Shadow Bound (5 page)

No resting. Head stays up.

The monster strode the alley’s length, pausing at the gated walkway leading to the apartment commons to sniff, then moved deeper into her corner. He pulled the mattress off the concrete wall, swaying over her position. His pant leg brushed her cheek.

She held her breath. If she were going to die, she wouldn’t need oxygen anyway. Breathe and die. Don’t breathe, maybe die. Every decision was much simpler when reduced to an exercise in logic.

The mattress toppled sideways, twitched aside as the monster strode by her, back to his position at the end of her alley.

Talia held herself upright, the black spots in her vision growing, obscuring sight. Her head full of static fuzz, she was going to throw up.

Okay, now breathe. In. Out. Again.

No way she could remain upright. Gravity, inertia, and
the last dregs of the flamingo sunset all conspired to lower her to the ground. But she kept her eyes open.

Just a little longer. Breathe.

Adam and Custo pulled up to a busy intersection. Cars rushed by with bright headlights, windows down, music blaring. The desert deepened with twilight as night-blooming flowers filtered dusky-sweet fragrance over exhaust. Custo parked along the street. Adam jumped out of the car while Custo listened to his mobile phone, face drawn in concentration as he waited for a detailed crime report for the neighborhood.

Adam took in the layout of the intersection. All the day’s untapped energy, anxiety, and tension transmuted into a certainty that lit a fire in his chest. She was here somewhere.

To the north, small single-story houses butted against tall cinder block walls. The houses broke off abruptly at what appeared to be an old strip of stores. A dirty gas station occupied another corner. To the east, an office building of four or five stories. And behind him stood an apartment complex. Large lettering on the side of the building read
MOUNTAINSIDE
.

It’s an apartment complex, man.
Dreadlocks was one cocky son of a bitch.

Adam waved Custo toward the entrance. “You find the super.”

Custo nodded and jogged down the broken sidewalk to the main entrance of the building.

Adam turned down a rear access road for a quick canvass of the area before the day’s light was completely gone. The single large building turned into four, arranged around a yellowing square of grass at the center. A long stretch of his legs took him down its length. The busy street hummed to his left, cars speeding though the intersection without slowing.
To his right, beyond a rusted, squealing gate, lay a black hole of an alley.

“Anyone there?” His breath suspended for thick moments, the sound of his own heartbeat dominating the pressure in his head. Nothing. He had to check it out in person, but he wished he’d brought a piece. The talk of demon feed made him edgy.

Adam moved into the press of blackness. “Hello?”

“Shhhh,” a voice hissed.

Adam’s eyes adjusted; the darkness thinned to heavy gray. In the litter of the alleyway, a young, filthy woman lay collapsed on the pavement. All eyes in a narrow white face.

Two months of searching, of studying her face in photographs so that he could be prepared for the moment of recognition. He knew every contour by heart. There was no mistaking the angled tilt of her glassy eyes. The curve of her jaw. The straight, thin line of her nose. Talia O’Brien.

The monster glided forward, closing the distance between him and his prey, a man ducking down the alley to help her.

The Good Samaritan was going to die. Talia had witnessed it many times since Melanie: The inhuman strength, the vicious teeth, the kiss. Then the dark, sick pull as the vital essence was ripped from a person.

She couldn’t let it happen, especially now at the end of everything.

A part of Talia stretched, not her lethargic body, but something deeper. The last bit of herself extended a lifeline to curl around the man’s form and mask his presence from the oncoming monster. To share the shelter of her cloak.

Her shadows enveloped then inundated him, his features snapping into focus. Dark hair, clipped short. Pale, intent eyes in an angular face. Vital body, tall and strong. Trim waist,
belted slacks. His polo was a perfect fit over a strong chest and shoulders.

And still more. This deep into her veils, her sight penetrated the surface of the man. He was lit inside with a blazing column of purpose and will. Light permeated every cell of his body with vibrant life and intelligent power.

Spirit.
Awe bloomed within Talia and clogged her throat. So beautiful. Too beautiful to be consumed by the oncoming horror.

