Rose pushed Grace into the kitchen pantry, shut the door, lodged a chair under the knob, and took her breakfast to go. She wore Grace’s coat, a classic wool in royal blue, and had Grace’s wallet in her pocket.
The old lady in the antique store was harder to push, but after a few forceful suggestions, she handed over the money in the cash register and danced around her store naked like a monkey.
There really wasn’t anything Rose couldn’t do.
Chapter 9
“What the hell did you think you were doing?” Adam yell-whispered at Zoe as he removed the magazine from the gun. He waved away the soldiers who arrived at the apartment door, and they moved out in short order.
“It’s my fault.” Layla kept her voice low, too. No one wanted to bother Abigail. “And my gun. I was just showing Zoe how it works.”
“Shut up,” Zoe said to her. To Adam she stuck up her chin. “I can have a gun if I want.”
“Not at Segue, you can’t.” He tucked the barrel into the back of his pants. “You almost killed Ms. Mathews.”
Layla waved. “Still alive, though.”
Adam ignored her. “I can’t be bothered about what’s going on inside when I’ve got wraiths on my doorstep.”
“Then give me the gun, and you won’t have to worry about me.” Zoe smirked and held out her hand.
Reluctantly, Adam gave both the gun and the magazine to her. “I want you trained. No exceptions. Today.” He left cursing under his breath. He shut the door softly, with excessive control.
“You can leave, too,” Zoe said, transferring her gaze to Layla. “We’re done.”
What a piece of work. Layla could’ve been ticked, but she chose to laugh. “You mean we’re not going to braid each other’s hair?”
Zoe made a face, and Layla let herself out.
The elevator door at the end of the hall was closing, which was just as well. Layla needed time in her own head before she faced her long-lost family. This next reunion could only be awkward.
She took the hallway at a slow walk, shaken by what she’d seen in Zoe’s apartment and the implications for herself. Layla had seen some disturbing things over the course of her life, but nothing compared to the raw transparency of Abigail’s condition.
Abigail’s body had been limp in her bed, like an old woman waiting to die. She seemed bird brittle, used, her limbs loose. And in her unblinking eyes lurked Shadow, smoldering with knowledge. Whatever Abigail witnessed in the dark churn of her vision about Rose must have been terrifying, the horror of it in the O of her open mouth. And behind her were Khan’s trees stretching out of nightmare while the rest of the room was solid, mundane. Abigail wasn’t ordinary. There was no denying that she’d been cursed with a gift. And somehow Layla knew Zoe couldn’t save her, no matter how hard she might try.
It was a sorry situation, one that Zoe shut everyone out of as she simultaneously grieved for and clung to her sister. To her only family.
And it seemed now that Layla had a family, too, though she had no idea how to handle the revelation. The thought made her chest tight with strange, contradictory emotions that threatened to unravel her. Best thing to do was head back and go through the motions of the day until it felt normal again. Gauge Talia’s reaction. Conduct her interviews. Layla already knew what Khan wanted.
“He’s gone now. You can play with me,” a child’s voice said.
Layla stopped dead in her tracks, the fine hairs on her body standing on end. The little girl ghost, ringlets perfectly in place, stood before her. Pinafore pressed. Bows perfect.
“Who’s gone?” Layla managed.
The ghost put a hand up to her mouth to tell a secret. “The dark man. He follows you.”
Layla looked at Zoe’s apartment door. But then she remembered ghosts couldn’t act on the world. She should move on down the hallway and get back to her side of the building, and as quickly as possible.
“Play a game with me?”
Layla ignored her. She sidled by the apparition, trembling with cold sweat, and headed for the elevator, hating the west wing. How anyone could live there was beyond her.
Then she stumbled to a stop again. The hallway was morphing before her eyes. Green striped paper appeared in place of the beige paint on the walls and the floor darkened, the carpet replaced with a brown runner. Light in the passage dimmed to a soupy murk. Layla glanced back. The ghost girl, strangely, appeared more solid. Layla could almost smell the sticky sweetness of her.
Not act on the mortal world? What the freak did they call this?
Layla took two steps forward, but doing so seemed to enhance the effect of the change. She turned back, uncertain. If she screamed now, would anyone hear? “Zoe!”
“Play with me.” The little girl sat cross-legged in the middle of the hallway, and she tucked her skirt over her knees.
Layla retraced her steps to Zoe’s apartment, as if she could adjust time by where she stood in the passage, but the illusion didn’t shift. She was stuck. “Khan!”
The girl shook her head, curls bouncing. “The dark man isn’t here.”