Adam scrubbed a hand over his face. Where to start?
“I have new information. Too much information, actually.” He couldn’t tell either of them about the rite that Philip had found. He didn’t trust them not to try something stupid, to give their own lives for Adam, before he had an opportunity to give his for Jacob.
“Why do I have the feeling I’m not going to like it?” Patty twisted her mouth into a wry pucker.
“Because it complicates the hell out of our lives,” Adam answered.
“Go on,” Custo said.
Adam drew a deep breath. “Talia is at the heart of this mess with the wraiths. She, and her father, Shadowman.”
“Shadowman is her father?” Patty’s brows drew together.
Adam could guess her train of thought. She’d want to take a closer look at that abnormal DNA. He’d be looking over her shoulder.
“Talia thinks so, and the connection accounts for her physiological differences. When she was fifteen, she got into a car accident with her aunt, Margaret O’Brien. Her aunt died, and Talia had the near-death experience that inspired her work. She claims to have had a brief moment where she ‘crossed,’ saw Shadowman, and knew him instinctively for her father.”
“Does she know anything else about Shadowman? Where he is?” That was Custo, straight to the point.
“What he is?” Patty clarified.
“No. At least, she hasn’t said so, and she was opening up for once, so I didn’t press the point. But she thinks he may be trying to get in touch with her.”
Custo pushed up to his feet. “How so?”
“Talia has been doing her own search for Shadowman. She discovered him in art. The same figure appears in several artistic renderings—paintings, sculpture, and the like, all named for him. In each image, he is bound by some kind of force against his will. I can show you what she found.”
“Maybe the images have clues where to locate him,” Custo said.
Adam had poured over the images—they were all surreal, indefinite, lacking concrete details—even the face of Shadowman was indistinct.
“There’s more. Talia also found artistic renderings of herself.”
“Oh, dear,” Patty said. “The poor girl.”
“Some images”—the painting of her in the nude, for example—“merely name her. Others show her variously fighting, fleeing, or fearing anthropomorphic monsters.”
“Wraiths,” Custo concluded.
“Yes. And we have to assume that The Collective is aware of this as well, since they tracked her for months.”
“So she’s supposed to save the world from wraiths?” Custo’s tone did nothing to hide his skepticism.
“We have to help her,” Adam said. “We have to protect her at all costs. We have to foster her, train her, and make certain that she knows Segue has got her back. Put all our resources at her disposal.”
He glanced at the band on his fingers. He’d have to keep their relationship professional. He couldn’t very well protect her if he were on top of her. Or beneath her. Inside her. His mouth went dry. He slipped the elastic off his hand and pocketed it.
“One more thing,” Adam began. “If anything should happen to me…”
Patty frowned and waved her hands abruptly. “I don’t like that kind of talk.”
“Too bad”—too bad for all of us. “The reality is that this fight is going to become a matter of life and death. If anything should happen to me, you both must continue to support her unconditionally. I want your agreement.”
Custo’s eyes narrowed, but he gave a short, curt nod.
Adam looked across the table. “Patty?”
“I support her, already. Has nothing to do with whether you’re alive or not.”
Patty used her sass to cope, but Adam couldn’t smile. Didn’t have it in him.
“Okay.” Adam nodded. “That’s all.” Now on to that run. Fast and far so that he didn’t do anything stupid. Like wander up to the fourth floor.
“Adam?” Custo raised a brow.
“What?”
“You’re not telling us everything.”
“And I’m not going to.” Adam turned away from them and made for the door.
Talia went to the roof, the last place she thought Adam would look for her since she had never been there before herself. She thought the place would be peaceful, but it was loud, a generator whirring and rumbling to disturb the night. She thought the air would be sweet so close to the sky, but it was slightly mechanical, oily, and tinged with cigarette smoke.
“Jim says the roof’s haunted. Says he can sense a definite cold spot near the eaves where someone leaped to their death.”
Talia whirled at the sound of Spencer’s voice. He leaned against a gray-colored bulkhead of some kind, smoking. He tapped the tip of his cigarette with his thumb, ash raining down at his feet. Behind him, the roof angled upward in a picturesque sweep. Below them, the terrace rounded the base of the hotel so that the building appeared to be floating on a white disk suspended above the earth.