“Here.” A spotlight pierced the darkness as Custo nudged her hand with a flashlight. “Move fast now. The others are waiting.”
She held up her arm to shield her eyes and face, then forged ahead. The corridor was long, broken at rotting steps that she descended with Custo’s support, should the wood give way. This passage must have been intended for servants, bustling unseen throughout the hotel at work or on errands.
An old door was propped at the exit, its decaying hinges broken away from the wood of the frame. The room beyond was small and dour, but light shined though a graying porthole. The group crowded into the space.
When Adam joined them, the room stilled as everyone strained to hear what was to come next. “This will put us on the western curve of the terrace. We’re heading to the roof of the garage. Custo and Talia are going to go first. Then the rest of you.”
He tossed a key ring to Gillian. And another to Armand. “Pack as many people as you can in the vehicles.”
“Shhhhh!” Custo turned his head to listen.
The room quieted. Behind them, from the mouth of the corridor, hard footsteps sounded. Pounded. Cracked wood.
Jacob?
“Damn it,” Adam said. “Go now. Custo…”
Everyone jammed the window, each trying to get through to safety first.
“Now or never,” Jim said, sweat rolling off his forehead. He dived back into the blackness. A loud pop echoed into the room. Pop. Pop. A strangled scream. Then silence.
No one moved for an agonizing moment.
Then Custo elbowed Armand in the face to get through the crowd. He dragged another from the porthole and levered himself up and out smoothly.
Rough hands—Adam’s—lifted Talia’s hips. She ducked through the hole and fell onto Custo, who hefted her up, locked an arm around her chest, and put a gun to her head.
Her heart leaped in momentary panic, but then she understood. He didn’t want to shoot her, he was sending a message.
The sun blared overhead, hot on her face, but after a moment, her vision adjusted and she caught movement on the grass below the balustrade. Guns aimed, but not firing. It was as Adam said—they wanted to take her alive.
One by one, people emerged from the portal. Old Philip hefted, purplefaced, through the hole. The lab tech, Priya, followed. They staggered in the light and slowly came to attention as weapons from the grass leveled at them like a firing squad.
Adam climbed through last, though he stopped to call over his shoulder. “Jim!”
No one answered.
Custo dragged Talia backward toward Adam. “We’ve got to go before they call our bluff.”
Adam nodded sharply. His gaze rested on her momentarily, and then he signaled for everyone to move out. The rifles below followed them as they raced to the garage, the helicopter dipping, chin down, some distance away to head in their direction.
The group climbed a service ladder to the roof of the garage, Custo and Talia first. All they had to do was get into the garage and to the cars. There was no way anyone could know which vehicle Talia was in. Perhaps they could escape, after all.
“Oh, Adam,” a voice called. The tone was light, playful, flirtatious, though masculine, and it carried across the terrace in spite of the helicopter.
Talia turned.
Jacob strolled toward them. Jim, still alive, shielded his body. Blood streaked in a vivid brushstroke up Jacob’s forearm, as if he’d just wiped his mouth. Talia thought of the guards in the cell below Segue and shuddered.
“Jacob,” a magnified voice from the helicopter called. “Do not attack the group.”
“Why not?” Jacob called gleefully, still approaching. Jim whined in his grasp.
“The Collective commands you to halt!”
“The Collective left me to rot,” Jacob said.
“Shoot him,” Talia said to Custo.
Custo raised his gun, but it was too late. Jacob was hungry for one person, and one person only.
Jacob darted, throwing Jim to the side.
Adam dodged, bringing up his assault rifle. Jacob smacked it down—the volley of shots clipped the flagstones as the gun went awry. Jacob grasped the strap that secured the weapon to Adam’s body, wrenching him backward.
Adam heaved, jabbed a leg back, and caught Jacob in the knee. Even Talia, from her position on the roof, could hear the crack. But Adam couldn’t escape.
Custo raised his shotgun again, grim conviction on his face.
“No! You’ll hit Adam.”
Jacob brought Adam roughly up by the shoulders in a twisted lover’s embrace.
“There’s no other way.” Custo focused down the barrel.
“Brother mine,” Jacob said, grinning. He kissed Adam once, a teasing peck on the nose, then drew back, mouth widening, teeth extending.
Horror surged in Talia. Revulsion burst all of the floodgates she’d meticulously erected around her heart. All reservations dissolved in its wake. All care for life, and hope, and love evaporated in the anticipation of Adam’s death. If the wraiths and humanity wanted a massacre, she’d bloody well give them one.
Talia gulped a painful lungful of air, hardened her resolve, and screamed.