Talia swallowed hard and tried again. “
Please
be quiet.”

“Talia O’Brien?”

Frustration closed her lungs. She couldn’t save him if he wouldn’t cooperate. Her shadows weren’t going to be enough.

Talia concentrated on her body. Flattened her palm on the hard concrete, pushed herself upright. Her head swam; the world rocked hard on its axis. She pulled a foot under her, took a deep, shuddering breath, and propelled herself forward.

Adam tried again. “Talia?”

He stepped forward and held his arms slightly to the side, palms open in the universal posture of peace and friendship. He didn’t want to scare her.

Talia darted forward out of her crouch and put a hot hand over his mouth before he could take a full breath of surprise.

“You’ve got to be quiet now.” Her voice was rough, barely audible. Urgent.

The darkness swallowed the alleyway again. He blinked hard, but his eyes wouldn’t clear. Wouldn’t focus. His senses were suddenly muted, except for the press of her hand at his mouth.

She pushed against him, and he allowed her to back him up. He tripped over alley debris underfoot, and a metallic
sound rang out, oddly distorted. Then he hit a hard plane—the wall of a building. He raised his chin to disengage her softly, without force. But she held fast, hand clamped over his mouth.

Footfalls shuffle-stepped on the pavement nearby. One or two people approached, no more. Another step, heavy with echo. Just one, then. Probably male.

Adam’s arm circled Talia’s waist. He kept his touch light and easy on her back. She was short and much too thin. Her body heat burned through her clothes as if he were holding on to a bolt of lightning. She smelled sharply rank but feminine. Probably hadn’t seen a shower in days.

He didn’t draw her in, but kept his hold possessive enough to let the other man know she was with him. Now that he had found her, there was no way he was letting her go.

“Here, kitty-kitty.” The man’s singsong voice doubled up and bounced off the buildings, menace lacing his words.

Adam’s gut twisted with understanding: Talia had been trying to warn him. The man was a wraith. A hungry hunter.

He needed a damn gun.

Cold hatred hardened into resolution, blocking all extraneous emotion. No room for fear or panic. Just action.

He yanked Talia hard against him and secured her body with a tight arm around her waist. With his other hand, he found her wrist and forced her hand away from his face.

She resisted, but it took little strength to bend her arm down to her side.

He put his mouth to her ear. “Stay behind me. I can’t protect you if you run.”

Couldn’t protect her in the dark very well either. Why didn’t the wraith attack? The dark wouldn’t have stopped Jacob for a moment.

“He’s a monster.” Her words exhaled across his jaw like a soft caress.

“I know,” he murmured. “I won’t let him touch you. We just have to get to my car.”

Adam shifted her weight and turned so that she pressed against the wall, safe behind his body. He faced the darkness, Talia at his back.

Glass crunched into the pavement. Close.

Adam slowly crouched down until he felt rough concrete under his fingertips. He felt around with his palm until his fingers hit smooth metal. He drew his hand along its hot length, identifying a riveted pipe.

“Kitty cat,” the wraith called. “There’s no way out.”

Adam stood, pipe gripped in his hand. He couldn’t stop the wraith for long. Not alone. Where the hell was Custo when he needed him? Didn’t matter. Adam was not about to fail now. Not when he was so close to finding his answers.

“He can’t see you. Use the dark,” Talia whispered from behind.

Her suggestion didn’t make sense. Not unless this wraith was somehow defective. Wraith senses far exceeded human ones. The woman didn’t know what she was dealing with.

Adam steeled himself. All he had to do was get past the wraith to the street. It would not attack in public and risk exposure. Street and light. Custo and the car. Safety.

He reached back to Talia with his free hand and found hers. He gripped it in a silent signal.
Stay with me.
As he stepped to the side, he pulled her with him, but her weight stayed at the wall.

Not a good time for her to resist. Force then. Adam traded her hand for her waist. He’d drag her if he had to.

Then the alley abruptly lightened as her body sagged into him, unconscious.

