As soon as Talia reached the dais and turned, Zoe spoke. “For some time now we’ve all been aware of a growing threat. A demon has escaped into our world. He calls himself the Death Collector, because that is what he does, collect deaths. In so doing, he creates monsters of men. They can’t die, but feed on people to keep themselves from devolving into ravening animals. Abigail’s been promising an end will come. Well, the end is here.”
Talia watched as Zoe’s gaze slipped briefly to Adam. What were they up to?
“May I present to you a princess of the fae, daughter of Lord Death, Talia O’Brien. Talia, if you’d like to say something.”
Wha—? Talia looked with alarm at Zoe. There were no secrets here.
Adam cleared his throat. “Talia is recovering from an injury at present and can’t speak. But I would like to say thank you for your hospitality. For all the help you’ve given over the past day or so. As for the monsters out there, the wraiths, we have a plan and are doing everything that we can to stop their spread.”
The gathering applauded.
Talia watched Adam turn to Zoe. “Can we have some music? Something slow. I’d like to dance with Talia.”
Zoe nodded, looked thoughtful for a moment, then stepped to the side to whisper into the ear of someone just offstage.
Adam took Talia’s hand and led her to the dance floor. Her breath quickened as the crowd parted. The gathering circled as Adam led her to the center of the space.
“A little bit of shadow, please,” Adam asked her loud enough for everyone to hear. “No more hiding. Show them how you glow.”
His words, coupled with the warmth in his eyes, did, indeed, light something in her. She bid the shadows to fall lightly on the room as the deep thrum of a bass guitar, beating like a heartbeat, signaled the start of their song.
Adam’s arms went around her. Everything was going to be okay. The way they fit together so perfectly it just had to be. No demon or monster could triumph against anything so wonderful. Not when she’d finally found the answers she needed. The connection she needed.
The melody line of the slow song skipped over the rhythm, keening of haunting love. Adam stroked a hand up her back to rest on the skin at her shoulder, his fingers in her hair, his body moving slowly with hers.
“I’m going to have to take off for a while,” he murmured.
Talia held her breath, her heart contracting with the falsehood she sensed in him. She had half a mind to confront him with it. But what would he think of her? Would he pull away at last?
“I’ve just got to do some legwork, and then I will be back,” he said, his tone placating as if he knew she’d object.
“Can’t you wait until this is over? I can come with you,” Talia whispered. Please let me come with you.
“I have to speak with some informants. They’re cagey. They won’t talk to me with anyone else there.”
Another lie. So be it.
Talia raised her chin and confronted him with her last secret. “You might as well know…I can feel what you feel. Another one of my freakish gifts.”
His brows came together, but he didn’t release her.
She continued, “You’re lying to me. I know it. My whole body is screaming lie. Ever since we went after Custo, you’ve been different. Closed off.”
“You feel what I feel.” Adam grazed her forehead with his lips. “That makes sense. I knew you could see through me, I just didn’t stop to think why.”
“I should have told you—”
“Shhh. It’s too late for regrets. What am I feeling now?”
Talia swallowed hard, let him turn her on the dance floor. “Grief.”
“Custo—” Adam started. Talia felt him take a deep breath against her body. “Custo shouldn’t have died like that. Tortured and broken.”
Talia leaned back to look Adam in his eyes. “His death was not your fault.”
Adam glanced away. “He was at my place, following my instructions, fighting my war. I may not have taken his life, but I sure as hell put him in the line of fire.”
“He was fighting my war,” Talia said. She could not explain the weight of responsibility she felt over Custo’s death. If she’d just mastered her differences sooner, perhaps both he and Patty would still be alive.
“The world’s war, then,” Adam said. “The point is, he’s gone. I’ll get past it, but not until the demon is destroyed. In the meantime, I’ve got to work. There are some things I have to do alone. Set in motion. Later, you can help me scout out a new place for your convalescence. Somewhere with a little more privacy.”
Another lie, but carried with such sweet love that she had to let it go.
The side of his mouth lifted in a kind of half smile. She’d have to settle for that, though she didn’t like it.
“Now will you just dance with me?” Adam pulled her close again, not waiting for her answer.
Talia wound her arms around him tightly to keep him as close to her as she could, while she could. The melody soared higher to its climax, as if with hope, but the words were about loss. About sundered love.
What did Zoe know about the future to select such a song for her first dance with Adam?
“I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” Adam murmured, feathering a kiss across her lips. He led her from the floor.
Talia caught his surreptitious glance at Zoe when they returned to the chair at Abigail’s side.
Zoe obviously knew plenty, and if Talia had to drown her in shadows to get some answers, she was going to do it. Adam was going nowhere without her.
NINETEEN
ADAM emerged from the dark fete into a muggy New York City night. Above him, a blocky road of glittery sky led through a concrete and glass corridor. The urban smells of stale exhaust, dank gutters, and a life mix of alcohol, food, and metal layered the city’s vital, industrious air. He breathed deeply, taking it all in.
He was glad he was going to end the war at night. Night, like death, was the conclusion of one thing and the beginning of another. Night cast the world in shadow, and therefore, night was Talia’s time. He headed for the deepest falls of darkness to be close to her as he headed toward death.
Adam kept to the alley and zigzagged through the laundry of an adjacent building north of Amaranth to cut across to Fourteenth Street.
No point in trying to track the ship Abigail called the Styx. Adam didn’t trust his sources anymore, and instinct told him that he could accelerate a meeting with the Death Collector if he went through personal channels.
As he walked, he dialed his parents’ number, the number to the picture-perfect family home in the Hamptons where the nightmare began.
Jacob’s intervention.
Punching the combination of numbers released the memory in the box again. Sounds, images, smells escaped to the surface of his consciousness: Jacob’s distended jaw widening. His inhuman teeth. Dad’s tumbled malt whiskey, its peaty smell permeating his study. Jacob’s effortless clutch and sick kiss. Mom’s piercing scream—Adam could still hear it in the back of his mind.
Never in the six intervening years did he think it would end like this.
The phone warbled at his ear. If there were a God in heaven, Jacob would pick up.