But as long as Adam had that scream, he could win the war. Victory and vengeance were as easy as one breath of air.
“Why? Why risk that kind of exposure?”
“Talia is the only thing they want. She’s the only one who can make a difference.”
“I still don’t understand. Why don’t the wraiths just kill her and be done with it?”
“Good question.” Why not just silence the voice that can call Death? There had to be a damn good reason or things would have played out differently in West Virginia. They wanted her for something.
A soft sound behind Adam had his head whipping around.
Talia padded into the room on bare feet. She wore an oversize black T-shirt, braless judging by the twin tips peaking the front, and baggy gray sweatpants she’d rolled up to her ankles. His socks covered her slender feet, which he found both adorable and intimate. She shoved her feet back into her shoes. Two months on the run had obviously taught her a thing or two about being ready at all times. Habits die hard.
She fished the flash drive Adam had given her back at Segue out of her pants pocket and collected the discarded clothes on the floor. He caught her glancing at him from beneath the cover of her wet hair, but she shifted her gaze away again when she met his eyes, pretending to ignore his conversation with Custo. The woman wouldn’t win any Oscars.
“When you get here we will assess our available resources and locate the demon’s base of operations.” Then move in fast and strike.
Talia passed him again and found the stacked laundry/dryer unit behind a folding closet door in the hall to run a load. She returned to the room and rummaged in his backpack. After finding a book—where had that come from?—she set herself up on the sofa to read.
“How do you plan to do that with the New York office out of commission?”
“I have other sources.” Ghosts. Talia could call on the ghosts tied to New York and have them locate the demon for him. Witnesses everywhere, and they had to answer to her. Damn, it was almost too easy.
“I know all your sources,” Custo argued.
“Not these ones. Trust me. How long will it be ’til you get here?” Adam checked his watch. 2:23 A.M.
“Hour and a half, two hours, maybe.”
“I’ll be ready.” Adam ended the call and glanced at Talia.
No need to interrupt her reading just yet. She seemed engrossed, and well, he had no idea what to say to her anyway. We made a mistake warred with We have just enough time for another good go. Experience told him both approaches were very wrong.
Adam discarded both, electing instead to keep his mouth shut like a coward for the time being. He went to the bedroom, dressed, and then returned to the desk. He worked on his simulation, adding the unexpected support of SPCI to The Collective’s already worrisome resources. The projections the program generated made him sweat. In an abundance of numbers divided by geographic and industry-specific percentages, the computer was certain there was no hope.
He looked at Talia and knew different.
Still, he didn’t like putting a woman in harm’s way if he could help it. He’d have to be very certain of Talia’s safety.
She sat on the sofa facing the sprawl of the darkened city beyond the window, feet tucked under her, nose in a book. Her hair had partly dried in the time he’d been working, slowly brightening and coiling into loose curls over her shoulders. She’d scarcely lifted her nose since sitting down.
Book must be damn fascinating reading, because she hadn’t so much as glanced his way.
Better to do damage control now, before Custo arrived.
Adam stood and, twisting, cracked the strain out of his back and neck. As gritty as his eyes were, his body hummed as he took a seat opposite Talia.
“What’re you reading?” he asked in lieu of Are you okay?
Talia snapped the book shut and let it rest on her thighs. Lucky book.
“Jim gave it to me right before he asked me to call Lady Amunsdale. It’s a sort of encyclopedia of mythical figures, including an entry on banshees.”
Adam leaned forward in his chair. He caught the bright smell of shampoo and soap, still fresh on her skin. The sweet scent was probably thicker at her neck, just behind her ear, and darker still between her legs. He sat back again, scrubbing his scalp with his hands to get the flow of blood back up to where he needed it most. “What does it say?”
“Not surprisingly, the word banshee is Irish. The ban part means woman. And the shee part refers to fairy mounds, or the Otherworld.”
Talia’s tone conveyed an academic distance from the information she related, as if learning about her birthright were an intellectual exercise and not the personal discovery she’d been searching for all her life. Her act didn’t fool him. Adam knew that birthrights were a bitch—either you shouldered the burden until you passed it along to someone else, most often your children, or you were crushed beneath the weight of it. If Adam’s burden sat heavy, hers must be near intolerable about now.
She continued in her dry tone. “A banshee’s cry precedes death. Heralds death, in fact, which is in keeping with how it worked for me and Shadowman. One point of difference, however, is that banshees are associated with royal Irish families, which I am not.” She pressed her lips together, closed the cover, and tossed the book aside.
“Your mother was Irish. Perhaps her people can be traced back to royalty. Perhaps you’re a fairy princess.” Of course she was. He’d known it all along.
“Can I abdicate?” she laughed harshly, eyes finally watering. She blinked rapidly to clear them.
“Not just yet,” Adam answered. “I need you.”
Talia went so still that he reviewed his last words in his mind. I need you. What kind of a thing to say was that? It begged a follow-up question—needed her for what? Weapon or lover?
He cleared his voice, dodged the deeper question, and went for the obvious. “I think that becoming a wraith severs a person’s connection to Death. Your scream reinstitutes it.”
Talia shook her head. “I’m sure I screamed as a kid. Temper tantrums, roller-coaster rides, scary movies. Shadowman didn’t appear then.”
“I don’t think you were in the presence of a wraith, of death. I’ll bet you were surrounded by life.”
Her chin quivered. “I screamed when I got in that car wreck with Aunt Maggie. I saw Shadowman, my father, then. I have spent a long time wondering why I lived while everyone I’ve loved died.”
The reason seemed obvious, but Adam voiced it. “You had something important to do with your life. It wasn’t your time.”
“So what now? You take me to Times Square and I let it rip?” She laughed bitterly.
Reading the naked pain in her eyes, Adam filled with regret—not for the sex, not anymore—but for everything else. Everything that she’d endured, and yet she remained bright, intelligent, and strong. The woman was remarkable. She’d handled her burdens far better than he had handled his.
There was no way to spin what had happened between them. He owed her the truth.
She must have seen the shift in his eyes because she reached for her book again, opening it to a random page and tensing her forehead in deep concentration. “There are actually some very interesting folktales recorded here…”
“Talia.” When she didn’t lift her head, Adam grabbed the book and dropped it on the floor. Her hands, now empty and open, trembled. He filled them with his own and gripped.