The wraith stood ten feet from them, broadly built and aggressive with an exaggerated grace. He was pale and fair,
his expression ecstatic, as if caught in a moment of rapture, anticipating a feed.

Adam let Talia fall in a heap on the ground and brought the pipe up.

The wraith whirled toward him and screeched loud and high like an ancient bird. Then he lunged.

Adam swung. Connected with a hard thump.

But too low. The pipe struck the wraith at his jaw. The impact stunned, but didn’t disable.

The wraith lashed out his arm. Knocked Adam in the chest.

Adam flew back and hit the building over Talia’s limp form. His lungs screamed as all the air suddenly burst out of his body, heart arresting for a moment of agony. He fell on top of her body, rolled, and sprang to the balls of his feet. He clenched the bar. Swung again. Slammed the pipe against the bridge of the wraith’s nose with a crack, then staggered back to shield Talia.

The wraith’s face was broken and bloodied, eyes sunken and turned, without vision until he could heal.

Keep moving,
Adam commanded himself. He dropped to all fours, pipe grasped in both hands, his body tabled over Talia.

The wraith lanced out blindly and hit the building where Adam had been standing, raining stucco plaster down on his back.

Adam tightened his grip on the pipe, throwing his weight and twisting to spear the wraith in the gut. The metal pierced with a sickening slide and stuck in the wraith’s ribs.

The monster screeched again. He caught Adam at the belt and shirt collar and heaved him off Talia. The shirt ripped with Adam’s weight, the cloth searing against his throat as it gave. The belt held fast and the wraith sent him spinning cockeyed back into the wall, headfirst.

Blinding pain bolted down Adam’s neck and through his jaw. His ears roared and salty blood coated his mouth. But the pile he landed on was soft. Talia, again.

Adam braced against the building and kicked back with his leg. Knocked the wraith off balance.

Two loud shots echoed out into the night.

Custo. Finally.

Physically subduing a wraith was absurd. They were too strong, regenerated too quickly to kill. Adam had learned that the hard way with Jacob a long time ago. At least the bullets would stun him momentarily, though.

The wraith crashed back into two tall plastic garbage bins. He flailed, ripped a lid off, and sent the cover flying against the building in a warped ricochet.

“I’ll take her to the car,” Adam called. His head pounded. Thick, warm moisture dripped into his right eye.

Custo responded by plugging the wraith with two more shots. The monster still twitched.

Adam cradled Talia to his chest and rounded the bend of the building. A motley group of people stared into the mouth of the alley. More than one held a phone open. To call for help or catch the fight on video?

Adam couldn’t think about the implications of the widespread panic that would follow wraith exposure now. The only thing that mattered was Talia.

The car waited down the street, beyond the gawkers. Adam shouldered his way through and limped toward the vehicle. He shifted her weight to open the back door, then gently laid her inside.

“Stay out of the alley,” Custo shouted to the gathering crowd. He burst through the group as Adam crawled in the back over Talia—
careful, now
—and yanked the door shut.

Custo got in the driver’s seat, jammed the key in the ignition, and sped away from the intersection.

“How bad is she?” Custo asked.

Adam wiped the blood from his forehead with his shirtsleeve. Stung, but he didn’t care. “I don’t know. Wraith didn’t touch her, but she’s burning up. She’s got heatstroke at the very least.”

“Hospital?”

Adam found the flutter of Talia’s pulse at her neck. He regarded her blonde hair, matted to stringy dun, and her overly thin face, smudged with grime. She’d obviously been through hell and hadn’t trusted her troubles to law enforcement. She’d have had a reason. The woman was nothing if not ruled by reason.

Two months missing. Two months hunted, more likely.

In the rearview mirror, red and blue police lights skated across Custo’s face.

Much better—safer—to get her back to Segue. A gamble, of course, but she’d survived this long already, she’d just have to hold out a little longer.

“Airport,” Adam decided. “We’ll see what we can do for her there before takeoff. But we can’t take too long. That wraith won’t be alone.”

T
ALIA
woke to a blinding brightness. Unforgiving hands pushed her down into a cruel bathtub of water filled with invisible icy knives. She fought, but the hands would not release her, and the blades speared ever deeper into her muscles.

