A man. The word made Death’s heart beat faster, a breathless marvel in itself.
He couldn’t wait to show Layla. She would mock him mercilessly, and they both would enjoy every moment of it.
Ballard shook his head. “There is still a gate to Hell right there.”
kat-a-kat-a-kat-a-kat: Here they come.
Of all times, Shadowman needed strength now, yet he was as naked and clumsy as a newborn foal. Next to him on the ground was the hammer. He reached for it with little hope and was incredulous as his hand closed easily, so very easily, around its shaft. He tried again to stand. Braced his legs apart.
No one would get near the gate while he lived.
kat-a-kat-a-kat-a-kat: Hurry! They will rip us both apart.
“Perhaps he was delivered to us in the flesh so that he might be killed,” Ballard said.
The gathered host murmured, considering this suggestion.
“At the very least, this bears new discussion, Ballard,” one of the host said. “He can’t even stand.”
Shadowman had thought the cave was moving, but he guessed it must be him.
“Look at his chest,” said another.
Shadowman glanced down at the long slice of his wound. The blood had gone tacky, crusting at the edges. He touched the parted skin, which, yes, did not seem as raw as it had a moment ago.
“Holy shit. He’s healing,” Custo said. “Does that make him one of us?”
“No,” Ballard said, his eyes narrowing.
“But he just fell to Earth. That has to mean—”
Shadowman startled at a noise in the mouth of the cavern. All heads turned toward the opening. A scrabble of dirt. A knock of a fallen rock. An unfamiliar man descended, but Shadowman couldn’t tell anymore if the person was angel or human.
“Keep it together,” Custo said to him, pitched low for warning.
The newcomer had to be an angel, then, and conversing telepathically with the others.
“What? What’s happened?” Shadowman questioned.
“Apparently, Adam’s been trying to get us a message.”
Shadowman shivered under a wash of cold sweat. “Tell me.”
“Do you know Abigail?”
“The oracle?”
Custo blinked. “Okay, whatever. Apparently Shadow overcame Segue to claim her.”
“Her talent was great.” So great it had ruined her youth and aged her body prematurely. Her sister had been holding on to her with everything she had, to no avail. If Abigail wouldn’t pass into Shadow, then yes, Shadow would come to claim such a one as her. He was glad Layla wasn’t filled with Shadow, or she, too, would eventually be overtaken.
“Well, Shadow got her sister, Zoe, a few members of the Segue staff, and . . .”
Shadowman closed his eyes to stop the name from dropping from Custo’s lips.
It dropped anyway. “. . . and Layla, too.”
Layla went reeling into a tree as Scissor Lady released her grasp. The wood gashed her lip, and she held on to the harsh throb to keep her mind sharp. It was too easy to lose it here. The endlessness of the forest, the whispers of magic, all of it conspired to confuse and mislead.
“I don’t believe you,” Layla said. Shadowman couldn’t be gone. Death was eternal. He was a constant in the great scheme of existence. Necessary. That was the whole reason why she’d been born a second time, to convince him to do his job or the three worlds and everyone within them would be in jeopardy. For that great purpose she’d given up both him and Talia. A family. Her life. Shadowman couldn’t be gone.
And yet she’d seen Zoe change in front of her eyes. Handle Death’s scythe when she couldn’t. Where was Zoe now? Was she still fighting off opportunistic fae? Hell, all fae were opportunistic.
“It doesn’t matter if you believe me, does it?” Scissor Lady gave a sparkling smile.
Layla threw back her shoulders. She’d faced a devil. She’d faced a ghost. She could handle one measly fae.
“So much temper,” Scissor Lady said. “No wonder Death liked you. I like you, too.”
The feeling wasn’t mutual.
“You know, many have tried to thwart Fate through the ages. But like Death, Fate always catches up with you.”
She must be talking about the doomed-to-die thing. “I’m still here, aren’t I?”
“You’ve reached the end. I think you know that.”
The end, yes. Her mission was at an end, and so was this life. Twenty-eight years of loneliness, and then Shadowman and Talia. Was it worth it? Yes, a hundred times over. Was it worth this final capture by some vain fae? Yes, though she’d bet good money the worst was yet to come.
Layla sought deep inside for the core of her will: the endurance of Kathleen. She’d need that now where she’d mocked it before. It was rooted in her connection to Talia and Shadowman, wherever he was. They were everything she’d ever needed and so much more.
The only thing left to do was fight, though she had no hope whatsoever of survival.
“I cut the thread of your life myself.” Scissor Lady raised a brow, as if to coax Layla to some kind of realization.
“You cut . . .” Layla looked at the scissors again.