Except perhaps, that once when Talia reached across Shadow and found the weapon best suited to her need. That once, love prevailed.
The staff of the scythe chills in Shadowman’s hand. A great soul lifts out of the old man’s body. Shadowman turns to guide him through the fae forest of Twilight. The old man lingers, his attention drawn on the slumbering forms in the rooms beyond.
“They’re so beautiful,” the old man says, his ageless eyes shining with awe.
“Yes.” But Shadowman is thinking of Talia and Kathleen.
“I will see them again.” Conviction underscores the man’s words and the soul-string at his heart glows.
Yes. Shadowman borrows the old man’s confidence.
If Talia can breach Twilight for Adam, perhaps Death can breach Heaven, too.
The old man steps into the slender boat. “I am ready.”
Through the dark forest and across the water. A thought brings Shadowman to the shores of Heaven. He has made this journey times without number. The isle is encircled by a shimmering wall of light. Its rippling, translucent colors burn away his cloak of veils and buffet his naked skin. It has always been so.
The old man steps out of the boat. “Thank you,” he says, but his gaze is drawn to Heaven, waves of rapture leaving a trail of golden light as he approaches the wall. He lifts a hand to touch the surface. A step, a spark, and he is drawn within. From one home, to another.
On the other side—what? Kathleen.
Dark winds lift Shadowman off the waters that lap the shoreline.
“Kathleen,” he calls, his voice a groan.
There is magic in names. Can she hear him?
“Kathleen,” he calls again, louder.
Behind him, the denizens of Twilight murmur.
“KATHLEEN,” he cries. His anguish batters the shining wall, shifting the starstruck colors from rose and lapis to deep purple and bloody magenta, but it remains inviolable.
Shadowman drops his scythe in the waters. He’ll scream forever, if need be, until the day the walls tumble into the ocean.
“Hey, you.”
Shadowman’s attention whips to the top of the wall some distance down the shoreline to his left. An angel is perched on the edge—fair hair, fair-eyed, skin a soft café. A recent crossing.
“Trade you,” Custo says.
Shadowman has no words.
“You want in or don’t you? Heaven’s no place for me, and I’m not hanging around until they figure it out.” The angel glances over his shoulder.
The murmurs of Twilight grow louder, sharper, but Shadowman pays them no mind. Not anymore. They’ve already done their worst.
“I do,” Shadowman says.
Custo flashes a grin. “Meet me at the wall.”
Shadowman sets foot on the sandy shore, each grain a diamond white sparkle. He peers into the wall of colors and a face appears. Custo’s. Custo raises a hand, and Shadowman mirrors him. They reach for each other across the brink. A touch, a spark…
Kathleen, I come.
Acknowledgments
Tremendous thanks to Leah Hultenschmidt, my editor, for her support and enthusiasm. To Alicia Condon, who made that incredible call one January morning. And to Jessica Faust, my agent, for her expert counsel and a whirlwind week I’ll never forget. Thank you to my husband, Matt, for kicking all obstacles out of the way and reading every word of every version so carefully. To Mom and Dad for love and support, to my awesome sister Deborah, with whom I learned to write, and to the rest of my family for their encouragement and excellent humor. Thanks to Brian Anderson, for his detailed information on weapons and tactical situations. Any mistakes are mine. And of course, to my GNO girls, Jill, Jen, and Jeni. And finally, to my critique partners and the wonderful writers of WriteSpot: Julie Ellis, Jo Gregory, Kathleen Grieve, Tes Hilaire, jj Keller, KC Klein, Lynnette Labelle, Theresa Sallach, Jenn Thor, and Dee Ann Williamson, and to my fantastic beta readers, Kris Tualla and Nora Needham.