Shivers racked her body in mean waves, and her heart galloped like a runaway horse, tripping on her chest and beating her deeper into the water.

A face leaned over, the overhead light shining like a solar halo around his head.

“Dr. O’Brien,” a low, male voice said. “You have heatstroke. We’re trying to bring your body temperature down.”

Heatstroke? That was a lie. She was freezing.

She cowered back and squeezed her eyes shut, intensifying the throb in her skull.
They can’t find you in the dark.
She gritted her teeth, but they still rattled in her head.
Please don’t let them find me.

Her body knotted, clenching in her calves and at the small of her back. Her clothes, heavy and twisted, seemed glued to her skin. A sound echoed out. A cry building to a scream. She bit her lips—no screams, no dark devil—and grasped at the arms that held her.

“Patty says she’ll be cramping up pretty bad. She says we need to massage her legs and calves,” another said.

“Then get in here and hold her, so that I can,” the first answered.

The shape of a man crept low next to her.

Her stomach spasmed; she choked, felt herself abruptly lifted, and then she vomited over the side of the tub.

“Damn,” the second man said under his breath.

They settled her back in the water. A hard bar of an arm fell across her chest while merciless hands stroked deep into the muscles of her calves. Hurt. Bruised. The hands moved up to her thighs.

Strange hands on her body.
No!
She kicked again. A backlash of water swamped her.

“Settle down, Dr. O’Brien. You’re going to be okay. You need to drink a little. Can you do that for me?” The first voice again.

Something skimmed her lips. A straw. Her tongue felt too big to work it right. A splash of sour, sweet fluid hit her mouth and mingled with the acid of her vomit. Made her choke and cough.

“That’s it. Just a little more.”

She tried, but her shakes were too bad.

“More,” the voice commanded, losing its kindness.

She wanted to cry, but she did as she was told. Took in a deep drink.

“Watch her temperature,” the other man said. “We don’t want it to drop too low too fast. That’s supposed to be bad.”

A hand pressed on her forehead. Lingered there long enough for her to sense a well of great strength within its bearer. Then it was gone. “Still feels hot to me, but the ice water screwed with my hands. Did Patty say how long to keep her in the tub?”

“Until her temp comes down.”

Another hand touched to her head, too light and brief for her to sense anything. “I think she’s better.”

“Okay. Let’s get her up and her clothes off. Go get me something to wrap around her. Nothing heavy. Pull the sheet off the bed.”

The first man took hold under her arms and hauled her out of the water to stand dripping on the floor. In her clothes.
Strange.
He knelt before her, working the button on her cut-off jeans, peeling them downward, and shifting her weight so she could step out. He paused at her panties, but then stripped those down, too.

Mortifying, but she shook too much to do anything about it. She glanced away from his ministrations and got a brief impression of a small bedroom, spare and utilitarian. Smelled like a garage.

“Scissors,” the man stripping her called.

A sudden sob escaped her. Her weight swayed forward and she dropped her hands to the man’s shoulders.

A warm arm went up around her waist to steady her. His hand, hot on her waist, branded her with a sense of his strength and purpose. Cued a sensory memory of that very same arm turning her in darkness so that her body was sandwiched—shielded—by his and the wall of a building. The monster not three paces away…

Scissors started up her shirt. They parted her bra, too, which didn’t make any sense because the clasp was in the back. Then he shrugged the sodden fabric off her shoulders like a jacket.

A deep freeze wafted over her shoulders as a white sheet billowed open and swaddled her. The man lifted her off her feet and gently placed her on a hard chair.

“Drink,” he said.

She complied. The sour fluid made her stomach roll.

“Did you ever find a thermometer?” he asked over his shoulder.

“No. Not part of the first-aid kit.”

The hand went heavy on her forehead again. “Is the plane ready?”

“Should be, yes,” the other answered. “The doctor will be a few more minutes.”

Plane?
The straw hit her upper lip.

“Drink,” the man commanded, again.

She pulled some fluid into her mouth.

