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.
THIRTEEN
THE 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.