That’s not important. “Where am I?”
“You’re at The Segue Institute. I founded it a little over six years ago to research the wraith phenomenon.”
Wraith. “Is that what was in the alley? A wraith?” The word felt strange in her mouth, but solid. Grounding. It was good to finally attach a name to the soul-suckers that had been following her for—she didn’t know how long. Another thing to thank Adam for.
“Yes. That was a wraith. He was once a normal person, but something—and we don’t know what—happened to augment his physical strength, senses, and regenerative capacity to the point of immortality.”
“And what they do…?” An image of Grady’s sick kiss, Melanie flailing, came unbidden to Talia’s mind.
Adam’s eyes darkened. “They feed on human life energy.”
Talia shook her head, remembering the echo of Melanie’s self as it was ripped from its moorings. “They feed on more than that.” She was certain they fed on something more distinct and individual than “human energy.”
Adam frowned, seeming to draw inside himself. “Perhaps. As far as we can tell, feeding does not sustain them physically. We think the act grounds them. Gives them a grip on humanity.”
Talia swallowed, hard. “And me?”
He smiled, although the expression didn’t reach his eyes. “And you wrote a very interesting dissertation. It was posted online by your anthropology department on April twenty-sixth, two days after you defended your doctorate.”
That wasn’t what she meant by her question—she’d meant, What do you plan to do with me?—but she let him continue. “So?”
“You had some provocative…suppositions about the boundary between life and death. I was ready to offer you a position here based on your work, but you’d disappeared.”
“I don’t understand. What does my diss have to do with wraiths?”
“The Segue Institute exists for the express purpose of discovering how to kill a wraith. We are trying to learn some other things along the way as well, but only as they support our first goal. We have on-staff physicians, academics, para-psychologists…and now I am hoping to get an expert on near-death experiences.”
Me. “But why all the fuss? There are others more knowledgeable on the subject. You didn’t have to track me down to an alley…” Or put your body in front of mine during an attack.
Adam held up a hand to stop her. “I’ve done my research and out of the handful of people dedicated to near-death, only you retain an objective point of view. Most of the others are dedicated to confirming life after death. Segue does not have any spiritual or religious agenda. Instead, I want to learn about the laws or forces that dictate what happens at the brink of death, and any ideas you might have on the exceptions to the rules.”
Still… There had to be a more specific reason he had selected her. Others were capable of unbiased research.
“Why me?”
Adam shifted into a more intent posture, leaning toward her, his shirt stretching with the breadth of his shoulders, elbows on knees. His fingers laced together, swollen and bruised across one set of knuckles.
His gaze locked on hers, watching. Evaluating. “One of your sources mentioned Shadowman, an individual I would very much like to learn more about.”
Panic flared, and she fought to keep her composure.
Shadowman. Her father. The dark and beautiful man she’d met once, right after the car accident when she was fifteen. The near-death experience that inspired her work. Her father, the enigma of her life, had come to greet her on her passing. She’d seen the tilt of his eyes and known with shattering clarity that she was like him, whatever he was. And she didn’t care what that was, as long as she wasn’t alone with her strangeness anymore. Then he’d been ripped away when she was zapped back to life by paramedics.
Now, of course, she’d have questions for her father. He’d know why the wraiths wanted her. He’d be able to tell her why she could do strange things no one else could. And he could protect her from the devil that came out of her scream.
She’d voice none of that to Adam. She owed him thanks, not herself. All Adam’s talk about her dissertation and near-death research was just that, talk. If Adam wanted to study Shadowman, who was not in this world, his only alternative was to study her. She might be “researching” near-death here, but she’d still be a little white rat.
“I have all your materials ready, your books and data. Not knowing if we would ever find you, we went through it.”
You would have gone through it anyway. Pressure grew in her chest, her heartbeat quickening though she sat stone still.