“What is this?” Her throat felt raw, voice scratchy. Speaking took too much effort.

The man crouched down near her feet. His eyes were gray-blue, like the ocean, but steady and intent under dark brows drawn together in concentration. An angry abrasion pebbled with scabs crossed his forehead below a short crop of dark hair. He had tan skin, lined slightly at the outer edges of his eyes, but not with laughter. It was a serious face, handsome in its symmetry and lines, but tight with care, disquiet, and trouble.

“It’s just water and sugar.” His voice was back to kind, its low timbre soothing and warm.

“Lime Gatorade,” the other one amended.

“Talia, I’m Adam Thorne. This is my friend, Custo Santovari. We’ve been looking for you for a long time.”

A million questions seeped through her confusion. They hurt almost as much as her body. But one superseded them all and was worth the energy it cost to form the words.

“Am I crazy?”

He smiled. “No. The world’s gone crazy, but you’re just fine. It took an amazing amount of courage to elude the wraiths for so long. You’re safe now. I won’t let anything touch you.”

Adam stooped and lifted her. Her body pressed against his chest, an arm pinned uncomfortably tight between them. He smelled good—a hint of citrus coming off his jaw, darkened by the labor of the day.

At her hip, wetness spread as the dry sheet absorbed water from his clothes.

Down a narrow hallway. Concrete floors. Long, fluorescent tubes running overhead. Then out into the night across a tarmac to a small plane, white stairs folded down as if awaiting the president or vacationers from an island getaway.

Adam didn’t pause at the stairs, but powered up them, his heart drumming against her side with the extra work of her weight. He maneuvered her inside, passed the bulk of a wall and through a door to tuck her into a buttery leather seat.

She was hot, sweat prickling at her scalp, and she couldn’t quite seem to catch her breath. He reclined the seat to engage a footrest. A drink appeared at her side from an attendant she had not noticed on boarding. The cabin both spun and tilted at the same time.

Adam brought the glass to her lips. “Easy now.”

Cool fluid filled her mouth, splashed her throat, and dripped down her chin. The cabin lost its color and dimmed. Her darkness rolled over her. Claimed her again.

“Where’s the goddamned doctor?” Adam shouted.

She reached out blindly for something to hold on to, desperate to keep from drowning. She found Adam, his strength an anchor in the storm of shadows shuddering around her. And beyond their deep, layered depths: Glowing red eyes. Black wind. The devil lurking in the darkness.

Adam watched as Talia descended into a series of tremors, black irises swallowed by dilating pupils.

He dropped the glass he held to her lips and found it again when his knee crushed the broken shards as he knelt to restrain her hands, striking out in clumsy defense at imagined attackers. The cabin went black, lights dimming as the sound of the engine distorted to a hiss, then roared back to life.

Shit. One emergency at a time, please.

Adam fought through the dark to grip Talia’s wrists so that she didn’t harm herself. The lights flickered back on. Good.

He peered down into her eyes, willing her condition to stabilize. “Help’s coming. You’re going to be all right. Stay with me, Talia. Just hold on.”

Her trembling abated, breath ragged, pulse wild under his fingers. Skin burning again.

Behind him, the plane’s door thumped closed as the handlebar engaged to lock for flight. Adam glanced over his shoulder. Custo accompanied a short Asian man bearing two large satchels marked with a red cross and a middle-aged woman holding another.

“She just had some sort of a seizure,” Adam informed them.

Talia shuddered again under his arms, but he held fast. He caught the moment her lids closed over the whites of her eyes. And—
damn it—
the lights of the airplane flickered into darkness as the engine whined again.

“Doctor!” Adam barked, then said more quietly, “It’s okay, Talia. Hold on. Help is here.”

But help didn’t arrive. The cabin of the plane remained blackened while Talia trembled uncontrollably on the seat. Adam’s heart thudded as he tried in vain to control and comfort her simultaneously.

“Custo!” No answer. Adam couldn’t see a damn thing in the darkness. Where the hell was the doctor? Where the hell was Custo?

Securing a new plane, Adam hoped. This one was obviously not fit for flight.

