“I’m off to my lab,” Patty said, lifting her own plate and breezing to the door. “Good night, all.”
“ ’Night,” Talia said. Philip raised a hand in farewell.
Talia pretended not to see Philip as he flicked a glance in her direction and back to Adam. A question.
“She’s okay,” Adam answered, raising those gray eyes to hers. “In fact, she’s single-handedly turned our work upside down in the space of eight hours.”
“Oh?” Philip raised a bushy eyebrow at her.
“I’ll brief you on it tomorrow, once I’ve thought through everything. I’m having trouble keeping up at the moment.” Adam smiled woefully.
Philip set his mug on the island. “Well, you’ll have to try, because I found something as well.”
“Of course you did.” Adam had lifted his own sandwich, but now he lowered it to his plate. “Let’s have it. I’m going to have a sleepless night anyway, might as well have it all at once.”
Talia hoped whatever Philip found had nothing to do with her. “It’s getting late,” she said. Better to make her escape now. She slid off the stool.
“Please stay,” Adam said. “I have a feeling I’ll want your perspective.”
Talia felt his gaze on her, but she didn’t meet it. She looked at Philip, her uneaten sandwich, the steam lifting from her cup of tea, anything but Adam.
“Perhaps she should go. My information is personal,” Philip said.
“I trust her,” Adam answered. His tone was light, but still managed a weight that brooked no further argument.
Talia’s heart clenched. He had to be making things even—a personal revelation for a personal revelation. Tit for tat. A way to keep working together when he knew too much about her. She appreciated the gesture, but she really wanted to be in her room.
“So it’s like that. Good for you,” Philip said. “All right then.”
Talia’s head snapped up. Like what? She glanced over at Adam, waiting for him to correct Philip’s mistaken assumption, but he didn’t.
Philip ignored her distress, too, moving on. “I was in England, speaking to a modern druid elder about death rituals. He was a scholar as well, and our discussion turned theoretical. We touched on the ancient Anglo-Saxon custom of wergild, in which a person is required to pay a sum for the wrongful death of a family or clan member to prevent a blood feud.”
“You think I would take money for my mom and dad? For Jacob?” Adam pushed his plate away from him without taking a bite.
“No, Adam,” Philip said, crumpling a napkin in his palm. “Listen. And think. We spoke of wergild as compensation for a loss. An attempt at reestablishing a balance between two parties. And then we compared it to vengeance, a life for a life.”
“That’s something I understand.”
Talia glanced at Adam and recalled the bloodlust that tainted him. The dark desire to put an end to Jacob that went beyond justice to murder.
Philip ignored the change. “The idea behind both concepts is that there must be an accounting, a ledger in the hearts and histories of a family. As if accepting a sum or taking a life will fill the void of the loss of the loved one.”
“It can’t fill the void, but it can make things even,” Adam said.
“No. It does not. What you get is a deficit of two.”
“Then both are at an equal loss.” Adam took a deep drag on his beer.
“And how does this loss serve the memory of the loved one?”
“It doesn’t,” Adam said, shifting on his stool.
Talia kept her gaze carefully oblique, trying to respect his obvious discomfort with distance.
“Vengeance is selfish,” Adam continued. “I’ve never tried to hide that.”
“Ah,” Philip said. “Now we get to the heart of it. Adam, here is my question for you. Would you trade your claim to vengeance to set your brother free?”
Talia watched the muscle twitch in Adam’s jaw. It was a hard question, an impossible, painful question, especially after learning that Jacob had chosen his current state. Jacob had chosen to take the lives of his parents. He had reduced Adam’s world to a haunted hotel with a group of mad scientists. Maybe she should say something. Change the subject.
Seen any naked pictures of me today?
“Go on,” Adam said, his voice thin with strain.
Philip tilted his head. “As we spoke, this elder, he made a mistake. He did not say ‘a life for a life.’ He said, ‘a life for a death.’ ”
Adam frowned. “Why can’t you just say what you mean? If you have an answer, let me have it. Don’t play games with me.”
“I’m not playing games. This is far beyond games. I meant exactly what I said. A life for a death. Would you give up your life to teach Jacob how to die?”
“Is that possible, or are you philosophizing a bunch of bullshit?”
“I don’t know. I hope it is possible. I have found a druid rite dedicated to death. A blood rite to the Others to end a scourge. It requires a voluntary human sacrifice. What if the rite is literal? What if a life is required to end ongoing death? It makes sense to me. It is a solution that has symmetry. The account comes into balance when you pay for a death with a life.”
“I die, Jacob dies?”
“That is oversimplifying, but yes.”
Adam sat back in his chair. “But there are more wraiths out there. Thousands. What about all of them?”
The old man’s hands shook as he raised his mug. “I guess it would require…”
“People are not going to line up to die for wraiths. Hell, I don’t want to die for a wraith, not even my brother.”
“Of course not.”
Adam stood abruptly; his stool tottered. “And more are being created every day. Someone or something out there is changing people, and I have to find out what. I can’t let that continue.”
“You asked me to find a way to end Jacob. I think I have. Something similar must have happened in the past, and a way was found to end it. It’s horrible, yes. But the alternative is horrible, too.”
If Adam heard him, he did not acknowledge it.
“I have to stop the source first, even if it is fueled by revenge. Then I will see to my brother.” Adam paced the length of the island. Tension rolled off him in such great waves that Talia stood as well, reaching for shadows.
Philip put a hand up in reconciliation. “It does not have to be now. Live your life, and when you are ready to pass, then end it for you both at the same time.”
“What if something happens to me in the meantime? A car accident? Illness?”
Philip shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know. Well, I don’t know either. Six years and I don’t know anything. How much more is that monster going to cost me?”
“Adam…”
“Screw it. Jacob has been trying to kill me for a while now, and it seems like he is going to get his way.” Adam stalked from the kitchen, the darkness of the connecting rooms breaking around him.
Talia glanced at Philip, who had lifted his sandwich again.
He looked over at her. “Are you going to go after him or not?”
Talia startled. Why me? He was the one who’d dropped this bombshell on Adam. Shouldn’t he be the one to make sure Adam was okay?
“Pretty girl like you ought to know what to do. Go on now.” Philip took a bite of his sandwich.
Horrible old man, insinuating…
Talia glanced into the darkened rooms beyond the kitchen. She could see Adam perfectly. He strode through the adjoining rooms toward the double doors to the terrace. His broad shoulders were visibly tense, his gait long and fast. If she were he, she’d want to get out of here, too.
“Go on,” Philip said. “I’ll clean up.”