But she couldn’t go back. How could she live with the knowledge that the bump in the night might just be real? That what she saw might be real? She’d be scared every minute. Going back to her apartment, marrying Ty, and having kids with all this in the back of her mind was impossible. She couldn’t even imagine that life now.
She needed to be here. The place, the people, even the magic . . . she’d never be able to shake them. Where she fit in the scheme of things was now the driving question.
The scattered Post-its noted each probable “fact” she’d accumulated. There was no order to her system, and she liked it that way. The happenstance disorganization of her notes allowed her to make unexpected connections that neat lines and categories would not allow. Right now, “mean girl ghost” overlapped with “superhot Khan.” Why did the ghost hate him so much? And north of that, “Talia,” whom Khan had said killed the wraiths’ maker. But hadn’t he also said back at the warehouse that he and he alone was responsible for the wraith disease? Didn’t make sense. She rearranged the notes. Put “Khan” next to “Custo.” Now there was a combo. Would Custo be able to read Khan’s mind? Something told her Custo had better not try.
A soft knocking sound had Layla crumpling the note in her hand, her heart leaping. She held her breath. She didn’t think she could take any more today.
The knock sounded again. Still soft. Tentative.
Someone was at the door. A ghost wouldn’t bother to knock, a wraith would bust in, and Khan would simply step out of the shadows.
Layla glanced at the clock. 1:23 a.m. The strange place obviously kept strange hours. She crawled off the bed, scattering notes on the floor, and tiptoed to the small living room of her Segue suite. All quiet. The one-bedroom apartment was lovely—fireplace, flat-screen TV, comfy couches in warm, welcoming tones. It had every possible comfort except peace of mind.
She approached the door and put an eye to the peephole. The warped figure of a woman, white blond hair in a loose ponytail, was moving away down the hall.
Talia. Had to be.
Layla jerked open the door.
Talia turned. She was midway down the long corridor to the elevator. “I’m so sorry if I woke you.”
Her voice was like her knock: soft, tentative, kind. Layla shook her head to say, No, I was still awake, but the words themselves were caught in an incredible tightening of her throat. The late-night hush of the hall roared in her ears. Her sight wavered with the vertigo of an out-of-body dream. Talia.
“I saw your light and thought maybe . . .”
All Layla could do was nod. Yes, any time. I’ve wanted to talk to you for so long.
Talia approached, a nervous half smile winking in her eyes. Khan’s eyes.
Seems like forever. Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you. Layla’s mind reeled. Talia blurred in her vision and Layla fought to swallow an unreasonable sob.
“I’m Talia Thorne. Mind if I come in?” Talia’s tone had a note of apology. “The days get so crazy around here that we might not have a moment alone tomorrow.”
Layla swiped at her tears, snuffling, and trying to laugh at herself. “Don’t know what’s come over me.” She held the door wide. “Please, come in.” Talia was so pretty. So very pretty. Her eyes—they were more exquisite than she had ever imagined. And she was here. Right now. Layla gestured to the kitchenette. “Can I get you anything?”
Talia’s smile grew. “I’m good, thanks. And I only have a minute. The babies are restless tonight. I just wanted to say hi and introduce myself. Couldn’t wait until morning.”
All the questions Layla had stored in her mind about the wraiths and Segue and Thorne Industries became jumbled in her spinning head. This was the interview of her life, and all she wanted to do was cry. And hug a strange woman. And cry some more. What was the matter with her?
“I hear you’ve had a big day. Why don’t you sit down?” Talia made a show of glancing around. “Every light’s on in the place, so I expect you’re as terrified as I was my first night here.”
Layla lowered herself onto the red sofa that faced the small fireplace. “Scared out of my mind.”
Talia laughed. “You’ll get used to it. The east wing isn’t haunted, so you should be able to rest easy here. West wing, on the other hand . . . well, it stays quiet when I’m around. Ghosts don’t like me much.”
“The little girl ghost doesn’t like me much either.”
“Then we already have something in common. Why don’t we find out what else?” Talia took a seat next to her, her brow furrowed, then leaned over to pull something from Layla’s pant leg. She lifted a Post-it. “What is Custo?” she read.
Layla held her breath. She didn’t want her story to break the moment. Her story didn’t matter at all. This was what was important; she knew that now. Not some stupid story. Talia.
“An angel,” Talia answered. “And I mean that literally. As in from the Hereafter. Don’t let his rough edges fool you.”
Angel. Talia’s answers were just as absurd as Khan’s were about magic. About Shadow. How could she believe? Considering the day, how could she not?