Talia’s tremors subsided until only her chest hitched in shallow hiccups. Adam found her hot cheek and brushed away the twisted strands of hair that covered her face. Her
chin quivered under his fingertips as she wept without tears.

Adam understood. Between the constant terror of the wraith’s pursuit and her current physical condition, Talia would need considerable time and care to return to health.

“You’re safe with me, Talia. Just rest. Everything is going to be fine.”
I hope.

Adam’s eyes slowly adjusted to the dark until he could just make out the shape of her face condensing into solid form. Her skin gleamed against the backdrop of shadows. Downright ghostly. Disturbingly so. Her gaze sought his, the set of her eyes unusually slanted, and she seemed to relax. The cabin lightened further.

Her features and coloring were a study in contrasts. He found the combination interesting. Strangely so. She reminded him of Jacob, perfect in some otherworldly way and yet, not. But it was the simultaneous lightening and darkening of the surroundings with her seizures that jarred him. Coincidence?

The nurse and doctor rushed forward and dropped their bags on the floor. Adam drew back, knees smarting from glass, to allow room for them to work.

No. The concurrent return of Talia’s lucidity and the shift in their environment from mute darkness to light could not be denied. The same damn thing had happened with her in the alley when darkness had blotted out the stars, the light from the street, even the glow from the apartment windows above. The wraith approached, and what had she said?
Use the dark.

The wraith had not attacked until Talia had passed out, when the darkness receded.

Talia’s gaze sought Adam, her oddly tipped eyes looking to him for assurance. He forced himself to smile and nod:
You’re going to be okay, now.

As Adam glanced out the window, he was surprised to find the plane had taken off during the blackout without incident. Adam lowered into a seat across the aisle from Talia and her doctor, his mind blazing through the implications.

Talia hadn’t altered the environment, only his perception of the environment. Altered the wraith’s perceptions in the alley, too.

Handy, that.
No wonder the wraiths were so determined to fi nd her.

Whatever had happened, the event was localized to her immediate area. The plane and its captain were unaffected, taking off, business as usual.

“Did that scare the shit out of you, too?” Custo put a hand to the back of his neck.

“I think we’ll be okay,” Adam said. “Talia’s doing it.”

“You can’t be serious.” Custo dropped into the seat opposite Adam.

Adam continued his thoughts aloud. “The dark. The strange sounds. She’s doing it somehow. I figured the wraiths were after her because of the Shadowman mention in her paper, but maybe it’s something more. She’s not normal.”

“Wraith?” Custo’s gaze shifted to Talia’s supine body.

Adam took in her white face, the deep circles under her eyes.

“No. She’s seems to be having a typical response to the extreme heat. Frankly, I don’t know what she is. We may have stumbled onto something here that will finally give us some leverage against the wraiths.”

The idea made him both cautious and excited, as if he had just found a rare butterfly in an urban jungle. He dropped his gaze to the floor. He needed time to think events through. To disregard all his conclusions and open himself up to new ones.

He took a deep, steeling breath. “But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I want all the information there is on her. I want
friends, professors, neighbors questioned. I want birth records, medical records, report cards. Anything and everything.”

“We have a good start already from our missing-persons search. I’ll go back further, dig deeper,” Custo answered. “And for chrissake, when the doctor is done with Talia, make sure to have him take a look at you. You look like hell.”

Gray. The perfect color. A little darkness, a little light. Talia was comfortable here.

The wind whispered a nonsense of soft, punctuated
s
’s. “…she’s stable. Sleeping soundly…”

Talia opened her eyes. She lay in an unfamiliar twin bed, covers folded across her chest and tucked under her arms. The walls beyond were painted a soft yellow, unadorned. A bare table stood at the foot of the bed. No windows.

She glanced down at the shape of her body. It seemed foreign to her, a long and shallow mound under a light blanket. A clear tube tethered her to a bag of fluid in her peripheral vision.

Beep.
Her eyes flicked over.
Beep.
A monitor of sorts displayed a line dancing with sharp peaks and valleys.
Beep.