was going to die today if it killed Adam.

“She’s done enough,” Custo said.

“No,” Adam bit out. “She hasn’t.” She’d wake all right. He drew back his arm to slap her.

Custo caught his wrist. “Adam, she’s done. Get a hold of yourself.”

Adam fought his grip for a moment—she had to wake!—but the reproach in his friend’s eyes drained the impulse. What was he thinking?

He looked down at Talia’s too-pale face, flawless skin gleaming, her hair curling wildly around her.

Adam dropped his arm and closed his eyes, breathing deeply for balance. Remembering who he was. How could he even consider touching her in violence?

Lovely, bookish Talia. Hunted, terrorized. He’d promised to protect her.

Adam shuddered and opened his eyes. If he had waited this long to kill Jacob, he could wait a little longer. He had the means now, and that was what was important.

That is, if Talia survived the day. There was no way she could make it through the vents of the garage unconscious. “We better get inside before they regroup down there. Before Jacob climbs the wall.”

“You take Talia,” Custo said, shifting Talia’s body to Adam. “I’ll manage the others.”

Custo relinquished her carefully, but seemed relieved to let go of her, to let go of Death’s child.

“Okay,” Adam said. He wasn’t afraid of her. He’d been looking, praying, for Death for so long that he welcomed the chance to cradle her close—his means to Jacob’s end, his tool of vengeance, his reprieve from the burden of his family.

He took Talia in his arms. She was limp, pale, and cold. She needed care, food, and water. Responsibility settled on his shoulders like a well-worn yoke.

“No, wait,” he said. “Send the others on. You go with them and leave me the Diablo. I’ll follow shortly. Once you get them settled, meet me…”

Where? Everything was different now that they had Talia. There was no reason to hide, not when she could call on her dear old dad. Where then?

New York City, where it began. “…at the loft.”

Adam shifted her weight over his shoulder so that he could descend the ladder. The others darted up as soon as he hit bottom. Jim stood resolute.

“Jim, get going.” Adam waved Jim to the ladder and, glancing at the edge of the terrace below where Jacob lay, fingered his weapon.

“I’m staying,” Jim said.

“You’re alive by the narrowest of chances. Don’t push your luck. There’s no room in my car for three.”

“I’m not leaving Lady Amunsdale.”

“You haven’t seen her for a week.”

“We’ve had a banshee in residence,” Jim argued with a wave at Talia.

“So we have,” Adam answered. A banshee. A weapon. It was about fucking time.

“Talia!” a man’s urgent voice whispered.

Talia cracked a dry eye. Jim’s face filled her vision. A puff of slightly turned breath hit her face.

“Talia. You’re awake.”

She recoiled slightly. Blinked. Glanced around.

She was in Adam’s office, lying on the modern leather love seat opposite his desk. Papers were strewn on the floor. The mess was familiar, but she couldn’t place why.

Her throat was desert dry.

Jim looked furtively over his shoulder, toward Adam’s open office door. He pushed a water bottle into her hand. “Drink this.”

Her hand shook when she took the bottle. The fluid went down like liquid heaven.

“What happened?”

Jim leaned forward, restlessly. “You screamed, Death came. Listen, I need you to do something for me.”

I screamed—?
Talia remembered. She let the dev il into the world. The black demon with the red eyes. Her father. She had to admit that now, to herself and to everyone. Custo had reeled away from her. The soldiers fired in fear. Adam’s expression had been…different,
strange
as he looked up at her.

“I need you to call Lady Amunsdale.” Jim’s words came out in a rush. “We don’t have much time. Adam will be back any second. Can you call her for me? Please call her.”

“What are you talking about?” Talia shifted, but Jim was ahead of her, hoisting her complaining body into sitting position.

“You’re a banshee. You have some pull with Death. Maybe you can call her, get her to come back.”

“I’m a what?”

“Banshee. You know,
ahhhhhhhh.
” He raised his hands to his cheeks for emphasis. “See, there have been no sightings of Lady Amunsdale since you got here, and I…I just really need to see her. I want to talk to her.
For once.
Please.”

“I don’t understand—” Talia slid away from him.

“I brought you a book that will tell you all about it. I filched it just now from Philip’s library.” Jim pressed a dusty hardback into her hands. “But read it in the car, when you have time. Right now just call her. Just try. Just say…‘Lady Amunsdale, come out. I mean you no harm. Jim wants to talk with you.’ ”

He waited, a weird, desperate light in his eyes.

“It’s ridiculous. I don’t want to.” Talia pushed the book away.

“Jim, leave her alone.” Adam stood in the doorway, a pack on his back, keys in hand. His gaze hard with anger. A muscle twitched in his jaw.

Jim raised conciliatory hands. “I just wanted her to call Lady Amunsdale. Is it too much to ask to speak to her one
single time in my life? I’ve been tracking sightings and energy readings for years. I’ve been waiting so long to find her. To be with her.”

“We’ve all had to wait,” Adam said. “When this war is over, I’ll bring Talia back. We can try then.”

“The wraith war will never be over,” Jim whined. “Please. Can’t you just give me a moment?”

“Come on, Talia.” Adam held a hand out to her. “We’ve got to get going. Can you walk?”

Good question.

Adam pulled her to her feet. She didn’t want to know what he thought of her since her horrific performance outside, but she needed to get away from Jim.

“Think about it, Adam,” Jim said. “Lady Amunsdale could tell us things. Could tell you things like…like…what that asshole Spencer’s been up to. She is a
witness.
She’s been here—everywhere—all along. Make Talia call her.”

Adam’s expression shifted, his gaze sharpening with interest. He glanced at her. Jim had finally struck a chord.

Oh, no.
She shook her head. “It’s crazy.”

“It couldn’t hurt to try,” Adam reasoned. “And it could help.”

Talia backed away.

“Come on, Talia,” Jim said, his hands clasped together to beg.

Talia shook her head. “It’s not safe. I don’t want to let that…that dev il back into the world.”

“What dev il?” Adam dropped his pack on the floor.

“Uhhh—the one with the scythe? The one who killed dozens of people.” A sob gathered in her throat.
Say it,
an inner voice commanded. “My father, Shadowman.”

“Talia, he saved us. He’ll save the world.”

Adam was wrong. She stepped back again, hit the wall. “I
saw the bodies on the lawn. He’s a demon. Red eyes, vicious.”

Adam inclined his head. “I don’t know what
you
saw, but he looked damn beautiful to me.” He moved toward her. “And he seemed to have a good grasp of who was man and who was wraith. He only attacked the wraiths. It was the wraiths who killed the men down there, crushing them or using them to hide behind.”

But what about…“I saw him cut down Melanie, in my apartment at the university. A wraith had her and…and Death cut right through her.”

Adam shrugged. “Maybe she was dead already, I don’t know. But today Shadowman only killed wraiths. He’s no demon; I think he’s one of the good guys.”

“He’s Death!” My father. Which made her, by connection, worse than she’d ever feared.

“Exactly. And I, for one, am delighted that he is on our side. Will you try to call Lady Amunsdale or not? She might have information for all of us.”

“Please,” Jim added.

Talia looked from one to the other, swallowing hard. Jim, pining after a phantom, and Adam, twisted and tortured by his brother. They were out of their minds, and she was well ahead of them.

A banshee. What the hell was that anyway? Nothing good.

“You want me to scream again?” Her throat was too raw. “I don’t think I can.”

“Maybe just call her,” Jim put in. “We can try the scream after if we need to.”

Right. Easy for him to say.