Khan sensed Layla’s soul light above, moving briskly. He’d intended to push her, whether she was frustrated or not. She wasn’t a weak woman, and they had so little time. Kathleen had taught him how each beat of time was precious.
But he hadn’t intended to hurt Layla, and though he tried, he couldn’t fathom the turn of her mind that had sent her fleeing from him. It wasn’t his claim on her. That had only shocked her. And he knew, though she might not admit it to herself, that she was intrigued and aroused by him. He had only to stoke that fire, and she would be his.
So what had gone wrong? She’d come back to Earth for Talia, so rediscovering her connection to her daughter should only be joyful. An end to her loneliness.
He didn’t understand. Mortal men had declared women’s minds a mystery. He agreed. Perhaps Talia could shed light in his darkness.
The elevator doors slid open. A long, quiet hallway stretched before Layla, the rug a classic red, beige doors with white trim off to each side. Crap. Which floor, which door would lead to Zoe?
She stepped out and knocked on the first one. Waited. No answer. Knocked again. Somebody was going to open up or she’d kick it in. She rapped again, harder. Waited.
Down the hallway, a door opened. A woman leaned out in a bathrobe with a towel turban on her head. “Can I help you?”
Yes. Layla strode over. She wanted a peek in the woman’s room. “I’m looking for Zoe Maldano.”
The apartment had the same neutral furnishings as Layla’s own, though it was cluttered with framed photographs and papers. A coat was thrown over the arm of the couch. The place was lived in, nothing unusual. The woman herself was damp from a shower. The lines on her face put her in her forties. Brown eyes.
“Zoe is on the fifth floor.”
“Which room?”
The woman held out a hand, but her expression had turned wary. “I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met.”
Layla smiled. “Oh, I’m Kathleen O’Brien, Talia Thorne’s long-dead mother.”
“Is that supposed to be funny?”
“Hilarious,” Layla answered, then strode to the elevator again. Fifth floor, this time.
“You’ve got to go easy on her,” Talia was saying. “You just can’t blurt this stuff out. It has to be handled carefully.” She threw her hands up in frustration and paced to the other end of the couch, where Adam was sitting on the arm. From him, Khan felt her draw strength; her frustrations eased somewhat.
“She came back for you,” Khan said. “And she found you. That should make her happy.”
But he understood what his daughter meant. Some things took time and some things were best left unsaid. One glance in the wide mirror over a dining table was sufficient to illustrate the problem. His daughter, like every other mortal, had shaped his appearance based on her conception of Death. For her, he was a man of impenetrable darkness, lacking any pigment of any kind, except for his eyes, which glowed red in the reflection. A demon man in a cloak. Still, after all this time.
“She’s overwhelmed and confused,” Talia argued.
“She knows me. On every level but consciousness, she accepts me.” It was consciousness that concerned him most.
“Then court her.”
“There is no time.” Not when he had to search for the devil as well. The creature should be near Segue already, setting her traps.
“You don’t have a choice.”
Adam put an arm around his wife, easy in his affection. “You want me to go after her? Do a little damage control?”
From another room, a babe let out a piercing wail. Talia fetched him, and returned, bouncing the infant on her shoulder with a shhh, shhh, shhh.
Khan had seen his daughter’s children before, little bright lights full of noise and wonder, but Shadow was deepening in this one. The black of his eyes was only the slightest indicator of his heritage, though. The squalls that lifted from his throat already stirred Twilight. Did his mother know?
“Talia, girl, watch that child carefully. Power rises in him.”
She stopped bouncing. Her jaw went tight as her concern filled the space. “I know.”
“Like you, if he crosses into Twilight, his mortal half will perish.”
Adam stroked Talia’s arm. “I’ll hold them here. I’ll hold them both.”
“But, Adam,” Khan observed, “you have two children, a wife, and only two hands.”
A loud crack brought Adam up. “Gunshot.”
Layla found Zoe waiting for her outside one of the doorways, so the woman below had to have called to warn her. Zoe was in a holey T-shirt, the curve of one breast visible, and rolled-up Segue sweats.
“Abigail is sleeping. If you make a racket, I swear I’ll kill you.”
“Apparently,” Layla said, “I’m already dead.”
“Look, I don’t do drama, and you seem unhinged.” Zoe made a little scat motion with her hand. “So just turn yourself right around and go back the other way.”
“I need to talk to you. Now.” Of all the people Layla had met at Segue, Zoe was the least complacent. She had to have an idea about what was going on.