“Abigail’s passing.” Layla’s heart clutched at Zoe’s racking sobs amid the deafening roar of magic. If Talia and the babies were overcome by it, they’d be lost to the world, too. Oh, God. “Run!”
Layla got to the apartment door, which burst open, blasted by magic, to reveal the hallway. She held it wide for Adam and Talia to pass as dried fall leaves in storybook gold cartwheeled down the corridor. The smell in the air was all promises, exotic and heady, making her thinking fuzz. Again, it occurred to Layla how Segue hovered on the intersection of this world and the next, the present and the past, fantasy and the ruin of the world.
“Looks normal,” Talia said, though stricken with worry.
There was no time to convince them. Layla grabbed her by the arm and dragged her out into the hall. Pushed her toward the elevators. “You’ve got to get out, or it will take you and the kids, too.”
Adam was finally spurred to action. He jogged down the hallway. Layla chased, put a hand on his back to make him run. The hallway stretched and torqued, but Adam and Talia seemed oblivious. They went along on only her warning.
Whispering voices, sweet sounding, begged Layla to wait, to stay, to linger. She slowed, looking back toward the dark swirl of Shadow. Behind the vortex, she knew there’d be trees.
Now, finally, Talia looked back in horrified awe.
“Talia!” Adam shouted. He was at the stairs, holding the door with his body. The stairwell was a howling abyss, the steps a vertical careen downward. The only way out.
And far away Layla heard Zoe’s cries, now muffled, as if she buried her face in her hands. One sister, hanging on to the other.
Something about it was familiar, too familiar, and since Layla had no siblings, it had to come from her before-life when a sister made the same soul-scoring sound. The pain stopped her in her tracks.
Adam had his wife around the waist. “Layla, come on!”
But she couldn’t leave Zoe behind. That sound, a gut wail of grief, had anchored her. One last thing to do.
And besides, it was time for her to cross, too. Everyone, including Shadowman, knew it. She looked in the direction of the west wing. A bad little girl haunted that place, but Layla really didn’t care.
She didn’t want to force Shadowman’s hand, but the time for choosing was past.
“Get out of here,” Layla said, glancing back at Talia. Beautiful Talia. “I’m going after Zoe.”
“You won’t be able to come back,” Talia said, the awful knowledge in her gaze.
“I know what I’m doing,” Layla answered. She hoped her eyes communicated as much—especially the “I’m so glad I got to meet you” that was bursting her heart. “And I’m not supposed to come back.”
Shadowman would just have to come after her. He wouldn’t leave her to go mad. He’d pick up his scythe. Maybe this was the way it was always meant to be.
Zoe’s sobs choked off, there was nothing for a moment, and then she screamed. Terror.
And Layla was off at a run.
Chapter 15
Shadowman crouched before the gate, darkness rolling off his shoulders, his cloak. The hammer lay askew beneath him. The dagger the angel had thrown was a silver dart on the ground to his side. Custo crouched as well, his skin riddled with black. kat-a-kat-a-kat-a-kat: Open the gate. Let my throng deal with the angels.
Shadowman lowered and inclined his head. “You sent a devil after Layla.”
kat-a-kat-a-kat-a-kat: I can call the devil back. Set her on new prey.
“You’ll do whatever suits you.”
“. . . man!” Custo was saying. “Don’t even talk with it. The gate is not an option.”
Everything was an option, since no options were given to him: Here is love, but you can’t have her. Here is life, but you can only glimpse it upon someone else’s passing. You have great power, but you can’t use it to fight for what you want. No liberty? Well, then, Death.
“We’ll find a way to destroy it,” Custo said. “There has to be a way. A different kind of tool, maybe. A different approach, something the world has forgotten.”
Across the cavern, the angels took up position. Ballard, now fully healed, stood in front, his hair matted with blood.
kat-a-kat-a-kat-a-kat
Now the gate laughed. It couldn’t be destroyed.
Destroying the portal with heat and tools presumed it was made out of metal, but Shadowman knew different. Even if the black iron were melted away, still it would stand. Forever and ever until . . .
kat-a-kat-a-kat-a-kat
It was maniacal in its glee, riotous as understanding came into Shadowman’s mind. A wretched mistake among so many.
The gate was not made of metal, heated and pounded into form. He might have set out to create it that way, but the hammer had defied him, had forced his mind elsewhere. The hammer had required something deep, deep within to lift and wield.
The trick of the gate’s construction, then?